To Seduce An Assassin (The Omaja Series Book 2) Read online

  When she arrived in the dining room downstairs, Yavi was already there waiting for her. Graciella smiled, eager to spend an entire evening alone with him.

  He bowed stiffly to her as she approached. “Good evening, Miss Stovy.”

  “Good evening, Emperor,” she returned with a little curtsy.

  He picked up a bottle of wine from the table. “I had the steward bring up a bottle of Nandalan Fahrshir that was stored in the cellars here when we moved in. It’s at least thirty years old.”

  “Oh.” Graciella tried to see the label on the bottle, but it was scribbled in Nandalan. “What’s Fahrshir?”

  “A small grape that grows along the western slopes. It makes a rich, complex red wine. It goes well with Talún.” He glanced at it with a half-smile. “Not that we could ever afford Fahrshir at my family’s farm. I only know how well it pairs with Talún from the dinner the servants had laid out in Thakur’s tent the night we defeated him in Villeleia.”

  “I can’t wait to taste it.”

  “Yes, let’s pour some now.” He popped the cork and filled two goblets, then handed her one of them. He raised his, meeting her gaze. “To my gracious houseguest. Thank you for preparing my mother’s special dish.”

  Graciella raised her glass, feeling self-conscious. “I hope I did it justice.”

  He touched his goblet to hers. “From the aroma of it, I’m sure you did.”

  She sipped the wine. Its flavor was similar to that of delicious tart cherries, dried strawberries, and pomegranates. “Oh, it’s really good.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, licking his lips. “Shall we eat now? I’m looking forward to trying your Talún.”

  “Yes, by all means.”

  He set his wine down and seated her in her chair, then directed an order in Nandalan at Tinni, who stood by the kitchen door waiting.

  Kitran emerged from the kitchen with a platter of the lentil loaf, a large dish of roasted garlic and rosemary potatoes, and a bowl of mushy peas. She and Graciella exchanged a brief glare as Kitran set down the peas, but at least she didn’t dump them on her, so Graciella considered it to be an improvement in relations. Graciella had given her the evening off from helping to prepare dinner since Wilten was becoming so efficient and useful, and to give herself and Kitran a break from being stuck together in such close quarters.

  Yavi cut a slice of the Talún and placed it on her plate. “This looks exactly like my mother’s Talún.”

  Graciella was relieved. “Oh, good,” she smiled.

  §

  No, not good. Yavi didn’t want to fall in love tonight. He didn’t want to lose his head and heart to the exquisite creature sitting at his right, with her charming innocence, her youthful optimism, and her undeniable talent in the kitchen.

  He cut himself a slice then took the bowl of potatoes she passed to him, realizing what a perfect pairing roasted potatoes was going to be with Talún. He wasn’t sure what the green purée was in the next bowl that came around, but it smelled like sweet peas.

  “What is this?” He served himself a hefty pile of it.

  “Mushy peas. It’s a popular dish in my homeland.”

  He ate a forkful of it. Garlicky-green sweetness filled his palate. “Delicious.”

  “I hope it goes well with the lentil loaf.”

  He swallowed the peas, took a deep breath, then ate a bite of Talún. The flavor was so familiar and perfect, tears stung his eyes as memories of his mother flooded him. He looked away and swallowed, taking a sip of wine to try to clear away the lump in his throat.

  Graciella finished chewing her first bite of it as well. “How close is this to your mother’s?”

  The lump wouldn’t clear. He forcibly blinked back the tears, and when he spoke, his voice came out raspy. “Very.”

  “Oh, good.” She beamed, a dimple appearing in her right cheek. “I’m so glad.”

  Yavi couldn’t look at her, and he couldn’t continue eating either, until he had a grip on himself. He took a long drink of his wine, then poured himself another goblet full and drank more.

  “Speaking of Thakur’s meal in his tent,” she said, “sometime I would love you to tell me the full story of your battle with him. How on earth you and Yajna faced down two armies with only a few men. I only know a few details from what Jiandra’s told me.”

