Page 249 of Psycho Pack
Nikolai's eyes track around the room, his sunglasses slipped low enough that I can see how damaged his eye is from the scar. I'd be surprised if he can even see out of it. Hell, it might be a prosthetic. Perhaps that's the real reason for his glasses and not the snow glare after all.
"I jest," he says with an appeasing chuckle that doesn't match the steel in his eyes as they lock on me. "Just a little Vrissian humor. An acquired taste, is it not?"
"Some more easily acquired than others," I answer flatly.
"You should be thanking me, really," Nikolai says with a snort, sinking back into his chair. "This monster I captured was headed straight for Surhiira. Some sort of single-minded determination. Lucky I intercepted it when I did, no?"
I study his scarred face, trying to determine if he's lying. But there's no deception in his eyes. Just that usual gleam of barely contained madness.
"Why would it be heading to Surhiira?" Plague asks, his voice carefully controlled.
Nikolai shrugs, looking as if he's suddenly grown bored of the subject. "Haven't the faintest idea. But who knows? Perhaps itwas divine timing. I may even be able to make use of it before our upcoming conquest." He pauses, fixing us with a pointed stare that belies the cold and calculating truth behind his bawdy charm. "Assuming you come through with your army."
"We will," Plague says firmly.
I watch as Nikolai rises from his chair, that perpetual smirk still playing on his scarred lips. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with one of my knives.
Everyone's on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It does.
The door bursts open and a Surhiiran messenger stumbles in, her pristine white uniform standing out like a beacon in this dingy establishment. Weapons appear as if by magic. Nikolai's gaudy golden revolver, my own blade, Thane's gun. Even Ivy's hand disappears beneath her dress, no doubt reaching for that glass dagger she's grown so fond of.
The guard's eyes go wide behind her veil as she takes in the arsenal suddenly pointed in her direction. Her hands shoot up, trembling slightly.
"Prince Hamsa," she says, her voice wavering as she bows deeply to Plague. "I have an urgent message, from the queen."
I don't lower my blade. Neither does anyone else. We've all survived too long to trust coincidences.
"Speak," Plague commands.
The guard straightens but keeps her hands raised. "An official from Reinmich has made contact. They're... they're willing to discuss the prisoner exchange."
The air seems to crackle with electricity.
I watch as understanding dawns on everyone's faces.
This could be our chance to get Azarel back.
To finally have some real leverage against the Council.
Nikolai is the first to lower his weapon, that unsettling laugh echoing through the bar. His men follow suit, weaponsdisappearing as quickly as they appeared. "Well, well," he purrs, sauntering over to Plague and clapping him on the shoulder with enough force to make the prince stiffen. "Divine timing, indeed."
It's a deliberately disrespectful gesture.
The kind of casual familiarity no one would dare show royalty.
A power play, pure and simple.
I have to admire his audacity, even as my fingers itch to carve that smirk off his face.
Plague remains perfectly still, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the slight twitch in his temple that betrays his carefully controlled rage. Whiskey shifts closer to him, practically vibrating with the need to intervene as his lip curls back in a low growl, but he manages to hold himself back.
"We'll be in touch," Nikolai drawls, already heading for the door. Despite his carefree demeanor, he knows exactly how much pressure he can apply.
And when to take it off.
He waves his revolver in the air haphazardly, his blood-red coat swirling around him like a cape. "Try not to spill any Reinmichian blood without me."