The two got Nic to his feet and roughly shoved him into the carriage.
Burrus gave him a tight smile. “We’ll continue our conversation later.”
The carriage door closed and Nic suddenly realized that the princess wasn’t alone in the carriage. Her brother, Ashur, sat next to her.
Nic’s mouth went dry. “Your grace.”
“It’s good to see you again, Nicolo,” Prince Ashur said, frowning as he assessed Nic’s condition. “Will you be all right?”
Nic hunched over in his seat, sure that at least two of his ribs were broken. He had a series of shallow stab wounds peppering his entire body, but the blood didn’t show against the red of his uniform. His face felt as if it had been through a meat grinder; his right cheek throbbed with every beat of his heart.
“I think so,” he managed. “Much gratitude to you both for your assistance.”
“You’re Cleo’s friend, aren’t you?” Amara asked.
“I . . . I am.” He spared a glance at Ashur, who studied him curiously.
“Friends since childhood,” the princess continued.
“Yes, that’s right.”
Had the prince shared with his sister their discussion from that fateful night? Did she know Ashur sought the Kindred, or was that his secret? It would be only one of many secrets the prince kept behind those gray-blue eyes.
They arrived at the luxurious villa which looked down upon a lush green meadow. The princess had two male servants assist Nic out of the carriage, helping him into the expansive home. After two handmaidens cleaned and bandaged his wounds, he was escorted to the villa’s courtyard, where he sat down gingerly on the patio. A servant handed him a goblet filled with peach juice, which he drank with enthusiasm.
The princess sat opposite Nic, and suddenly the gravity of the situation lay heavily on his shoulders. Being pampered by the princess herself had certainly helped get him closer to the royals than any other guard would get without great effort. If his body didn’t feel so broken and bruised, he might have actually thanked Burrus and Milo for facilitating this opportunity.
“Now, let’s get one thing straight,” Princess Amara said, breaking the silence. “I don’t believe for one moment you were set upon by thieves. Those two brutes did this to you—two against one. Would they have killed you had we not shown up when we did?”
“I believe that was their plan,” Nic admitted. “I’m very grateful that you intervened. I owe you my life.”
“Why would they want to hurt you?”
“Because they don’t like me.”
Amara laughed lightly at his honesty. “Yes, I believe their sentiment is now written all over your face.”
Ashur walked out and joined them, sitting in a chair next to Nic while Amara rose to receive a flower arrangement a servant brought into the courtyard.
“From King Gaius, who hopes you’re enjoying this villa,” the servant said. Amara nodded and waved her away.
“King Gaius,” Amara repeated the name as she brushed her hand over the beautiful orchids. “How kind of him, don’t you think, brother?”
“Very kind,” Ashur said dryly.
“He banishes us to a forgettable location outside the palace walls, then sends flowers as a sign of friendship. Does he think we’ll be wooed by this paltry offering?”
“I’m not quite sure what that man is thinking.” Ashur paused. “Perhaps our friend Nicolo might know.”
Nic straightened his back, which only made his ribs hurt more. “Believe me, I’m just a lowly palace guard. You might want to talk to Cronus if you want some inside information. He’s quite chatty.”
His description of the silently intimidating captain of the guards earned him a smile from the prince and a quizzical look from the princess. Perhaps she didn’t understand his sarcasm.
Nic wanted to speak with Ashur alone, but Amara was making that impossible.
Ashur leaned closer. “How are you feeling? Did they do any permanent damage?”
Being near the prince, remembering what had happened in that alleyway, was much more difficult than he’d anticipated. “I’ll heal.”