gaze skipped away, and then the prince ducked out the door, in motion and leaving, exactly as Niko had wanted. So why in the ever-loving fuck was his heart racing like he was about to make a terrible mistake in letting Vasili go? Why did his body give a damn that the prince was adjusting the saddle Niko had supplied and would soon be galloping away, probably into obscurity?
Niko stepped into the doorway. He’d gone into the burning palace to prevent something terrible happening. He’d risked his life to protect Loreen from the nightmare of the Caville curse. And now he was about to let half the source of that curse leave with no guards, no advisors, no protectors? Vasili only had that damned devil horse that would probably one day throw him just for the hell of it, and Niko was just going to let him go?
Vasili had been alone since the moment the elves stole him from the palace gardens. Even if he wanted help, he probably didn’t know how to ask for it. Cruel and vicious as he was, he also bore the weight of a terrible burden. One few knew of. The cuckoo in the nest. Free our bird.
Niko cleared his throat. “I suppose, if you wanted—”
Vasili slotted his boot into the stirrup, grabbed Adamo’s reins, and hauled himself into the saddle. Adamo stamped his hooves, sensing his rider’s tension. Vasili turned the horse away from Niko and settled the reins loosely in both hands.
He smiled. “I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure knowing you, Nikolas, but it really hasn’t.”
Niko arched a brow. “Fuck you too, prince.”
Vasili’s smile flourished into a grin. He nudged Adamo with his heels, clicked his tongue, and urged the horse to trot out of the yard.
Niko loitered at the yard wall. The prince pulled his hood up, and Adamo trotted down the road toward the forest on the outside of the village. Dusk painted the sky red ahead of him, turning the trees into silhouettes of jagged teeth. Lamplight flickered in the windows of the cottages he passed. Darkness would soon settle across the land.
And the three gods be damned because Niko’s heart raced harder, anxiety gnawing on his nerves.
He hated the man, but he’d also seen the truth inside him, and whatever the future held, Vasili was unlikely to survive the flame alone. He’d told Niko as much. He knew his future was dire. And still he walked toward it with his head held high.
The horse and rider were distant now, about to disappear over the brow of a hill.
Vasili had saved Niko from the elves. He’d said it was because Niko was his tool, but there were other tools, other men Vasili could manipulate. Yet he’d stalked the elves and trampled one to death to save Niko when he should have returned to the palace to stop Julian, the real traitor to the griffin. Instead, Vasili had taken Niko to safety and sat by him as he’d recovered, wasting time and risking the palace’s security.
Was the man as much a viper as he appeared, or was he something—someone—else? Someone so damaged he didn’t expect help and wouldn’t ask for it. He was a brat of a prince, there was no doubt in that, but he was also a thousand other complicated pieces of a puzzle that Niko barely understood. He’d seen moments in him, softer moments from the man beneath the ice. He did exist, but he was damned difficult to get to beneath Vasili’s tendency to push everyone away.
However, for all their disagreements, they did believe in one thing: protecting Loreen.
The rider was out of sight now, and night was fast approaching.
Vasili was gone. He didn’t need Niko anyway. Snakes like him always survived.
Niko returned to the cottage and stopped at the sight of the pans on the kitchen shelves. Small to large, each neatly placed. He had half a mind to shift them around again.
He would tomorrow. But it was late and there was little left to do but retire for the night.
Sleep wouldn’t come. His mind played over the image of Vasili riding into the dark. He’d go south. East was out of the question. Elves waited there. The rigid mountains lay due north. West was eventually the ocean, but with little between Loreen and the sea. South… to the hot, exotic city of Seran, where the houses were built on top of one another around dusty, sand-strewn streets, against a backdrop of glittering ocean.
Or