Assassin of Curses: (The Coren Hart Chronicles Book 3) by Jessie Eaker (best novels in english TXT) 📕

But the great surprise was that the young lord was already there waiting for me. His face was expressionless as I entered, but his eyes went up like his face wanted to smile, but wasn’t quite sure how to unlock the expression.

He indicated the place across from him. “Thank you for coming.”

The guards took their places by the door, and I went to the only other place at the table. I couldn’t help but notice there were no servants visible. Usually, the nobility liked to show off their wealth by having their staff line up against the wall and then fall all over themselves serving you. I had to admit, it was nice to see a noble restrain themselves.

“Thank you for having me, Lord Luoyangei,” I said with a polite smile and a bow of the head. “You look well this evening.”

“As you do you... look well, I mean, very healthy in fact... glowing actually... really pretty.” He blushed. “I like your combs too.” He clearly had no idea how to talk to me.

I looked down to hide my smile. “My lord is too kind.”

And as surely as if I had put a knife in it, that’s where the conversation died. We stared at each other for at least three awkward minutes. I never realized that three minutes could last so long. I glanced down occasionally, playing the bashful innocent, hoping he would take the lead. But nothing happened, except for the beads of sweat on his brow.

Thankfully a servant appeared from a doorway in the back, bearing a tray with our soups. The young man straightened as we were served—the gentle tinkling of the dishes loud in the room.

I had to help him out.

And then we spoke at the same time.

Twice.

We laughed nervously, but it seemed to break the tension.

And for the first time since I’d met him. He smiled. I got the impression it was not a frequent thing. And for some reason, the smile warmed me.

“You go first. Please,” he insisted.

I nodded. “I was just going to say that the soup is quite good.”

“Ah, yes, my master of the kitchens is excellent. Although, I would prefer he added a bit more salt. But he insists too much salt weakens the constitution.”

And so the conversation went—sort of like starting a fire with damp kindling—I would give a spark, it would want to light, but then quickly fade. Oh, but the sparks—those brief insights into his life were fascinating. The quickness of the time took me unawares.

“Go with me on a ride tomorrow,” he asked as our time came to a conclusion.

That was not exactly what I hoped for. I needed to find out more about this fortress of a manor. But I had to go with what was offered.

“Of course,” I answered.

Early in the morning, we rode out. His escort and mine were swapped for two mounted soldiers—one male and one female. I couldn’t help but smile. It meant I had graduated from just someone, to a woman he wanted to make comfortable with him.

We hadn’t been traveling long when we stopped at a tiny house just outside the city’s gates. An old woman came out to meet him, and they gave each other a warm hug. They exchanged pleasantries over the weather, her aching hip, and how she missed her husband. He nodded as she talked, seeming to hang on every word. He then pulled out a tiny bundle, the size of a few coins wrapped in a white kerchief, and tied with a ribbon. He placed it in her hand and folded the fingers over it. He then thanked her.

When he remounted and turned away, he explained she was the widow of his father’s master at arms. The man had died while protecting his father. So he visited her every week and gave her a few coins. It was the least he could do for the years of service the man had given his family.

We continued along a well-worn path, but then he turned onto a trail less taken. We chatted along the way. Compared to the previous evening, he was a chatterbox, explaining about the path, the woods, his childhood visits. Dreadfully boring stuff—only it wasn’t boring. The light in his eyes when he spoke and the gentle smile which occasionally curved his lips were more deadly than my sharpest dagger. I realized I was in mortal danger and entering territory an assassin should never enter.

I was starting to like him.

At mid-morning, we emerged onto a hilltop meadow, with woods to one side, but otherwise grass all around and an excellent view of the countryside below us. A blanket had been spread in the meadow’s center, and as we rode up, a servant began to set out a light lunch. I couldn’t help but smile. Why that little charmer. Someone had to be helping him.

The servant withdrew, as did the guards with the horses, to a safe distance. To my surprise, he began to serve me himself. While I appreciated the honor, he was seriously out of protocol. I was merely being presented as a concubine, not a full wife. He had no reason to court me like this.

Mid-way through our meal—as he chatted about how the crops were doing, how the harvest looked, and his plans for a new irrigation system—I noticed there was a knife placed between us. It had been used to cut a few vegetables. I looked down at the thing like a monster. It was not exceedingly sharp, but would do a good job of entering a man’s body. I could easily jab it in his throat, and he would die soundlessly. I could then quietly ride away. My hand itched to take it.

And at the same time, I was revolted at the thought.

I tucked