The Hunt Page 7

  You can’t hit your sovereign.

  “What about the rebellion is it that you wish to discuss, Tempest?” King Destin asked, amusement plain in his amber eyes.

  She stood her ground. “You know of my history, of my past with the shapeshifters.” Her lips curled in distain. “I wish to investigate the truthfulness of what is going on.”

  “Such a serious issue to discuss so late at night.”

  “Those who seek to tear down our kingdom never rest.” She licked her dry lips and ignored how the king tracked the movement. “May I speak plainly, my lord?”

  “You may, Temp.”

  His use of her nickname caused her to freeze, but she continued. “I’ll be frank. It’s high time a few Hounds were sent out there, anyway. If the Talagan shifters are making our people sick, then we need proof of their treachery in order to quash them.”

  And they needed quashing, once and for all. The Talagan shifters had been making trouble in their kingdom for decades and someone needed to take a stand.

  King Destin studied her, never losing his smile. “Why don’t we entertain ourselves in another way and, then, when the sun is up, we can return to the subject of the rebellion? Won’t you have a drink, my Lady Hound?”

  She eyed the spirits. If the king didn’t listen to her now, he never would. And once spirits were involved… Well she’d seen how it loosened many a man’s morals. His déshabillé was proof of his intentions for tonight. Unease churned below her belly button at the heated challenge in his gaze.

  Over the course of the last several years of her training, he’d made his distaste of her apparent.

  He tried to have you killed today. Why make nice now?

  Her unease deepened. What did he really want?

  “I will have a drink,” Tempest said slowly, “but only after we have discussed the rebellion properly. You did wish to talk about my future, did you not?” She gathered her courage. “It’s known that you grant a new Hound a favor once he has passed his Trials. May I be so bold as to ask you to consider this my one and only request as a new Hound?”

  For a moment, it looked as if he would argue with her. Something dark flashed across his face, and he stared at the bed for far too long. Her breathing turned thready as she waited for his patience to snap. The king wasn’t weak by any stretch of the imagination. It wouldn’t be a big leap to say she could find herself knocked down onto the gargantuan four poster bed whether she wanted to be there or not.

  She slipped her left foot back and prepared for an attack. Tempest would go down fighting.

  “Most Hounds ask for wealth, prestige…” A smirk followed. “Or a wife. But not you. You want to be sent into danger.”

  “I’m not like most men.” A thin smile. “I’m not a man. But I am a Hound.”

  Instead, the king turned back to her and laughed. “Fine, have it your way, sweet. What makes you think you have anything to bring to the cause that I don’t already have?”

  Tempest

  The dagger strapped to her thigh seemed to burn her skin as Tempest compelled her muscles to relax. Out of the two outcomes she foresaw for this evening, this option was the one she least expected. Men had been around her for almost her whole life, and while she loved her uncles and fellow Hounds fiercely, they’d also shown her the terrible side of the male population.

  Men could be vile, degrading, and violent.

  But it seemed the king was going to humor her.

  She blinked back her disbelief and tried to sort her thoughts into something a king could get behind.

  King Destin wandered over to his bed and leaned a hip against the mattress, staring at her expectantly as she continued to gape at him.

  “Sooner rather than later, if you will,” Destin said, amused. He crossed his arms over his muscular chest and arched his eyebrows. “I would rather like to crack open the fire whisky.”

  She glanced at the amber-colored liquid in its blue crystal carafe, innocuous on the table beneath the window. Tempest very much did not want to crack it open at all. She’d had enough wine as it was. Smoothing out the front of her dress, she ran over the speech she had been rehearsing since King Destin had announced he wished to speak to her.

  “My Trial today showed how adept I am with poisons,” Tempest began, “so if the Talagans are using any to cause the sickness by the mountains, I’m qualified to look into it. I also demonstrated my skill at gaining the trust of strangers, which lends itself well to asking questions in numerous villages. And, of course, I can more than serviceably defend myself against any shifter threats—as well as those of wolves and other large animals in the forest. I would be an excellent solo candidate for exploring the unrest by Talaga.” Damn. She sounded like an overexcited child.

  King Destin smiled good-naturedly. “Anything else?”

  Might as well continue.

  “Yes, in fact. You mentioned yourself that the common people adore me, for I am one of them, Madrid blood or not,” she pointed out. “That means I can blend in well to investigate the matter properly. All I need to do is dye my hair, so they don’t know I am a Hound. I can look into this discreetly without raising the alarm of the Talagans. And once I have proof of what they’re doing… Well, I’ll bring it back. And then—”

  “And then might you entertain the idea of my advances?” King Destin cut in, a calculating glint in his eyes.

  Wicked Hell.

  Tempest didn’t like it, no matter how attractive he was. But she nevertheless knew how to handle it—unlike the man’s advances themselves. Maxim had trained her to be an expert in bartering.

  “Yes,” she replied, though she knew she would use everything in her power to refuse the king upon her return, “but if I am successful—if I find solid proof that the Talagan shifters are responsible for this new wave of sickness—I want a position on your war council.”

