“No?” The word rippled from him.

 “When I get nervous, I ramble. And when I feel threatened or am told what to do, I get angry,” I whispered. “I’ve been told on more than one occasion that my mouth would get me into trouble one day and that I should take heed.”

“I see you took that advice to heart,” he replied. “Always meeting a threat with anger isn’t the wisest of choices.”

“Like now?”

The god said nothing as he continued holding me against his chest, his thumb slowly sweeping back and forth, back and forth. With his strength, he wouldn’t even need to use the eather. All it would take would be a sharp twist of his wrist.

 It was then that I realized I might have come to the end of whatever goodwill this god had regarding me.

My mouth dried, and the dread of what was sure to come settled heavily in my chest. I was teetering on the edge of death. “You might as well get on with it.”

“Get on with what, exactly?”

“Killing me,” I said, the words like wool on my tongue.

His head lowered a bit. When he next spoke, his breath coasted over my cheek. “Killing you?”

“Yes.” My skin felt inexplicably tight.

He drew back his head far enough that I could see that he had one eyebrow raised. “Killing you hasn’t even crossed my mind.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Surprise flickered through me. “Why not?”

He was silent for a moment. “Are you seriously asking me why I haven’t thought about killing you?”

“You’re a god,” I pointed out, unsure if he was being truthful or just toying with me.

“And that is reason enough?”

“It’s not? I threatened you. I pulled a dagger on you.”

“More than once,” he corrected.

“And I’ve been rude.”

“Very.”

“No one speaks to a god or behaves toward one in such a way.”

“They typically do not,” he agreed. “Either way, I suppose I’m not in a murderous mood tonight.”

I search his tone for a hint of deception as I stared at the window. “If you’re not going to kill me, then you should probably let go of me.”

“Will you try to stab me?”

“I…hope not.”

“You hope?”

“If you try to tell me what to do or grab me again, I am likely to lose that hope,” I told him.

A quiet laugh rumbled from him—through me. “At least, you’re honest.”

“At least,” I murmured, trying not to notice the cold pressure of him at my back. The feel of him. It didn’t scare me. It didn’t even disturb me, which made me wonder exactly what was wrong with me. Because I was fighting the muscles in my back and neck that wanted to relax into him.

His hand slipped away from my chin, and I immediately whirled. He stepped back and, in the blink of an eye, was on the other side of the table.

“Be careful,” he said, lifting his hood and sending his features into the darkness. “I’ll be watching.”

Chapter 4

I inhaled slowly and evenly in the darkness. Tension built in my muscles. “Now,” came the order.

Spinning around, I threw the blade, and a soft thud answered a heartbeat later. Eager to see exactly where the blade had landed, I started to reach for the blindfold when I felt the cold press of steel under my throat. I froze.

“Now what?” came the low voice.

“I cry and beg for my life?” I suggested.

A quiet laugh answered. “That would only work if someone wasn’t intent on killing you.”

“Shame,” I murmured.

Then I moved.

Grabbing the wrist of the hand that held the blade, I twisted the arm away from me as I stepped in. A sharp gasp brought a savage smile to my lips. I pressed my fingers into the tendons, right in that spot. The entire arm spasmed as the fingers opened on reflex, and the hilt of the short sword dropped into my hand. I dipped low and kicked out, planting my booted foot into a leg. A heavy body hit the floor with a grunt.

 I leveled the sword on the prone body as I reached up and tugged the blindfold down. “Was that a sufficient response?”

Sir Braylon Holland was sprawled across the stone floor of the west tower. “Quite.”

I smirked, tossing the thick braid of hair over my shoulder.

Groaning under his breath, Sir Holland rolled to his feet. Born at least two decades before me, he appeared much younger since there wasn’t a single crease in his deep brown skin. I’d once heard him tell one of his guards who’d asked if he’d summoned a god in exchange for everlasting youth, that his secret was to drink a fifth of whiskey each night.

Pretty sure he’d be dead if he drank that much.

“But your aim is lacking,” he said, dusting off his black breeches. Absent of the obnoxious gold and plum uniform of the Royal Guard, he looked like any other guard. I’d never seen him in the finery. “And in need of much improvement.”

Frowning, I turned to where the dummy was propped against the wall. The sad thing had seen better days. Cotton and straw leaked from numerous stab wounds. Its linen shirt had been replaced many times over the years. I’d stolen this one from Tavius’s room, and it hung in shreds from wooden shoulders. The burlap head, stuffed with more straw and rags, flopped sadly to one side.

Sunlight streamed in from the narrow window, glinting off the handle of the iron dagger protruding from the dummy’s chest. “How is my aim off?” I demanded, wiping a hand across my sweat-slick brow. The summer…it was steadily becoming unbearable. Last week, an elderly couple had been found in their tiny apartment in Croft’s Cross, dead from heatstroke. They weren’t the first, and I feared they wouldn’t be the last. “You said to aim for the chest. I hit the chest.”

“I told you to aim for the heart. Are hearts typically on the right side of the body, Sera?”

My lips pursed. “Do we really think someone would survive taking a blade to either side of the chest? Because I can tell you that, no, they would not.”

The look he shot me could only be described as unimpressed as he took the sword from my hand and started for the dummy. It was a look I was unfortunately quite accustomed to.

He gripped the dagger and pulled it free. “They wouldn’t recover from such a wound, but it wouldn’t be a quick death nor an honorable one, and it would bring dishonor to you.”

“Why should I care about giving an honorable death to someone who just tried to kill me?” I asked, thinking that was an incredibly valid question.

“Several reasons, Sera. Do I need to list them for you?”

“No.”

“Too bad. I like hearing myself list things,” he replied, and I groaned. “You, my dear, live a dangerous life.”

“Not by choice,” I muttered under my breath.

One eyebrow rose sardonically. “You are not protected like Princess Ezmeria,” he stated as he crossed to the wall opposite the small window, where numerous weapons were stored. He placed the sword next to heavier, longer ones. “No Royal Guards are assigned to watch over your chambers or keep an eye on you as you run wild throughout the capital.”

“I do not run wild throughout the capital.”

The look he sent me this time said that he knew better. “Many of the people may not realize who you are,” he went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t some out there who have heard rumors of your existence and have figured out that you are no handmaiden but carry the Mierel blood in your veins,” he continued. “All it takes is for one of them to tell someone who thinks they can use you as a means to achieve what they want.”

My jaw clenched. There had been two in the past three years that’d somehow learned that I was, in fact, a Princess and attempted to kidnap me. That hadn’t worked out well for them, but their blood wasn’t on my hands.

It was on Tavius’s, who I strongly believed had been behind the rumor.

“Not only that, it’s only a matter of time before the Vodina Isles Crown learns of their Lords. They will attempt a siege.” He faced me. “You will just be another body they cut through to get to the Crown.”