Her flesh prickled at his touch. A spike of heat and pleasure stabbed through her and settled in her groin, where it slowly spread.
Pox, pox, pox.
She’d let herself get attracted to her target. This was not good.
I hate this man. I hate him. I hate him.
If she repeated it enough times, she might just get her body’s ridiculous reaction under control.
Lucien released her. “Are you all right? You’re tensing up.”
“Yes. Oh yes,” she said breathlessly. “It’s just . . .” She turned to the bodyguard, who was staring at them, expressionless. Gods, this must be all in a day’s work for him.
Lucien chuckled. “You don’t like an audience.”
Vitala nodded, her face heating.
“I’m used to Septian, but I can see how you wouldn’t be.” He shrugged. “We can do this later. If that’s what you want.”
“Yes, later,” she said. “When I can have you all to myself.”
Lucien grinned. “When we reach the campsite, you shall have me all to yourself. But do me a favor between now and then.”
“What’s that?”
“Tell me everything you know about the Cartasian Defense. Because if you don’t change the subject fast, I’m going to have a cockstand all the way.”
She laughed. The Cartasian Defense it was.
• • •
It was not long before Vitala learned Bayard had spoken the truth. She was rapidly becoming less fond of him and coming to dread her sessions with him in the training room.
Bayard crashed through her guard, spun around her, and with the flat of his wooden sword, delivered a stinging blow across her rear end. Vitala gasped in surprise and pain.
“Where was your defense?” he demanded.
Vitala stared at him.
“Don’t stand there like an idiot.” Bayard raised his weapon. “Inside guard. Now.”
She braced herself for the attack.
“Stance, Vitala! Look at your feet.”
Oops—she’d forgotten. Inside guard required a reverse stance, leading with the opposite leg. The moment she swapped the positions of her legs, Bayard rushed her. She parried his attacks, twisting and turning, but he drove her backwards. He swept her legs out from under her, and she crashed onto her tailbone.
“You’re smaller and weaker than me.” Bayard stood over her, waving his sword. “Can you afford to be slower, too?”
“I’m not that kind of assassin,” said Vitala. “I don’t kill with a sword.”
“Wrong answer.” Bayard hauled her up from the ground, delivering another stinging blow. “You’re targeting an imperial. He’s guarded by the Legaciatti, the finest warriors in Kjall. To handle a target that highly placed, you need to be every kind of assassin. You have no idea what’s going to happen, what you might have to be able to handle. Inside guard.”
Ignoring the pain as best she could, Vitala assumed the correct guard and stance.
“Faster this time,” said Bayard, “or you’re going to be sore tonight.”
6
A t the campsite, servants collected poles and canvas panels from the baggage carts and began to erect the tents. Meanwhile, a fire mage coaxed some damp wood into a blaze, and a servant brought Vitala and Lucien mugs of steaming spiced wine.
“I could get used to this,” said Vitala as she sat on a cushioned seat and wrapped her hands around the hot mug.
“Could you?” said Lucien. “Because I’ve been thinking. I want someone like you on the imperial staff, to teach Caturanga. First to me, and later to my children.”
Vitala’s eyebrows rose. “Really? But you don’t have children.”
He shrugged. “Someday I will.”
“If you’re offering me a position in the palace, I’ll take it.” The wine was strong, especially on an empty stomach, but Vitala drank it, anyway. “Given this talk of children, are you planning an imperial wedding?”
“I have no immediate plans. But I must produce an heir, if only to take the pressure off Celeste, and that means finding a wife. I don’t want bastards.”
Vitala suppressed a wince. That
Pox, pox, pox.
She’d let herself get attracted to her target. This was not good.
I hate this man. I hate him. I hate him.
If she repeated it enough times, she might just get her body’s ridiculous reaction under control.
Lucien released her. “Are you all right? You’re tensing up.”
“Yes. Oh yes,” she said breathlessly. “It’s just . . .” She turned to the bodyguard, who was staring at them, expressionless. Gods, this must be all in a day’s work for him.
Lucien chuckled. “You don’t like an audience.”
Vitala nodded, her face heating.
“I’m used to Septian, but I can see how you wouldn’t be.” He shrugged. “We can do this later. If that’s what you want.”
“Yes, later,” she said. “When I can have you all to myself.”
Lucien grinned. “When we reach the campsite, you shall have me all to yourself. But do me a favor between now and then.”
“What’s that?”
“Tell me everything you know about the Cartasian Defense. Because if you don’t change the subject fast, I’m going to have a cockstand all the way.”
She laughed. The Cartasian Defense it was.
• • •
It was not long before Vitala learned Bayard had spoken the truth. She was rapidly becoming less fond of him and coming to dread her sessions with him in the training room.
Bayard crashed through her guard, spun around her, and with the flat of his wooden sword, delivered a stinging blow across her rear end. Vitala gasped in surprise and pain.
“Where was your defense?” he demanded.
Vitala stared at him.
“Don’t stand there like an idiot.” Bayard raised his weapon. “Inside guard. Now.”
She braced herself for the attack.
“Stance, Vitala! Look at your feet.”
Oops—she’d forgotten. Inside guard required a reverse stance, leading with the opposite leg. The moment she swapped the positions of her legs, Bayard rushed her. She parried his attacks, twisting and turning, but he drove her backwards. He swept her legs out from under her, and she crashed onto her tailbone.
“You’re smaller and weaker than me.” Bayard stood over her, waving his sword. “Can you afford to be slower, too?”
“I’m not that kind of assassin,” said Vitala. “I don’t kill with a sword.”
“Wrong answer.” Bayard hauled her up from the ground, delivering another stinging blow. “You’re targeting an imperial. He’s guarded by the Legaciatti, the finest warriors in Kjall. To handle a target that highly placed, you need to be every kind of assassin. You have no idea what’s going to happen, what you might have to be able to handle. Inside guard.”
Ignoring the pain as best she could, Vitala assumed the correct guard and stance.
“Faster this time,” said Bayard, “or you’re going to be sore tonight.”
6
A t the campsite, servants collected poles and canvas panels from the baggage carts and began to erect the tents. Meanwhile, a fire mage coaxed some damp wood into a blaze, and a servant brought Vitala and Lucien mugs of steaming spiced wine.
“I could get used to this,” said Vitala as she sat on a cushioned seat and wrapped her hands around the hot mug.
“Could you?” said Lucien. “Because I’ve been thinking. I want someone like you on the imperial staff, to teach Caturanga. First to me, and later to my children.”
Vitala’s eyebrows rose. “Really? But you don’t have children.”
He shrugged. “Someday I will.”
“If you’re offering me a position in the palace, I’ll take it.” The wine was strong, especially on an empty stomach, but Vitala drank it, anyway. “Given this talk of children, are you planning an imperial wedding?”
“I have no immediate plans. But I must produce an heir, if only to take the pressure off Celeste, and that means finding a wife. I don’t want bastards.”
Vitala suppressed a wince. That
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