Page 87 of His Realm

“He will come for both of us.”

He scoffed. “He cares nothing for me.”

“You’re his friend,” I said flatly. “Of course he cares.”

His gaze met mine, and he seemed to be searching for something in my eyes. After a moment, he grunted. “Fine. I’ll believe in the universe for you.”

“Excellent.”

As we began to walk, he chuckled.

“What?”

“It’s really impressive how calm you are.”

“Nice of you to say, but I’m doing everything in my power to stay calm and focused on something else, the bigger picture, and not freak out,” I confessed, stopping to lean over, put my hands on my knees, and breathe.

“Are you all right?”

“No,” I answered honestly. “I have no idea what time it is, but at some point today I was supposed to get married,” I choked out, about to check my watch and realizing it was gone. The only thing I still had was my seal that I’d checked first thing—they weren’t stupid enough to take that from me—and the clothes on my back. “I’m missing the most important day in my life because somebody thought it was a good idea to fuck with me and Varic.”

“So you’re about to have a nervous breakdown?”

“Mostly I’m really fuckin’ angry.”

He nodded.

“You don’t by any chance speak Old Norse, do you?”

The scowl wasn’t a surprise. “I could get whiplash from these subject changes.”

“I know, I know, but the men who came to kidnap the king so they could talk to Varic—well, the only one who lived, he ended up being able to speak English, but at first, it was Old Norse.”

“Fortunately for you, I do, in fact, speak the language.”

I gestured at him, smiling wide.

“Yes, yes. Clearly, the universe wanted me with you for this very reason.”

“And there could be⁠—”

The scream was loud, heartrending, and we both turned to see a young woman dressed in the same coat Cirillo and I were, being half dragged, half carried toward what looked like a stable but couldn’t be that.

Without being asked, Cirillo ran with me. I could hear her pleading—it was clear in any language—and noted other people purposely not paying attention. When children looked, their mothers turned their faces away from the struggling girl. As the doors were opened, I saw it was a storage place for what I thought of as rickshaws.

They turned left, and when we reached the same spot, I saw her down on a cot. One of the guys went up near her head, grabbed her delicate wrists, and was about to put them in shackles when Cirillo said something to them in, if I had to guess, Old Norse, and I closed the doors behind us.

They laughed at him, made kissing noises, moved closer, and I understood the gestures and intent if not the words. Cirillo was a beautiful man, with his hair spilling down over his shoulders in gray-and-platinum waves, his dark-tanned skin with the gold undertones. Those attributes, combined with his moonstone-colored eyes, would make him stand out here in Ophir. No big surprise that they turned from the girl. But what came as a shock was that when the first man lunged at Cirillo, my companion caught him under the jaw quickly, like a striking viper, with a curved knife I had no idea he even had.

Looking at it closer, watching the man twitching on the end of the blade, I recognized the karambit in his hand, as guys I’d known in the service had carried them.

There was yelling as Cirillo, who was far smaller than the guy attacking him, lifted the man up off his feet and flung him across the room, his neck sliced from ear to ear.

“Shit,” I gasped, as the girl ran to the guy closest to her, who was still staring at Cirillo, and tried to pull the sword from the sheath on his belt.

He backhanded her hard and pulled his sword to kill her, but I put an elbow in his face, got the spatha from him, and swung, taking off his head.

Along with everything else that had been on my long list of duties at the palace as cadeyrn, Zev had insisted on teaching me some basic sword skills. I was trained in close-quarter tactics, I knew how to use a knife, but those weren’t the same. There was a discipline to sword fighting, so many fixed positions that Zev always made look fluid. My attack was rudimentary at best, but the man fell and arterial blood sprayed everywhere the same as it had when Cirillo killed his man.