  Bold, Tempest Madrid.

  Destin considered her for a moment, then nodded. “That is fair. After all, providing the proof that begins the war certainly warrants one being part of the war itself. However, regardless of whether you are successful or not, you must still return to my side when your research is done. Do not make me look for you.”

  A chill ran up her spine. That was a direct threat. He was shrewder than she’d like him to be. But one didn’t become king without being brutal in attaining what he desired.

  “Yes,” Tempest said, keeping her tone even. “I will come straight to you. Can you tell me anything about the rebellion that I’ll need to know before I set out?”

  King Destin walked over to the stained-glass window and waved a hand at her, indicating for her to join him. He pointed to the Talagan mountainside, where several kinds of shifters were portrayed in tiny, shimmering fragments of color.

  He pointed to a gold-and-orange fox. “There’s a kitsune who is in charge of the entire rebellion. He’s known as the Jester.”

  Damn. The Jester was the monster that parents taught their children about at night to keep them from bad behavior. The Jester had a hand in everything from drugs and poison to women, murder, and rebellion.

  Ice seeped into the king’s tone. “He’s not to be trifled with. Make no mistake, he is one of our deadliest enemies.” Tempest swallowed hard as the king turned and brushed his thumb along her bottom lip. “If you can find him and infiltrate his base of operations, I have no doubt you’ll eventually dig out the proof we need.”

  Merde. She’d planned on some reconnaissance, not taking on the bloody Jester.

  Tempest stared at the glass fox without saying a word. The king had caught her in a crafty trap. She almost wanted to laugh. Too focused on the rebellion and her revenge, she hadn’t even noticed he was setting her up for failure. Many a man had tried to destroy the Jester—and failed. Some even considered him immortal.

  “Tempest?” King Destin whispered. “Do we have a deal?”

  She nodded once. “I will find him,” she said. “I’ll find the fox. And I’ll get the proof
you need.”

  The king smiled. “Good. Then you’ll leave first thing in the morning. I suggest you return to the barracks now to pack for your journey—it can be cold by the mountains.”

  Tempest blinked, taken aback by his suggestion. “And that drink you insisted I have?” she blurted like a total idiot. Could she really get away so easily? There had to be some sort of trickery afoot.

  “I am the king, my Lady Hound. What you wish to do for my kingdom is more important than indulging my desire to have a drink with you just now. However…”

  He reached for Tempest’s hand, and she could do nothing but let him take it. Destin circled the pad of his calloused thumb against her skin, watching her face carefully for her reaction. His astute, amber eyes never left hers as he brought up her hand to his lips. A bolt of anxiety ran right through Tempest, but she knew better than to recoil and run away. The soft kiss wasn’t disgusting, but she didn’t have a choice in the matter. And she hated that.

  King Destin broke away from her hand with a grin, all sharp canines and white, gleaming teeth. “However,” he repeated, “once you return to me, things will be different. You can expect my full attention when you come back from the mountains, just as I shall be expecting yours in return.”

  Silence stretched out between Tempest and the king. She did not know how to fill it; no words would form in her throat for her to vocalize. But she knew she could not rescind her acceptance of his terms—it was that or openly defy him.

  “I will return to your side whether I succeed or not,” she said softly. “But I won’t promise anything further than that. My life is devoted to being your Hound.” Maybe deference would soften him.

  “Bring me the Jester’s heart, my sweet,” the king murmured, shifting his blood-red robe just enough to reveal the full extent of his well-defined abdominal muscles and powerful chest. “And we’ll discuss this further when you return.”

  He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. Tempest stayed ridged as he brushed his nose along her cheek.

  “Leave while you can, my Lady Hound, or I’ll quickly find myself unable to let you leave.”

  “I… best be off, then, Your Grace,” Tempest said, pulling back to put space between their bodies.

  “Sleep well, Temp,” he whispered, smiling in a way that was all too knowing as she tried not to run to the exit.

  Tempest cursed out loud as she tripped on the skirt of her dress, most definitely tearing the hem of the expensive garment.

  “My apologies,” she muttered and glanced over her shoulder.

  King Destin chuckled and smirked. “I like my women a little crass. I’ll see you soon, sweet.”

  With a red face and a hammering heart, Tempest yanked open one of the doors and walked at a clipped pace down the corridor before it even had the chance to close properly behind her. That was what she told herself anyway. But who was she fooling? She was running away. Never in her whole life had she run from something that scared her. Tempest supposed she should have counted her blessings that she’d got what she wanted without having to give the king anything outright.

  But as she fled the king, Tempest felt anything but blessed.

  She felt hunted.

  King Destin

  Destin caught the door before it closed and watched as Tempest practically sprinted down the hallway, away from his chambers, her silver dress trailing behind her like a satin extension of her periwinkle hair. She hadn’t been comfortable wearing such garments, that much was clear. He imagined removing the dress to make her more comfortable and couldn’t stop grinning.

