The messenger ducked low out of sight!
No!
He struggled to think how many shots had been fired. The pistol must be nearly empty. Ryon weighed his choices. He had very few, trapped in this cabin with someone trying to kill him at the door.
A soft sound reached his ears like a particle of dust floating through the air. It may have been a whisper of noise, but he heard it as loud and clear as an explosion.
Ryon threw the blade. The knife spun end over end, flying with speed and power. He held his breath and waited for it, hoped like hell for it…
KRACK!
The final bullet discharged. The barrel pointed somewhere in his direction. But the messenger, never too young to die, grunted. A wet sound. Blood. Took the knife to the chest. The blade embedded deeply, red ooze beginning to trickle from the wound.
The messenger stumbled and gasped, coming clear into the moonlight rays.
A stunned expression affixed his ghost-white face. He wouldn’t know it but he looked how most did when they were struck with the realization they were about to die. They had only moments to regret. To wish they could take it all back.
But it was over. Done.
He wasn’t coming back from this.
Eyes glossed over with death as the messenger’s body slumped to the ground. Gun forgotten in a hand that could no longer lift to squeeze the trigger.
Ryon stood, lifted his shirt and peeled open his overcoat to see the damage done. The bullet hole looked nasty; it’d ripped apart his skin. The jagged hole was already swelling and beet red from inflammation.
Lord have mercy, it hurt. Grimacing, sweat beginning to trickle down his temples, he knelt at the messenger. His eyes were still open but now they didn’t blink as the life had passed from him.
A cold sensation settled over Ryon. It didn’t feel good to do what he just did. He’d killed before; of course he had. He’d fought the Avagarians in war for years. But he’d never had to kill one of his own before, nor someone so young. The messenger had to be in his early twenties.
Shame and guilt and worse feelings filled him. But he knelt by the messenger and checked to ensure his pulse was no more.
It was.
Ryon grabbed the boy’s pistol and pocketed it, then he left to see the king.
Someone had some serious explaining to do.
Chapter 10
The king’s mistress was there to open the door for Ryon at the king’s chamber. Lysse only arched a curious eyebrow at the blood soaking his shirt where the bullet was festering.
“Oh my, don’t you look worse for the wear. If you have need, I am pretty good with a stitch. ”
“Let him in, Lysse.”
The beautiful, cold woman whose motives Ryon did not trust for a second, stepped aside so he could enter. Lyle sat at his desk scribbling furiously in a notebook. A smoking cigarette dangled from his pinched lips and his hair was ruffled and unkempt. He wore only underwear and his royal cape from earlier in the evening. Judging from the looks of things, Lyle had had a taste of Lysse after the celebration tonight then had gotten to work.
Lyle took several minutes before he sighed in resignation and finally looked up at Ryon. Ryon had been waiting patiently for his “friend” to notice him.
Lyle blinked, taking in the blood. “What happened?”
Ryon dropped the royal missive on the desk. “Did you send this to me?”
Lyle didn’t even reach to pick it up, didn’t spare it a glance at all. “Seeing as I didn’t send you any missives today, my answer is no. Still, let me read it.” He opened the scroll.
Ryon was acutely aware of Lysse listening with interest. “Send your hag away.” His patience was gone. His shirt was soaked with blood. He’d been fucking shot and dangers were more abundant than ever. Not just for him, but for Penelope too.
Lysse sucked in a hostile breath. “Excuse me?”
Ryon didn’t deign to answer. That really made her angry. He thought she might fly at him in a fit of rage, but instead she lifted her chin and grinned. Next, she did the unthinkable, and pulled at the stays at the back of her gown. The dress sagged around her bosom. If she let her arms drop to her sides the dress would fall. Did she really think that her feminine “charms” would sway his disgust for her? She moved to disrobe when Lyle held up his hand.
“That’ll be all, Lysse. I’ll call you later.”
Her mouth formed a petulant pout, irritation flaring in her cold eyes. “But, milord, I wanted to stay with you tonight.” So many promises hung in her words.
Ryon wanted to puke.
“Tomorrow,” Lyle said, finality in his voice.
Fighting a sneer, Lysse huffed out of his apartment, slamming the door as she went.
“Not very calm, but her wits are impressive.”