  Yes. Good. Focus on telling a story, Yavi, not on the way her delectable breasts are bulging over the top of her bodice. He ate a bite of potato, perfectly roasted with crispy brown edges and fragrant with rosemary, then slipped in another bite of Talún before he could overthink it and get emotional again. “We did it with the help of your sister. Without her healing powers, both Yajna and I would be dead on that battleground. We owe her our lives.”

  “I owe Jiandra my life as well, although not for her healing powers. If she and Elio hadn’t taken over the responsibility of running the farm and raising me and Rafe when our parents were killed, we probably would have ended up in an orphanage.”

  The image of her being raised in an orphanage disturbed him. He took another long drink of wine and met her gaze, even though staring at her beautiful eyes was a dangerous proposition. “How old were you when your parents were killed?”

  “I was seven.”

  Sorrow pierced him. “So young,” he murmured. “Do you remember them very well?”

  “Only a little. I remember my mother’s cooking, my father’s swordplay lessons. And I remember how in love they were with one another.”

  He returned his attention to his meal in an effort to break her spell over him. He was able to enjoy the Talún without choking up now, so he counted that as a victory. He finished the last few bites of what he had on his plate and cut himself another slice.

  “How old were you when you lost your mother, Yavi?”

  The way she said his name with her smoothly slurring Villeleian accent always sent a bit of a shiver up his spine. “Fifteen. I was lucky to have her twice as many years as you had your mother.”

  “What was she like?”

  “Quiet, gentle, delicate. My father adored her. He was never the same after she was gone.”

  “So your parents were deeply in love too?”

  He smiled. “Yes.”

  “I think that is a rare thing.”

  “I do too.” He caught himself mesmerized by her face and looked down at his plate.

  “Do you believe people should marry for love?”

  How did we get on the topic of love? Damn it. He finished off his second goblet of wine and poured another before answering. “To be honest, I haven’t given the topic of marriage much thought.”

  “You haven’t?” She frowned, causing her lower lip to pout a little.

  Tejeshwar help him, he wanted to lean across the corner of the table and lick that lip with the tip of his tongue. “Well…no.”

  “Don’t you want to marry someday?”

  Marry? Of course. But how could he explain to her that it probably wasn’t in the cards for him to do so?

  “Yavi,” she chided, “surely you aren’t planning to die an old bachelor.”

  He had to deflect this line of questioning, and fast. He faked a chuckle. “No, of course not. I’ve just been too busy learning to be an emperor to give much thought to marriage.”

  “Well, I think about marriage all the time.” She ate another bite of Talún. “Bless Zehu, this recipe is good! I see why it was your favorite of your mother’s.”

  He decided to shift the focus to her thoughts on marriage, not his. “Do you believe people should marry for love?”

  “Yes, no question.”

  “Many young women would disagree with you. They would hope for a husband with wealth.”

  “I was raised on a farm, and I’ve never been accustomed to wealth. I don’t need a lot of servants or fancy dresses and jewels to be happy.”

  He chuckled, sincerely this time. “Neither do I, and I’m the emperor of Nandala.”

  “No need of dresses and
jewels, you say?”

  He grinned. “Nope. None at all.” He ate a mouthful of Talún, realizing he was starting to feel the wine just a bit.

  “That’s good, because to make a dress big enough for you would require a hefty amount of fabric.” She giggled and sipped her wine.

  He glanced down at himself. “Could you imagine fitting this body into a corset?”

  “No,” she laughed, shaking her head. “Nor would a corset do you much good—your body is hard as a rock. I doubt it can be squeezed much.”

  You’re right about me being hard as a rock, but I can still be squeezed, he joked to himself. He couldn’t resist asking, “How do you know my body is hard, Miss Stovy?”

  “I felt it last night through your shirt, when you hugged me.”

  He took another swig of Fahrshir and cut another slice of Talún. Stop this, Yavi. You’re flirting and having too much fun. It can only lead to regret. “Be quiet,” he murmured aloud to his conscience as he laid the slice on his plate.

