Read Online The Winter King by C. L. Wilson - Free Book Online Page A

about it. Dominating it all was a pair of flashing, storm gray eyes beneath dark arching brows.
    “Such a pretty face for such an ugly profession.”
    “I’m no assassin!” she protested. “I’m just a maid. I came to freshen your bath before you returned.”
    “Truly? But that way”—he tilted his head towards the door in the south wall—“does not lie my bath.” His brows lifted in mocking inquiry.
    She swallowed, and he could see the vein in the hollow of her throat pulsing like a fluttering bird caught in a snare as she tried to figure her way out of the lie. “I . . . er . . . I . . .” Stammering, openly nervous, she began to back away. Her eyes darted to the left and right, seeking a possible path of escape.
    Well, that was interesting. Wynter’s initial assumption underwent an immediate reversal. Whatever she was, this girl was no assassin. A professional would have planned an entrance, and exit, and a plausible excuse for her presence if she were caught. And Verdan would have chosen someone older and colder, someone who would have killed Wynter, died trying, or slit her own throat if she failed at both, just to keep from revealing who’d hired her.
    One other thing was also clear: whatever her reasons for being here, they had nothing to do with tending his bath.
    So, if not to kill him and not to serve him, why had she come?
    He nodded at Valik. “Search her.”
    She stood, trembling and white-faced, as Valik quickly patted her down. Valik’s shoulders stiffened when he reached the voluminous skirts. The girl lurched back, trying to keep Valik from revealing whatever he’d found.
    Gunterfys flashed. A single drop of scarlet blood welled at the girl’s throat and trickled down her skin in the shadow of the shining sword tip tucked just below her chin. Wynter didn’t believe she was an assassin, but then again, astonishing though the thought might be, he could be wrong.
    “Don’t move,” he advised. “My blade is very sharp, and Valik’s life far more important to me than yours. You wouldn’t want to make me nervous on his behalf.”
    She didn’t speak. She didn’t dare. If she even swallowed, she’d pierce her throat against his blade, and he could see she knew it.
    Slowly, watching for any sudden moves, Valik crouched down and reached once more for her skirts. His hand disappeared into what appeared to be a deep pocket hidden in the gray folds.
    Wynter wasn’t sure what he was expecting. A knife perhaps, or some sort of poison. Odd how disappointed he felt to see the jeweled comb and hairbrush, followed by a matching mirror. Obviously old, obviously of great value.
    “Not an assassin, then,” he murmured. “Just a common thief.” He pulled the razored tip of his sword back slightly.
    The storm gray eyes flashed. With his blade no longer pressed directly against her flesh, she’d rediscovered her courage. “I’m no thief! And even if I were, it would be better than being a cold, merciless killer like you!”
    Valik reached into her pockets again and retrieved a small, leather-bound book which he handed to Wynter.
    With his free hand, Wynter cracked open the book and leafed through the handwritten pages, frowning over the detailed sketches of plants and the instructions for their care. “I can understand the gold and jewels, but this? You would risk my wrath to steal this? A gardener’s journal?”
    The girl surprised them both. She leapt back, away from the tip of Wynter’s sword, and delivered a swift kick to Valik’s jaw that sent the steward sprawling against Wynter’s legs, knocking them both down. She started to lunge for the journal, which went skittering across the gleaming floor, but thought the better of it when Wynter freed himself from the tangle of Valik’s limbs and tossed aside his sword to advance on her with unmistakable determination. She spun and raced for the doors.
    He caught her just as her fingertips skimmed the brass door latch. One hand wrapped