Reign of Darkness (The Prince's Assassin #2) - Ariana Nash Page 0,35

hadn’t been there before, flushing his cheeks a delicate pink. Probably the heat. Or the wine. Would he gasp or sigh under Niko?

Yasir had Vasili smiling, and the smartly dressed trader brushed Vasili’s hand, like he’d done dozens of times, and it was time Niko left. He didn’t need to see them getting overly familiar when Vasili shoved Niko away at every moment.

Niko’s refreshed glass of wine went down all too easily. He stood to leave, and the courtyard spun some, making him grab the back of the chair. “I’ll, er… see you both tomorrow—in the morning, sometime.”

He had no coin and couldn’t ask Vasili for some so he could pay an escort to go down on him. That left his own company and his hand, which, considering he couldn’t get Vasili out of his head, would only make the need worse.

Vasili’s hand landed lightly on Niko’s.

Niko snatched his back, startled that he’d dare voluntarily touch.

Vasili’s smile tightened, and Niko stammered, “Good night.” He’d been so conditioned not to touch that it had been instinct to pull away. Vasili didn’t do touch. But he didn’t do color and life and look like sin walking either. Niko had to leave now before the sweet wine made him say all the things inside his head.

He retreated to his room, berating himself with every step. Vasili was forbidden. The slap on the beach made it clear he didn’t even want intimacy. Niko was chasing the impossible. He had to push the man from his thoughts. They were in Seran. Here to find the shirdals. Niko had to protect Vasili from Amir and anyone else who would use him while he formed a plan to retrieve Loreen’s crown. If Vasili still wanted that. He’d seemed pretty comfortable in Seranian clothing. With Yasir.

A shirt and trousers waited for him on his bed, each lined with a hint of lace, nothing too frilly but trimmed with just enough embellishment Niko could get away with it. With his southern heritage, he’d look good in the rich, dark colors, dammit.

He changed into the outfit and dampened his hair, combing it under control with his fingers. The man looking back at him from the taverna’s gilded mirror belonged among the crowds on Seran’s streets.

Clipping his shortsword to his belt, he left the taverna for the bustling streets. Night or day, the hour didn’t seem to matter to Seranians wanting to trade or socialize. With their strings of colored lights and heaving crowds, the markets throbbed with life at night.

Niko wandered through it all, observing the people. Some were armed with blades or pistols, like Yasir’s. Old, young, men, women, beautiful burgundy skin, rich ebony, pearly white. Seran was the kind of city where the three gods had tossed all their ideas together and left them to bake in the sun.

The street opened, and the salty smell of the sea washed the heat from Niko’s face. Enormous ships were tied at a dockside, their masts as tall as houses, rigging stowed.

A young flower-seller appeared beside him, holding out a large oxeye daisy.

“I can’t pay.” There had been a few overeager traders trying to steer him toward their wares. He’d managed to avoid them, but this one wasn’t as pushy.

She shrugged, tucked the flower into his shirt laces, grinned, and strode off, skirts swishing.

Bars lined the dockside, full of rowdy sailors. Niko ambled with no destination in mind. He drew a few curious glances, but none lingered like they might on a stranger. He felt settled, like this place, despite its noise and heat, was safe. Loreen hadn’t felt safe since the war. The war clearly hadn’t reached Seran. Yet.

His mood soured.

Loreen had been a glittering jewel once too. Now it had a poison festering at its center.

Amir.

The dark flame seemed a million miles away from these carnival-like streets. It would be easy to settle here, to forget, until the elves crept closer, saw the brilliance of Seran, and decided to destroy it. There was nothing they hated more than the beautiful.

“Lost, friend?”

Niko blinked back to himself and casually regarded the young man who had spoken. With just a thin, short-sleeved shirt hugging his torso, his well-defined arms gleamed under the warm bar lights. “Not lost, just finding myself,” Niko answered smoothly.

The man’s smile was broad and inviting, alluring. The man’s hand lightly brushed his and beckoned him toward the bar, where a group of seamen caroused. “Can’t have you drinking alone.”

And then, inexplicably, Niko found himself among the group. Wary