Risteard’s Unwilling Empress

Chapter 2-1

Chapter Two

Ristéard touched the blood seeping from the cut along his cheek with the back of his left hand. His eyes narrowed on the two men and one woman that were circling him. Shifting the blade in his right hand, he pressed the button hidden in the handle.

His left hand dropped, catching the second blade as it separated from the first. Swirling around when the woman snarled at him and stepped forward, he sliced the blade in his left hand across her neck before continuing the circle to run the blade in his right hand across the upper thigh of one of the males.

Satisfaction coursed through him when the male dropped to the ground as he sliced through muscle, tendons, and veins. The male grabbed at his leg in a desperate bid to stem the blood pouring from the gaping wound. Ristéard knew the strike had cut through the femoral artery and the assassin would bleed to death in minutes without immediate medical attention.

“Who sent you?” Ristéard demanded as he circled the other assassin.

The male just shook his head and grinned, never taking his eyes off of him. He jerked back, blocking the blow when the man thrust his arm outward. A low curse escaped him when the blade of the sword suddenly extended and cut a long, shallow line along his neck.

Cold fury burned through his veins before a chilly calm settled over him. He would wipe the smug grin off the bastard’s face. Stepping back, he slid the short, thin blade in his left hand into a sheath at his waist. Rotating the blade in his right hand, he countered another thrust as he stepped to the side.

“I will get the answers I want and when I am done, you will wish you had been the first one to die instead of your comrades,” Ristéard said in a voice devoid of emotion.

“You’ll be the one dead, Grand Ruler,” the male hissed as he circled to Ristéard’s right. “You should have kept both blades, you might have had a chance.”

“Who says I didn’t,” Ristéard murmured with satisfaction.

He swung the weapon in his hand in an arc in front of him. His finger slid over the second button on the handle, releasing dozens of tiny blades tipped with a slow activating poison. The weapon was one of his own inventions and had saved his life many times in the past.

Surprise lit the face of the other male as the deadly missiles pierced his chest, arms, and stomach. Ristéard knew he would have just a short time to extract the information he wanted before the male died. He had learned from his grandfather’s murder that it was best to eliminate the threat as quickly as possible. His grandfather had died trying to get information out of one of the men that had come to kill him.

The loud clatter of the sword echoed through the long, dark corridor of the palace. He watched as the man sank down to his knees, his gaze glued to Ristéard’s cold silver eyes. The poison was already beginning to paralyze the assassin’s muscles.

“I expected you to resist longer,” the man whispered hoarsely.

“You expected wrong,” Ristéard replied, stepping forward. He tilted his head as he ran the tip of his blade along the man’s cheek where the woman had cut him. “Who sent you?”

“I will never… tell… you,” the man hissed out.

Ristéard shook his head. “Wrong answer,” he said coldly, striking the man and knocking him onto his side on the floor. “I will have the answers to my questions before I let you die.”

His eyes flickered to the door that glowed brightly before collapsing inward. Three of his four personal guards, each one carefully selected by him, briefly stood in the entrance surveying the room before stepping inside. Each of them were covered in blood, some of it their own, most of it from whomever they had fought.

They had returned to Elpidios only to discover a trap had been set for them. He expected no less. He knew there were members of the council who thought he was not doing enough to save their world. The fact that the bastards were the reason it was dying was a moot point.

“Ristéard,” Andras called as he, Emyr, and Sadao moved cautiously forward.

“Where is Harald?” Ristéard asked, turning his attention back to the dying man beginning to writhe in front of him as the poison slowly moved through his body.

“Playing with his assassin,” Emyr replied, glancing at the male on the floor before studying the other two dead assassins. “It looks like there were nine of them this time.”

“Find Harald,” Ristéard ordered, turning his attention back to his attacker. “I will meet you in my office once I’m done here.”

Andras raised his hand and the other two men nodded. A faint smile curved Ristéard’s lips. He knew that Andras would not leave him alone again. Bending down, he rolled the writhing figure onto his back.

“Now, you will tell me what you know,” he said, raising his blade.