KINGSLAYER

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Act 3 Chapter 132
ALEXANDER

Alexander offered Ermalai's advisor, Osip Shlykov, an innocent smile as they left the meeting at the same time. "You had some clever suggestions in there that the Czar brushed off. Care to run them by me?"

"Oh, you thought so?" Shlykov puffed out his chest. "If you think they are so clever, perhaps you will run them by His Majesty. Gods know he's taken a liking to you." He then began to list off his various ideas for Navrikan trade that Alexander did not give two shits to hear. He focused on tuning out the advisor's booming voice.

Compared to all the other men—he could never tell whether they actually believed in the Czar or simply kissed his ass because he kept them rich—Ermalai had indeed taken a liking to him in particular. Likely because he said what he needed to say, put in all the right ideas at the right times, and did exactly what he was told. Ermalai did not like to have equals, he wanted men who knew they were his inferiors. Sometimes Alexander feared it was trained into his blood. But not today.

"Steer clear of that passage," Alexander interrupted the advisor's steady stream of conversation. "The courtiers linger down there." He jerked his chin to the left. "This way has several rooms where no foreigners can overhear."

"Does it? I can never find my way around this damned place. One wrong step the other day and I was knee-deep in a pond. Inside."

"I hardly can either," he lied. "The architect of this palace was an idiot." When, in fact, the real idiot was any bastard who couldn't tell the floor from an indoor pool. It was still an inefficient and pompous design choice, though.

They were nearly there. The two men passed through a wide threshold into an indoor courtyard with a tiered fountain in the center. No guards. Alexander had monitored various wings of the palace for weeks to map together the posting of the guards until it was perfect in his mind. He had ten minutes until they arrived down the pathway he'd just arrived in. One way out.

He stood beside the fountain and looked down. The overflowing bowls were making the pool ripple. His warped reflection stared back at him as the only witness for what he was about to do. He smiled at himself. Though he may have been a terrible person, at least he was very attractive.

Alexander gripped the back of Shlykov's head and rammed his face onto the fountain's edge.

The bridge of his nose snapped, and Alexander felt its reverberation. A wail rose in Shlykov's throat, but Alexander wrapped his hand around the older man's throat to pull him up. "We're going to play a game. The objective is to stay as quiet as you can. Think you can do that?"

Shlykov looked at him with newfound terror and hatred. He was shaking all over. "Good," Alexander said, and rammed his knee between the man's legs. A groan escaped Shlykov's lips as he toppled over, knees clasped together. "I said quiet." Alexander kicked him again for good measure.

While his target was down, he unsheathed his hidden dagger. This had to be messy. That was his only order.

He cut off Shlykov's left hand first, not bothering to be slow. The pain would be torturous enough. Then he got to work on his victim's writhing legs, shredding muscle until it flopped with Shlykov's flailing, completely exposed. The first stab to the stomach was when the man could take no more. He parted his lips to let out a horrible scream, but Alexander squashed a hand over his face. "Looks like you lost."

The blade gleamed in streaks of silver as it rose and fell each time. He stabbed the chest and torso eighteen times—his lucky number—and just to be certain the man died, he hauled him up and threw his top half facedown in the fountain.

He had finished his work with five minutes to spare. Being sure not to step in any puddles of blood, he strode out and left unseen to swap his gory outfit with the clothing he stashed inside the secret passage. Behind him, the water in the fountain was tainted to crimson.