confirmed before Vasili could slither away. “You’re staying right here,” he ordered the prince and smirked as Vasili’s tight lips twitched to argue.
Yes, this felt like progress. Vasili was finally listening. It felt good and right. And finally, it felt like they might have a chance against forces far bigger than any of them.
A day later, Yasir produced clothes fit for the Loreen Prince. He’d also purchased clothes for Niko in the Seranian higher-class style. Niko eyed the trim pants and lace-embroidered shirt with curiosity. The trousers and shirt were a contrasting mix of glossy silk and matte linen. The dark purple and black enhanced Niko’s southern attributes.
“Funerals are always at night,” Yasir said. “I’d try to prepare you, but… it’s best you just experience it.”
“Can I take my swords?” Niko asked.
Yasir grinned. “It would be unusual not to.”
The day passed without event. Vasili observed the docks from the ship, lost to his thoughts, and Niko observed him, waiting for the dark flame to assert itself.
When the night of the funeral came, the prince was dressed in white with golden trim. Delicate gold thread glistened artfully at the seams. It should have been hideous, but wrapped around Vasili’s figure, the ensemble enhanced his natural elegance and air of superiority. On deck, he tugged at the loose cuffs and buttoned up the high collar. His remaining rings caught Seran’s multicolored lights.
Niko remembered the Caville ring he’d taken and promptly removed it from his finger, handing it over.
Vasili looked at the ring as though considering not taking it. “I threw it away. I suppose it’s only right that a Yazdan brings it back to me.” He slid the ring on and lifted his gaze. For a fleeting moment, the man inside the prince looked out from behind his cool blue eye, and it seemed as though he wanted to speak, to say whatever was on his mind. Instead, a sizzling arrow shot into the sky over Seran and exploded with a thunderous clap.
“Ah! The festivities begin!” Yasir announced, emerging from his cabin and rubbing his hands together in glee. He also wore dark colors and finished off the outfit with a pink feather in his hat. “Food, drink, laughter, dance, and love! Death is no somber event in Seran.” He jogged down the ship’s gangplank toward the waiting carriage. “Come along!”
Niko gestured for the prince to go first and followed behind like Vasili’s deadly shadow. Perhaps that was fitting. If anyone tried to hurt Vasili at the funeral, they’d have to get through him first. Unless Vasili was the one needing to be put down. His blades had been sharpened in preparation.
Another flaming arrow launched into the sky over the city and exploded into a wash of red sparks.
Niko winced at the boom and watched the red light burn through the night sky. Hopefully, it wasn’t an omen. After settling in the carriage beside Vasili, he glanced at the prince staring out of the small window. He’d never looked more regal or more like he loathed every second of being inside his own skin. To anyone unfamiliar with Vasili’s ice, it all appeared to be directed at those around him, but in truth, the walls he erected were to keep the real man safe inside.
It had taken too long for Niko to realize that. To realize a lot of things.
I would have lost you.
He hadn’t forgotten Vasili’s words at the coffeehouse, although they’d been fueled by spice. After all this time, all the hurt, had Vasili learned to care? And did he truly care about losing Nikolas, or was it all some elaborate game? Experience told him the latter, but he was still trying to understand the complicated man that was Vasili Caville, and he had a long way to go yet.
“Ready, Your Highness?” Niko asked.
Vasili breathed in and held that breath until his thin, infamously shallow smile crawled out of its hiding place. “Are you?”
Chapter 21
Yazdan flags—a black flame on golden silk—fluttered in the cool night breeze. Torches thrust into the ground led the way through extensive tropical gardens, but they seemed more ceremonial when paired with Seran’s colored lights. Fireworks occasionally boomed above, raining color. Color was everywhere, in the streamers hanging from thick-leaved trees, in the guests’ attire, in the feasts of fruit and wines.
Yasir led Niko and Vasili into the gardens, found wine for them both, and left to look for Roksana.
The occasional weapon caught Niko’s eye, pistols and shortswords worn by both men and women. They could