Prince of Spies

chapter One

King Lucan’s guards shoved Nico into the ornate room. They had manhandled him from the street to the guardhouse, to the dungeon and now here, to King Lucan’s private chambers. Nico knew being brought so quickly before the reclusive king of Skithdron meant one of his network of spies had either been compromised or sold out. Nico vowed to discover which at the earliest opportunity and mete out any punishment that might be necessary. Selling out the Royal Spymaster of Draconia was grounds for death and it would come, swift and certain, if such was the case.

Nico searched the room as the guards shoved him roughly inside. He couldn’t control the jolt of surprise when he caught sight of the poor creature chained at the foot of Lucan’s large bed. It was a girl clothed in rags, with deep, dark circles under eerily familiar, luminous green eyes. She was mere skin and bones, clinging desperately to life, and while he couldn’t be absolutely certain of her identity, Nico began to suspect.

“Do you like my little witch?” Lucan asked from a shadowed corner of the grand room. Nico cursed inwardly, realizing he’d gazed too long at the bedraggled waif, betraying his interest. “You can look…” Lucan moved into the light wagging one bony finger at him, “…but don’t touch.”

Nico shifted his gaze to the king and was shocked by what he saw. Always a tall, thin and gangly man, King Lucan seemed almost snake-like now, with dark, scaly patches on the small amount of skin Nico could see. Lucan wore ornate robes of state that covered most of his body, hanging off his thin form as he paced and continued to rant.

“The witch’s power is lost if she’s not virgin.”

Nico tried not to choke on his startled laughter. If Lucan truly believed such drivel, he was crazier than they’d thought!

But then, perhaps belief in that little lie was the only thing saving the girl from even worse treatment. Rape was not above Lucan. Nico’s spy network kept him well informed about Lucan’s perverted entertainments. It was well-known he found pleasure in ghastly forms of torture all civilized lands had long banned.

Nico tried not to look too interested in the girl, but her desperate green eyes drew him. She was no doubt suffering, chained and ill-treated by the despot who was only steps away from utter madness.

“I hear your King Roland fornicates with dragons. There are even rumors he drinks their blood, thereby gaining some of their power.” Lucan’s crazy eyes sidled along Nico’s form, making his skin itch. That cinched it. This bastard was completely insane and poorly informed, if he wasn’t just playing some game. Perhaps Nico could use it to his advantage.

“Is that what you’ve done, Lucan? Are you f*cking skiths now and drinking their blood?”

In a flash, Lucan went from mild questioner to irate combatant. His eyes…changed. They went from human brown to slitted gold as he hissed.

“I ask the questions! Not you! Not you!”

Lucan seemed to consciously rein in his temper, breathing in deep, hissing breaths as he turned away. Nico couldn’t help watching the girl while Lucan’s back was turned. There was something about her that drew him. She was in bad shape, her hair lank and an indeterminate, unhealthy color. Her skin was sallow, pale beyond the norm and covered with little burns, as if she had been tortured with skith venom.

Cringing inwardly, Nico realized it was more than likely the poor creature had indeed suffered such inhuman torture. He would put nothing past Lucan.

Only her eyes seemed to reflect the life still clinging to her pathetically thin body. Malnourished and weak, she had heavy chains manacling both hands and feet. Her sack of a dress was stained and burned in several places—another byproduct of skith venom torture, no doubt.

The rising fire in him warned of slipping control. His dragon side wanted nothing more than to flame everyone in the room, free the girl and whisk her off somewhere to get cleaned up and eat her fill. He wanted to take care of her and make it so no one would ever hurt her again. He wanted to hold her in his arms and stroke her delicate shoulders, protecting her from all harm.

It was a startling thought.

Nico was not normally a sentimental man. It was hard to hold on to the softer emotions in his line of work. As Spymaster to the king of Draconia, he’d seen all too often how some people would sell out their own mothers for the right amount of coin. He’d been disillusioned early in his chosen profession, and the more tender emotions hadn’t plagued him since.

Until now.

Until this poor little waif with the emerald-green eyes.

Lucan turned back to him, seemingly under control once more. His eyes had reverted to human brown, but there was a wild sparkle in them that told Nico this man was far from in control of whatever evil modifications he’d made to his being.

“Let’s try this again. What are you doing in my land?”

Nico eyed the unstable king defiantly. “Sightseeing.”

Lucan nodded over at one of his burly guards and a moment later, the man’s fist was planted deep in Nico’s gut. It took a lot to injure someone of his gifts, but that had definitely hurt. Nico knew he was in for a long evening.

“You’ll have to do better than that. I know you’re a spy for the Draconian bastard. In fact, I know you’re one of his senior agents.” Lucan trailed a sharp, discolored fingernail over Nico’s jaw as his guards held him tightly around his upper arms.

Nico wondered if Lucan wasn’t just playing with him. If Lucan truly didn’t realize who he was, Nico might yet live through this session. Even better, if Lucan didn’t know who he truly was, this was an excellent opportunity to gather firsthand information about the rogue king.

Too bad he couldn’t just kill Lucan outright and end their troubles. But Nico knew all too well that getting rid of Lucan now would only cause more problems. First, the skirmishes on the borders had been repelled and an uneasy peace existed, though both sides were poised for an explosion that could come at any time. Second, there was no clear succession in Skithdron. They could remove Lucan only to have someone even worse take the helm.

No, Lucan had to fall in battle, do himself in, or be taken down by his own people. Draconia couldn’t be seen to have any part in his demise unless it was by fair means. So that left Nico’s hands tied—both literally and figuratively. He had to take whatever Lucan dished out here this evening and learn what he could. Only then would Nico make his escape, and he’d take the poor creature with the sad eyes with him.

