Reign of Darkness (The Prince's Assassin #2) - Ariana Nash Page 0,42

the landing floor to keep from kissing him, making him gasp again, making the uptight prince lose his control.

“Going out, Nikolas?” Some odd note pitched his voice slightly too high. His glare rode over Niko before darting back to his face. “If you want my permission, you have it.”

He just had to be a prick. “I don’t fucking need your permission.”

Vasili waved him off. Niko was leaving anyway, but now he’d been given permission to leave, he almost wished he didn’t need to.

“Enjoy yourself,” Vasili added. “The gods know you’ve paid for it.”

The door closed again, sealing the prince inside his rooms.

Now Niko felt guilty for snapping at him. But he’d deliberately and regularly kept Niko in the dark. This was his fault anyway. “I will,” he told the closed door.

“Good,” the prince’s voice slithered beneath it.

Yasir waited on the dock beside a two-person carriage. His eyes widened. “By Aura’s wonder, you look good enough to eat,” the captain purred, offering Niko his hand to guide him into the back of the carriage.

Yasir climbed in beside him and thumped on the roof, signaling the driver to leave. They jerked into motion, and Niko settled back. He reflexively moved to rest his hand on the pommel of the sword he wasn’t wearing. He’d meant to smuggle in a dagger, but he’d left the house so quickly, he’d forgotten to slip one down his boots. Damn Vasili for distracting him.

“I take it Vasili doesn’t know you’re here with me?”

“He knows I’m here, but not with you.”

Maybe he should have told him.

No, Vasili wasn’t his master, and Niko wasn’t his doulos. Niko owed the prince nothing. He’d paid more than enough. He could walk away right now if he wanted…

Which was a lie.

Because of that damned soft kiss.

And this was why kissing Vasili would always be a terrible idea. The prince had his claws even deeper into Niko, occupying more of his thoughts than ever.

“Have you ever cared for someone who doesn’t give a shit?” Niko asked.

Yasir’s hand deliberately brushed Niko’s knee as he adjusted his position to angle toward Niko slightly. “Some people struggle to show their feelings. They can be difficult to crack, but worth it.” He eyed Niko expectantly, waiting for the truth.

Yasir had spent weeks traveling with them. He’d be a fool not to notice the tension between Niko and Vasili. “It’s complicated.”

Yasir chuckled.

“It’s not like that between us,” Niko dismissed with a laugh. “A long way from that.”

Yasir nodded sympathetically. “Then this gathering will take your mind off him.”

“I’m sure it will.” Niko wasn’t even sure it was possible to ignore the specter of Vasili in his head. He’d tried and failed for over a year. “Tell me about the Yazdans.”

“They do a lot for Seran. Help maintain the harbor, ensure taxes are paid and repairs are undertaken. They look after their interests. Ocean trade is their main source of income. That and property.”

“The house we’re renting is theirs?”

“One of many. Everywhere you look in Seran, they own some part of it.”

“And the family. Who are they?”

“Shah Kasra Yazdan is the patriarch.”

“Shah?”

“Lord. Although, in Seran, the shah is treated more like a king.” Yasir grinned. “Handsome bastard, even in his sixties. The gods made the Yazdans too damn pretty.” His hooded gaze lingered on Niko. “It’s grossly unfair. So, I suppose, the shah might be… your grandfather?”

“Maybe.” Niko shifted uncomfortably. He still wasn’t sure his mah had anything to do with the Seranian Yazdans. He’d never even considered having an extended family. It had only ever been Mah and Pah, and they were his world. To think he might belong to a substantial, powerful bloodline didn’t sit easily on his shoulders.

“The shah’s wife, Sheran, is just as formidable. She oversees the schools and sits on the high council. They have something like… nine children? Most are older, moved abroad. The Yazdans own a fleet of merchant vessels. Most of the children went into business in manufacturing and distribution. Roksana is the eldest daughter and as formidable as her mother.” Yasir’s expression gained some of that southern mischief Niko had come to expect of him. “A privateer, she’s well-known for leaving wrecked ships in her wake. You’ll meet her tonight.”

“A pirate?”

“Privateer,” he repeated with dramatic emphasis. “Piracy with the shah’s stamp of approval. Don’t call her a pirate.”

Was Yasir a privateer too? Legalized piracy seemed like the sort of career a fox like Captain Lajani might enjoy. “So what you’re saying is my potential family is made up of