The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom, #1)(18)

Watch. Listen. Feel.

The latter had always served her best. Master Erik had called it the sixth sense—the unconscious part of the mind that took what all the other senses provided, then added something more. An intuition that could be tuned and honed into the most valuable sense of all.

So whether she heard a sound or saw a motion, Lara could not have said, but her attention snapped from the roofline to the opening under the house through which the stream flowed.

Guard.

Sure enough, as she stared into the darkness, her eyes eventually picked out the shape of a foot resting against a rock. A flash of irritation that they’d dare to watch her while she bathed was erased by the obvious necessity. Aren was the King of Ithicana, and she was the daughter of an enemy kingdom. Of course any avenue between them would be guarded.

After ensuring there were no other guards, she marked the sightlines. Searched for places that would give her cover. She glanced at her white shift resting in clear sight and eased into the stream that drained the pool, crawling on her elbows to keep her body beneath the bank. Warm water caressed her naked body as she crept down to the decorative bridge, which she used as cover to ease out, moving silently behind a bush with wide leaves.

From there, she made quick work of crossing the courtyard, coming up beneath the king’s window, which was slightly ajar.

Adjusting a frond to cover her arm, she stretched upward and pulled the window open wider.

Breathe.

Reaching up with both arms, she heaved herself through the small gap, the frame scraping over her naked ass as she flipped, landing silently on her feet inside the dimly lit room, knife blade clenched between her teeth.

She was met by Aren’s cursed enormous cat staring at her with golden eyes. Lara held her breath, but the animal only leapt onto the windowsill and slipped out into the courtyard.

Her gaze went immediately to the man sprawled across the large, canopied bed. Aren lay on his back, wearing only a pair of undershorts, the sheets tangled around his lower legs.

Knife gripped in her hand, Lara stepped carefully toward the bed, using one of the rugs to clean her feet. No need to leave her tiny footprints.

There’d been no doubt in her mind after seeing him naked earlier that he was an impressive specimen of a man, but this time, she had no fear of being caught staring. Twice her breadth in the shoulders, he was muscled in the way of an individual who pushed his body to the limits on a regular basis. Combat, judging from the scars, but his leanness spoke of an active life, not a man who sat back and ruled from a throne.

Circling the bed, she examined his face: high cheekbones, strong jaw, full lips, and black lashes that a harem wife would die for. Scruff marked the line of his chiseled jaw, and she had to curb the urge to reach out and run her finger along it.

Maridrina will starve before they ever see the benefit of this treaty.

His words echoed through her mind, and of its own volition, Lara’s hand snaked up, resting the edge of her blade against the steady pulse at his throat. It would be easy. One slice, and he’d bleed out in a matter of moments. He might not even wake long enough to sound the alarm. She’d be gone by the time they even realized he was dead.

And she would have accomplished nothing besides destroying the only chance Maridrina had for a better future.

Lara lowered her knife and made her way to the desk. Her heart skipped as she took in a polished wooden box of heavy parchment embossed with Ithicana’s bridge, edges gleaming with gilt. The very same stationery Serin had shown her that Aren used for official correspondence. She immediately searched for anything written on it that was directed to Maridrina. All she found were stacks of short notes on cheap paper, and she flipped through, taking in the reports from spies from every kingdom north and south. More reports from Northwatch and Southwatch islands, revenues, requirements for arms and soldiers and supplies.

Provisions for Eranahl . . .

Frowning, she eased the sheet of paper out from under a stack when the bed creaked behind her.

Twisting, her stomach plummeted as her gaze locked with Aren’s. He was propped up on one arm, shoulder muscles straining against the sleek golden brown of his skin.

“Lara?” His voice was rough, eyes blurry from narcotics, sleep, and . . . lust. His gaze roved over her naked body, then he rubbed his eyes as though not quite certain whether she was real or an apparition.

Do something!

Her training, drilled into her by her masters, finally kicked in. Either she followed through with what her standing there naked promised, or she found a way to get him back to sleep. The former was the safer strategy, but . . . But that wasn’t a card she was yet willing to play.

“How did you get in here?” His gaze was sharpening. If she didn’t act soon, he’d remember seeing her when he woke, and that was not part of her plan.

Believe that you are something to be desired, and he will believe it, too, the voice of Mezat, the sisters’ Mistress of the Bedroom, said, invading Lara’s thoughts. Desire is your weapon to wield as wickedly as any sword.

That had seemed so simple back on the compound. Much less so, now. But she had no other choice.

Slipping the vial from her bracelet, Lara covered her finger with the drug before lifting it to her mouth to coat her lips.

“Shh, Your Grace. Now is not the time for conversation.”

“A shame. You have such a pleasant way with words.”

“I’ve other talents.”