Page 72 of Marked
“I’d assumed you met,” Paul said.
Of course he had, I assumed the same. Queen Titania had a borderline obsession with the hunters and oversaw everything. Why would she avoid Ace?
Unless…
Unless they’d already met and Ace lied, or he didn’t work for her at all.
“You worked for the king,” I said.
He glanced down at me and grunted.
“And he transferred you to work for his wife. Are you still…”
“I asked for the transfer, Mouse. I no longer work for the king. He wasn’t pleased. And now I wish I’d stayed in town and waited to meet her.” Ace continued to speak right into my ear, his breath ruffling my hair and tickling the sensitive of skin of my neck. “I probably would’ve received a warmer welcome.”
I jerked my elbow back hard and caught him in the gut.
He grunted and staggered backward.
“If you think you’d get warmth from that woman…” Paul jerked his chin in the direction of the queen and her guards, now heading out of the courtyard in the opposite direction. “Then you really haven’t been paying attention to any of the rumors.”
“Why bother?” Ace asked. “Those same rumours said all sorts of things about you and your sister and so far, the only thing that appears true is the aiming stuff.”
“Are you trying to get me to kill you?” I asked.
He winked. “Is it working?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re a stubborn hermit. So what? We’re here to do a job.”
Annoyance bubbled up inside me, and I clenched my hands into tight fists, itching to strike. I debated the satisfaction of punching him squarely in the throat when a sudden blur caught my attention from behind. My reflexes took over and with a swift sidestep past Ace, I grabbed hold of the thief’s shirt. Thread-bare fabric tore beneath my grasp. With a forceful thrust, I slammed the thief against the cold stone wall. I closed the distance between us, pressing the edge of my dagger to their exposed neck. The tension in the air became palpable. My hearing buzzed with adrenaline.
No taller than five feet, thin as a reed, the youth’s eyes widened. They had an androgenous look—a mixture of both feminine and masculine features. How old were they? Ten? Twelve?
“You should know better than to target three armed people cloaked in black hiding in an alley,” I said.
“Phaan you,” the pickpocket spat.
I shook them, careful to not puncture their neck with the sharp edge of my blade. “What did you take?”
“Nothing.”
I pressed the dagger into their skin.
“Front pocket,” they yelped.
Keeping my dagger at their neck, I used my free hand to pull a billfold from the youth’s front pocket—all black leather. I held it up to Ace’s face. “This yours?”
He snatched it from my hand.
“Did you take anything else?” I asked the thief.
“Not from you, you crazy bitch.”
I glanced at Ace, who just finished patting himself down. He nodded. The youth told the truth.
I didn’t need to ask Paul. He’d never let a pickpocket sneak up on him. Instead, I turned my attention back to the pickpocket. “Is Allen still running the streets?”