by V. C. Willis
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Traibon Family Saga
About the Author
The Priest’s Assassin
Traibon Family Saga Book 2
Copyright © 2021 V.C. WIllis All rights reserved.
4 Horsemen Publications, Inc.
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Cover by Valerie Willis
Typesetting by Autumn Skye
Editor Jen Paquette
All rights to the work within are reserved to the author and publisher. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please contact either the Publisher or Author to gain permission.
This is book is meant as a reference guide. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All brands, quotes, and cited work respectfully belongs to the original rights holders and bear no affiliation to the authors or publisher.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2021941806
Print ISBN: 978-1-64450-167-2
Audio ISBN: 978-1-64450-334-8
E-Book ISBN: 978-1-64450-166-5
Priest, Prest, or Prestere
Pronunciation /prēst/
1.An ordained minister of a church having the authority to perform certain rites and administer certain sacraments.
2.a person who performs religious ceremonies and duties.
3.Ancient Greek and Latin for “elder (of two)”, “old”, “venerable”
Chapter 1
Red Wine in the War Room
The ring of eyes around the war table all stared silently, waiting for me to say something about what incited them to throw angry words at one another. This isn’t my place to be sitting here, but… Even a matter as trivial as who would be escorting Princess Sonja Regius and Royal Knight Valiente Animamea back to Captiva City seemed to bring the worst out in those who sat across this wooden plane. Winter had started to show signs of fading, the muddy ground peeking through snowy fields and icicles melting away to puddles on the streets. Scanning the room, I refused to give up my stoic silence. My thoughts still circled back to all that had unfolded—starting with Falco.
What I wouldn’t give to have my mask on right now to hide my expression. In the end, all I care about is making sure I go where John goes. He seems set on heading back to Captiva City. After our encounter with the Fanged Lady, only the library in the Cathedral’s catacombs might still hold some answers for what vile magic created the wretched thing. To think it was Falco’s mother’s soul inside the blade all this time… But I want to know why. For what purpose did the Vendecci family have with a weapon like that? How did they do it? Does this mean magic really exists in the world? And at what cost?
“Crowned Blood Prince Traibon.” My royal title shook me from my thoughts, bringing me back to the mutterings before me. “We’d appreciate your opinion on this matter.” Royal Guard and King’s Regent Ruth Burns never asked for a thing. This was a demand, her way of calling me to do my royal duty even after abandoning it long ago. “We’re waiting for at least some opinion from Your Majesty, whether it be agreeing or disagreeing. Say something, cousin.”
Leaning back in my chair, I drummed my fingers on the table, taking stock of them all, including the shouted words I had paid no heed to moments before. Like my father had done, I scanned them, bouncing from face to face, earning arched brows in anticipation of my lips parting. Ruth scoffed at my rebellion. She had seen this move and knew all too well I aimed to take my time.
What does she expect me to say? I may be the Blood Prince, but is it really so easy for me to claim this chair as if I didn’t renounce my title over a decade ago? And being a bloodeater this late puts me at a disadvantage…
Having a bloodeater’s senses had changed my understanding of how my father was so clever in the past. The way their scents floated in the air, the shifts in their heartbeats and breaths, and even the movements their bodies: it told me volumes of their emotional and physical states. My silence had been more than a refusal to take on my role as the Crown Blood Prince of The House, but a realization I was in over my head as a bloodeater. I can’t tell if I’m nauseated or excited. The added strength had been manageable. I knew my body and how to limit myself or when to push myself physically; the old farmer taught that much to me. As for my senses—no. My cravings had been unnerving me more every day.
I feel thirsty, yet no cup of wine nor water can satisfy me. And when it sets my throat on fire, my only thought is… John locked gazes with me and tilted his head as if sensing the foul thoughts. I shouldn’t think of his smell and flavor every time I think about food. Will there be a day I won’t be able to resist this? I went back to searching the other’s faces for answers to my own internal struggles when at last I met the heated gaze of Royal Knight Valiente.
“Are you just going to ogle us to death?” drawled Valiente, running a hand through his loose locks of dark, wavy hair. “Lives are at stake, and it seems you don’t care—”
“It seems you have the matter all worked out.” I shrugged in annoyance, snorting John’s scent from my nose. “Let me recap all that I’ve heard. May I?”
They all glanced to one another, murmuring, and nodded for me to continue as they settled into their seats. Calming heartbeats in my ears signaled they were ready to listen. Leaning forward, I inhaled deeply, taking in everything their bodies betrayed, and did what I had seen my father do a million times at this very table. To think I would finally get to be the one to unravel the war room on my own accord. This is what it meant to be a Blood Prince, and what it meant to challenge a Traibon by coming into our war room and watch as we dominate all who dare to enter.