  “Quiet?”

  He darted a glance at her face, then pretended to be teasing her. “Yes, be quiet, Miss Stovy. You’re complimenting me too much.”

  “It’s not a compliment; it’s the truth. I know what muscles feel like.”

  “Oh, you do?” He raised an eyebrow in mock disdain.

  She laughed. “My brother has them too. Well, I guess both brothers do at this point, since Rafe has grown so much.”

  He noticed her wine was getting low. “Would like more Fahrshir?”

  “Yes, please. It tastes wonderful with the Talún, just as you said it would.”

  He poured her another goblet, then picked up the Talún platter. “More Talún to go with it?”

  “Yes, a small slice. I’m saving room for dessert.”

  “What did our talented chef prepare for dessert, pray tell?” He served her a piece of Talún, then turned his attention back to finishing his third slice.

  “Baked egg-and-cream custard with nutmeg on top. It’s one of my specialties. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven when you taste it.”

  Indeed. Or gone straight to hell, at this rate. “Yavi in Yahvi,” he mused.

  “Yavi in Yavi? What does that mean?”

  “Yavi in heaven. My name means ‘heaven’ in Old Nandalan.”

  “Oh. That’s interesting.”

  “Yes, although the concept hasn’t really played out in my life, I’m afraid.”

  “There is still time,” she assured him confidently.

  “Perhaps.”

  “What does Yajna’s name mean? Does it also have a meaning?”

  “Yes. It means worship.”

  She smiled. “Well, I know one person who worships him.”

  He feigned a defensive tone. “No I don’t!”

  She laughed heartily. Yavi knew he should stop joking and enjoying her company so much, sober up, and claim he was tired and needed to go to bed soon.

  Instead, he kept eating, drinking, and laughing with her, squelching all the old, familiar voices of protest.

  Eight

  It was late when they finished off their custards, and just as his dinner companion had predicted, Yavi thought he’d died and gone to heaven when he tasted her dessert’s creamy sweetness. He had also finished off an entire bottle of Fahrshir with relatively little help from her, and was maintaining very thin control over his lustful thoughts. He wanted to carry her upstairs, unhook her too-tight bodice, and fill his hands and mouth with her lovely breasts.

  For a start.

  He cleared his throat and pushed away from the table, then pulled out her chair and helped her to her feet. He brought her fingers to his lips for a light kiss. “Thank you for an exceptional meal, Graciella.”

  “I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” she smiled.

  “Yes, and—” He forced himself to say the words. “It’s getting late, and…I’m very tired. I hope you don’t mind if I retire early?”

  Her beautifully disappointed expression told him she did mind, but she recovered quickly. “No, of course not.”

  “Shall I escort you to your room, then?” He was already breaking one of the rules he’d made the night before, but it was better than taking her to his study for more alcohol and fewer inhibitions. And he certainly wasn’t going to send her off to her empty wing alone.

  She accepted the arm he offered. “Yes, thank you.”

  He escorted her up the long staircases and walked with her down the vacant hallways to her room, praying her fireplace would be ablaze and there would be absolutely no excuse to go inside with her. When he opened the door, the warmth and glow of the fire was intact. He didn’t know whether to rejoice or cry. “Well, here we are,” he announced brusquely.

  “Yes.” She looked up at him, not releasing his arm.

  He peeled her fingers off his shirt, then folded them up and patted them before pushing them away. “I bid you good night, Miss Stovy.”

  “Oh, ah, good night.” The forlorn look in her hazel eyes ripped a dagger through his heart.

  “Just summon the guards if you need anything.”

  “Thank you. I will.”

  “Thank you again for dinner.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Her pleasure was one thing he did not want to think about at the moment. He backed up. “Until morning, then.”

  “Until morning,” she replied, watching as he turned to go.

  He walked away, fast, and didn’t look back.

  §

  There was only one explanation for his hurry to rid himself of her and rush off to his own quarters, Graciella thought.