  His new Lady Hound, as King Destin was beginning to think of her, was certainly an interesting woman. Tempest seemed both far more mature than her eighteen years and woefully underdeveloped. Perhaps that was because she’d grown up around coarse, brash men without the company of the ladies of the court. It meant she was simultaneously bold, fearful, certain, and unsure.

  It was a wonderful mix.

  Easy to manipulate.

  Destin hadn’t relished the idea of a woman joining the ranks of the Hounds. Indeed, until he’d witnessed Tempest’s Trial he had been sure she would be a failure—an example to the entire kingdom that women were not fit for such work.

  Now that he’d met Tempest properly and seen her in action, Destin was happy to rescind his previous assertion. For this particular young woman, at least. But it wasn’t simply that Tempest was clearly going to make a good Hound.

  He had much bigger plans for her.

  Destin clucked his tongue and stared down the darkened empty hallway. She’d entered the dragon’s lair and there was no escape for her now. It would have been better for her if Tempest had never crossed his path.

  A dark smile teased his lips as he leaned a shoulder against the doorway, musing over her reaction to him. All he’d done was kiss her hand and she’d practically ran from him. She was as skittish as a wild horse. What would she think if he told her of his plans to strip every piece of clothing from her fair body?

  A deep rumble of laughter spilled from his lips. His Lady Hound might faint outright for the first time in her life.

  In any other situation, he would have been offended that Tempest hadn’t outright accepted his advances. No, he should have been offended. Women fell at his feet all the time, for who wouldn’t want to engage in an affair with the king? And if anyone dared to refuse him, well…

  All it took was a prettily worded threat of imprisonment to change their minds.

  But it rarely—if ever—came to that.

  Destin wasn’t wanting for women companionship even as he entered his forties. His tawny hair held no trace of gray, his amber eyes had not deteriorated in the slightest, and the rest of his senses were just as keen. He was in good physical shape. There was no risk that he was going to drop dead from poor health any day or year or decade anytime soon. With his late wife having tragically passed away three years prior, any woman who caught Destin’s attention for long enough was in a prime position to become the new queen of Heimserya.

  Or so they thought.

  There weren’t many women who would turn down such an opportunity.

  Women were fickle, tactile creatures. Most you could ply with gifts and vague promises. But somehow, he knew Tempest would be different. She’d be a challenge, and his life had been boring of late.

  Slight irritation burned in his chest at how she’d fled from him. He would have liked to have played with her a little more. Sleep was still a long way off and he would’ve liked some company.

  He snorted and moved into his chambers. His Lady Hound had been raised by men and yet he had the feeling she didn’t know how to handle them. Part of his ire melted away at that thought.

  It had been a long time since he’d broken a woman in. The thought alone put a cheerful smile on his face. The young woman may have turned him down but little did she know she’d made the hunt all the more sweeter. Tempest had more potential than any other lady Destin had met over the past few years, and he wasn’t about to squander that by losing his temper at the first hurdle.

  He’d be calm and careful and plan his seduction of his Lady Hound properly. After all, it really was high time he married again. The kingdom longed for it.

  Closing the door to his chambers, Destin let out a satisfied sigh and wandered over to a mahogany table that stood beneath a stained-glass window portraying a stylized map of Heimserya. The table was varnished to a high shine; the king could almost see his reflection in it. He unstopped an intricately crafted carafe of blue crystal and poured out a liquid the color of molten gold into a matching crystal goblet. Fire whisky, from Talaga.

  One of the few good things to come out of that damn country.

  That wasn’t completely true.

  Destin took a sip of the fiery concoction, and his throat and belly heated as the spirits settled.

  The shifter lands had made his kingdom rich: fertile lands and large stores of minerals and oils were
just the icing on the cake. The Mimkia plant was the true treasure.

  All the country’s riches belonged to him now, but there were drawbacks. His grandfather had invaded the country and placed it under his rule nearly one hundred and thirty years ago. There had been quiet, prosperous peace for a few decades, but then the Talaga shifters rose up in rebellion. It had been quashed, of course, but forty years later there had been another one. Heimserya had once more won the fight, but it had been much harder than the first time.

  His lip curled. Now there were rumors of yet another uprising.

  Destin hated the shifters. He wanted them gone. If he had his way it was only a matter of time before they were. And yet the Talagans were just one of several problems he currently had to deal with.

  His spies had revealed to him the whisperings of discontent all across Heimserya in every village and town not within immediate walking distance of Dotae, the royal city. Even within the city, there were well-off merchants and members of court alike who were spreading rumors that Destin preferred they would not spread. The worst potential betrayal he’d heard of had been from within his Hounds; not even his most loyal guard dogs were immune to the rumblings of unhappiness that were spreading throughout the country.

  He needed to make a stand—and soon.

  It wouldn’t do to have so many people angry and dissatisfied with their king. It would only lend further credence to the Talagan rebellion, if Destin did not manage to extinguish the dissent before it grew too large. But even if he did eliminate the shifter threat—which Destin was certain he would do before the year’s end—that didn’t change the fact that his own people were unhappy. Many of them were too poor, over-worked, and under-fed. They needed a distraction from their dreary, pointless lives.