They began to shuffle, even physically sweat. A smirk crested my face as a memory echoed from a time my father settled an argument between two farmers over a pig. He knew the pig didn’t belong to either of them. And now, I understood how he’d figured it out so precisely.
“Ruth, you intend to be the second knight in Princess Sonja’s sentry.” I gestured to each of them as I named them in my retelling, and recognition lit up their faces as I continued around the room. “And Father John here wants to travel with you as a farmer and not as a prie
st. Then—” Narrowing my eyes, my smirk dropped, and their hearts fluttered, and breaths stilled. “—I’m expected to ride all the way to Captiva City as the Crown Blood Prince of The Court.” Silence fell over them as they all digested how I consolidated an hour-long squabble in mere seconds. “You sound like a bunch of children playing pretend going on vacation to grandmere’s house across the flower field. Your plan is as disheveled as your attempts to work together.”
They winced, and before anyone could counter, I pushed forward with the details they had missed. They wanted my words, whether agreeing or disagreeing, and they shall have them.
“Ruth can’t go.” Huffing, I cut her words off before she could begin her rebuttal. “My fa—the King has already dubbed you his official voice and escort. You are Regent, not me, and he did not make that choice lightly.”
Ruth blinked. “I suppose you’re right.”
“You,” I pointed to John, then to Sonja, “and you will leave here in the same manner you arrived: as a priest and the mother superior of The Church. Word has travelled over the cold months; they’ll be looking for a royal regime coming south from Glensdale since they are looking for a prince and princess. Instead, you should be clergymen travelling in warmer weather back to the cathedral for study or to report to the archbishop.”
“That’s good.” Valiente nodded. “But that leaves the matter of you.”
“What of me?” I raised an eyebrow. “I’m simply a bodyguard for the Father of Glensdale.”
Ruth asked, exasperated, “You aren’t really going to continue to act like an assassin still, Dante?”
“I haven’t stopped being that.” My words slammed into them, bodies tensing all around.
John folded his brow, and the frown on his lips told me more than enough. He hated the fact I refused to give up on this promise to be his sword and shield until the day he drew his last breath. No matter how much he pressed to change my mind over it, that final moment against Falco had made it clear. Only I would ever be capable of protecting what I cherish most in this world. They were all angry, frustrated because they knew my words had truth to them.
Be smart when you start travelling with him. Carry on like low-class citizens, and you’ll skirt under the eyes of those who hunt you. Snorting, the old farmer’s words snuck into my mind. Cold winter nights spent discussing tactics and prying how he had survived with Viceroy Falco’s men out hunting him all this time had intrigued me on more than one occasion. No one wants to attack a shit-slinging stableman, but you can go as far as offering to do the work and earn a free night. If you’re with a group, your roles have to make sense and seem in order. You don’t see priests travelling with royalty, and no one travels with mercenaries unless they’ve got the money or are collecting a bounty.
“If you look like clergymen with bodyguards moving south, no one will question it. Many places offer free rooms and food for members of The Church, which will keep us from exposing too much coin. The only issue is we do need at least one more fighter. Safety in numbers and a fifth should put us at an advantage. We have defense, but I can’t be the only offense we have if we cross Falco’s mercenaries or worse, Fallen Arbor.” Drumming my fingers, I struggled over the options. “We could use a guardsman, or maybe we can see about an assassin from the guild.”
“I can fight too,” John offered and winced when I sent him a heated glare.
“That defeats the idea of being covert.” Valiente pushed back on John’s offer before I could speak. “Clergymen aren’t supposed to do much else than protect other clergymen. It just means in this setup, Sonja’s defense is the two of us, meanwhile Dante has a point. He’s right: we need another offense fighter, or better yet, a scout or ranger of sorts.”
“Reports suggest there are mercenaries travelling between villages more so than normal.” Ruth had said this earlier in the discussion, but her words hit firmer now that she couldn’t come with us. “They are looking for you, Princess Sonja. Possibly even John and Dante, depending on if Falco thought they would try to leave, and he aimed to kill them before that could happen. He may be dead, but the contracts he made are still in place and possibly paid for. We have no way of knowing exactly how many or where your party might run into them.”
“Is there anyone who can fight to your caliber, Ruth?” Valiente shifted in his seat, searching for answers as he smiled wider, meeting her gaze.