It went on for hours. Lucan asked questions that were increasingly erratic and Nico refused to answer a single one. Each refusal earned him a blow of some kind and as the night wore on, Lucan produced vials of skith venom to add to the torture. Through it all, the skinny girl watched silently, her expression only showing sympathy when Lucan’s back was turned. Nico tried not to look at her, but found himself stealing glances when Lucan couldn’t see, using her luminous face to keep him grounded in the here and now as pain threatened to overwhelm him.

Nico learned a great deal about Lucan in those hours and made some enlightening self-discoveries as well. He learned how much pain he could withstand and just what it might take to break him. Fortunately, it never came to that point. The massive reserves of dragon strength and magic in his soul saw him through the worst of it.

Finally Lucan halted the torture, wiping Nico’s blood from his hands onto a clean white towel as Nico dropped to the floor, fading fast. Dimly, he heard Lucan’s final words as he swept from the room.

“Heal him, little bitch.” Lucan threw the soiled towel at the girl. “And clean up this mess. I can’t sleep here with his blood stinking up the place. I’ll be back for more in the morning.”

The last thing Nico thought as his vision dimmed was that if this was any indication of what the poor waif had been through at Lucan’s hands, Nico didn’t know how she had survived.



She said nothing as Lucan stalked from the room, though she was grateful for the reprieve. Having him take his perversions to some other chamber for the night was like a gift. Since Lucan’s change, she’d been made to witness all kinds of disgusting acts that were inhuman as well as deadly. Only her healing powers had saved some of Lucan’s victims, and some had begged for death. Lucan sometimes obliged, when the whim took him.

She knew he wasn’t stable. Any little thing could send him into a rage. When that happened, she often feared for her own life, even though he’d been cautioned by the North Witch not to kill her.

That evil woman was to blame for her current circumstances. The North Witch, Loralie, had told Lucan to keep her close, exposing her healing gift to him. Loralie had changed Lucan into the half-human creature he was now. It was Loralie, too, who cautioned him not to kill the young healer and warned Lucan how rare the healing gift was. She foresaw another healer would not be found again within the borders of Skithdron. Loralie was the reason she was subjected to Lucan’s perversions, tortured when the mood struck him and kept chained to his bed.

But oddly, Loralie was also to thank for Lucan leaving her sexually unmolested. The North Witch had told the mad king that the healing magic would be forever lost should anyone breach her maidenhead. The old magic, Loralie claimed, would depart as soon as she was no longer virgin. For that reason alone, Lucan hadn’t raped her. He’d tortured her, played with her flesh, hurt her in ways that didn’t bear thinking about, but he hadn’t taken her virginity. For that small boon, she supposed she should thank the witch, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

The witch was back in the north now with her master, King Salomar. She’d done the sickening work of merging Lucan with the skiths and departed as quickly as possible. The girl was left to heal the recurring injuries of a body never meant to hold two such diametrically opposed essences in one space. She figured Lucan would die a slow and agonizing death without her constant healing treatments and almost wished he’d go too far and kill her one day so he would die too.

But somehow she couldn’t find the courage to goad him into that final, irrevocable act. Something inside her fought to hang on. Some kernel of hope remained. Hope that somehow she would get a chance at escape or a chance to kill Lucan herself. Either would do.

She struggled to her feet, knowing she would have to clean up first, then see to the fallen warrior. After she gave him her healing energy, she would be too weak to move for several hours. If the room was dirty when Lucan returned, she would pay a heavy price, so she scrubbed the blood away, cleaning in a familiar rhythm. She’d been ordered to do this before. She knew what was expected.

After over an hour of scrubbing, the room was clean and everything put back to rights within the length of her chain tether. Only then did she settle by the fallen man, stroking back locks of long, dark hair from his chiseled face. He would be badly scarred without her help. As it was, she didn’t know how much energy she could give him. She was dangerously weak. Lucan kept her that way so she wouldn’t try to escape—or if she did manage to escape, she wouldn’t be able to get far.

Settling next to the man, she saw to his worst wounds first. She sent little pulses of her energy, rationing it as best she could, to make him as strong as possible before her own energy gave out. He was a brave man. She’d never seen one of Lucan’s victims defy the crazy king so long or so well. This foreign warrior impressed her and stirred a womanly interest she’d thought long dead.

After watching Lucan’s bed sport over the past months, she never thought she would feel any kind of attraction for a man again. Lucan was brutal. She didn’t know if she could trust a man not to turn into a beast like Lucan if she ever gave one the chance. Plus, her virginity was the only thing protecting her. If she lost that, she lost everything—her power, her tenuous position and most probably her life.

The man groaned as she touched the savage wounds on his torso. Skith venom burns ate away at the skin, causing agony unmatched by anything else. She knew it from painful, firsthand experience. She had skith venom burns all over her body thanks to Lucan. It was one of his ways to remind her of her position and warn her not to cross him.

The warrior’s skin was hot and feverish, but her healing gift confirmed he was in prime health aside from the torture he’d just undergone. She didn’t understand it, but like her, his normal body temperature seemed to be a bit higher than most other humans she’d treated.

His warmth was comforting as her strength waned. He’d gone from pain-laden unconsciousness to more normal sleep while she sent healing energy to his battered form. At least she’d been able to do that much for him, allowing him to rest easy before the next round with Lucan. The injured man would need whatever she could give. So thinking, she concentrated the last of her remaining strength in one final, powerful burst, sending it to the terrible burns on his face. He had such a strong, handsome face, she thought it a shame to have it scar.

Slipping into oblivion, she settled down at his side, her hand over his heart, her head resting on his shoulder as she unconsciously snuggled closer to his warmth. Just before the darkness claimed her, a stray thought drifted across her mind. She had never been so comfortable in all the years since being stolen from her home. For just this short moment, she was finally at peace.