  Her name was Kitran.

  Graciella paced in front of her fireplace a moment, trying to decide what to do. Surely Kitran was meeting him in his bedroom this very moment, and before long, she’d be on top of him, rubbing herself on him as Jiandra had described.

  No, no, no! Graciella had been certain the meal she’d served him was winning him over to her side. He hadn’t even looked up when Kitran was bringing out the food, was more absorbed in his wine. By the end of dinner, his body was relaxed, he was making a lot of eye contact with Graciella, and she’d seen his gaze linger on her mouth more than once. When they’d stood up from the table, she’d been so sure he was going to invite her to sit by the fire in his study and chat, as had been their habit over the past week.

  It had to be Kitran. With Yajna and Jiandra gone, no doubt Yavi had seized the opportunity to arrange a tryst with the beautiful washing girl. What, hadn’t he as much as admitted he had absolutely no plans to marry any time soon? Spoken like a true rakehell. Oath of celibacy, my arse. The reason Jiandra doesn’t know he’s knobbing Kitran is because he waits until she and Yajna are off the premises!

  She had to move fast to find out the truth. She hopped on one foot, tugging off her boots, and put on her soft slippers. She opened her bedroom door just a crack, then poked her head out to see if any guards were lurking about.

  It was all clear, so she slipped out and closed the door, then hurried down the hallway out of Yajna’s wing, heading toward Yavi’s side of the palace. Before entering the passageway that led to his study and his bedroom, she flattened herself against the wall and peeked around the corner. There was no one in sight, so she tiptoed past Yavi’s study to his bedroom.

  When she reached the door, she pressed her ear against it to check for the sounds of moaning Jiandra had described. It was quiet for the moment, but she kept listening for any sounds of a woman’s voice, movement on a bed—

  Back down the hallway, the door to Yavi’s study opened. Graciella panicked and opened his bedroom door to slip inside. The orange glow of firelight revealed the bed to be undisturbed and free of washing girls, but footsteps were rapidly approaching the door. She glanced around for someplace to hide, hurrying to the far corner of the room to crouch behind a trunk just before the door opened.

  Graciella shut her eyes tight, mortified. Now you’ve done it, Graciella. What will he
think when he finds you snooping in his room? She sent a desperate mental prayer to Zehu as she heard the door close.

  The room fell quiet, but she didn’t dare look or even breathe. Yavi could be standing right on the other side of the trunk for all she knew—he moved like a panther when he wanted to. However, there was a slight possibility the person who entered was a servant, and if so, she could invent a lame excuse and hopefully escape before Yavi returned. She would wait until she heard a sound somewhere else in the room, and then look over the top of the trunk to see who was there.

  Finally she heard movement across the room, on the other side of the bed. Water pouring into the washstand. Carefully, oh-so-slowly, she inched up just enough to see over the lid of the trunk. Yavi set the large pitcher down and tugged his white lawn shirt over his head, tossing it to a chair, and Graciella’s mouth went dry. Layers of thick, well-defined muscle flexed over his arms, shoulders, and chest. Apparently training every day in the courtyard pays dividends. Gorgeous ones.

  He reached for the placket on his trousers, and she ducked back down to give him some privacy. After a few moments, she thought she heard the sound of him rummaging in a drawer, and inched back up to take a quick peek.

  Six-and-a-half feet of male splendor stood by the armoire, naked except for the emperor’s ruby around his neck. His backside was facing her direction, and she couldn’t help but stare. His buttocks looked firm, sculpted in muscle, with a slightly concave plane on either side of his trim hips. He wrapped a towel around his hips before turning to pace toward his washstand, and she ducked quickly. Soon there was a sound of water splashing, being squeezed from a sponge, splashing again.

  She risked another peek, and was rewarded with a second view of his backside as he stood in front of his washstand. His bed was between them, so she could only see him from the thighs up, but there was plenty of muscular flesh to stare at from that vantage point. And stare she did, watching his back muscles ripple as he sponge-bathed from neck to groin.