Don’t tell me… Valiente’s heart fluttered, and I smelled Ruth’s scent coming from his direction. Frowning, I turned to Ruth and there she smiled. Once again, I smelled Valiente’s scent from her direction. That only happens when… A subtle shift in their bodies made me tilt my head in disbelief, both of their hearts racing despite the stoic exteriors grinning across the table. Arousal. These are two people aroused by one another’s presence. They aren’t challenging one another; that’s what they want the table to think. Those two? It wasn’t just private sparring lessons? I see we’ve been busy sharing beds with one another over the winter months. Narrowing my eyes, I took in a deep gulp of red wine, hoping to numb the senses that had discovered their sexual soiree against my will.
“No, besides who sits at this table, no one has beaten me in a sparring match.” She sank in her chair, rubbing her forehead. “By the blood, all the ones who would be good fits are still cleaning up on the frontlines. The treaty may be signed, but it seems Princess Sonja’s father refuses to acknowledge this until his daughter is returned to him.”
“I’m so sorry.” Sonja lifted her chin high. “When I get you back—”
The doors opened wide, cutting her words short. They all rose to their feet in alarm. My blood ran cold seeing my father march in, weak and thin, but still with the never-waning powerful ambience dominating the room in an instant. His glare met mine, and there was a sense of pride to see me in his chair. Behind him was a cloaked figure, small and petite wearing the emblems and a mask of the Assassin’s Guild.
“Please sit, and know Princess Sonja, none of this is your fault. In the end, our children are suffering on behalf of the greedy old men who came before them, myself included.” King Traibon’s voice filled the room like thunder. “I’ve been looking for a solution to your problem.”
“Our problem?” Ruth furrowed her brow, refusing to sit with the others as the King approached her.
A chuckle rolled from him as he clapped a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Don’t tell me you didn’t realize they needed a scout of some kind for this journey? I bet you were thinking you could go. Admirable, but you have promised me to take on the role as my Regent until I’m well again.”
Ruth’s face flushed. “Your son had just pointed that out to us. Forgive me for my eagerness to aid my dearest cousin after just discovering he’s still alive.”
“Forgiven. At least one of you can pick apart a plan.” He motioned to her chair, and she allowed him to sit. “Let’s talk about how we can strengthen your strategy. As I was saying, I have brought you Red Wine.”
“Forgive me, King Traibon,” started John, “but drinking in a moment such as this—”
I cut John’s words short. “Welcome to the war room, Grand Master Assassin Red Wine.”
Back on my feet once more, I bowed my respects, and the cloaked woman mirrored the motion.
“Thank you, my Blood Prince.” Her voice was deep and immense for her stature, worthy of royalty with the way she articulated each word and her words infallible. “I have come to offer my services. When your father informed me of your plight, it seemed best for me to accompany you.”
Princess Sonja copied my gesture, standing and bowing to the assassin. “I am honored to meet you, Master Assassin. Not many of my caste in The Tower can say we’ve seen your presence and lived to tell anyone.”
Red Wine nodded, her mask giving away nothing of her reaction. “Wise words, Princess. I’m thrilled and thoroughly impressed by your own actions. Not many in the w
orld would be so selfless to put one’s life in danger to bring peace to Grandmere’s people.”
Princess Sonja’s eyes widened. “Kind words from someone who has probably seen more bloodshed than the years I have lived in this world.”
“I like her.” She turned to King Traibon who nodded in agreement. “May I speak freely?”
“By all means.” I gestured and sat. “You are every bit of an important voice as the others at this table.”
“Excellent.” Her mask was nothing more than a snow-white emotionless face with a single red tear down the left cheek.
At first glance, most would mistake the tear as blood dripping down the smooth porcelain with the richness of the color and stroke of the paint. Her hood covered most of her head and was part of a black leather cloak covering her shoulders and the top of her long red coat. Her white blouse peeked through a black overbust corset that buckled high on her neck. Black trousers tucked into a tight-laced set of knee-high leather boots. Trinkets and medals showed she had served in the war a number of times in several roles.
She’s a decorated veteran. That day on the battlefield… could it have been her that saved me?
Maroon eyes locked with mine. We were picking one another apart. Not one inch of skin showed through her clothes which complemented her curvy figure. Sleeves gave way to her leather gauntlets, but her appearance hadn’t been what caught me off guard. Her scent came to me as if familiar yet new, and it unnerved me in ways I couldn’t describe. The prodding eyes from under the mask told me she too had some sense of recognition, though we had never met.
“I will be your scout.” She broke our gaze and cleared her throat. “But don’t think I’m simply joining you as a scout. The Assassin’s Guild has lost contact with a vital resource in Captiva City, and I’m going there to investigate. Also, we’re not too keen to be sending one of our own out so… green.” She gestured to me, and I scoffed. “You can fight, you can even take a hit like no other I know from the stories I’ve heard, but my Blood Prince—”
