Poison Marked

by TJ Nichols

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  About the Author

  By TJ Nichols

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  Poison Marked

  By TJ Nichols

  Kill his lover or disobey his king and instigate civil war?

  As the feared court poison master, Nikko is sworn to do as his king bids. As the lover of the king’s nephew, Lord Rodas, Nikko must hide his affection or risk being labeled a traitor and punished. A former thief who clawed his way into the palace from the filthy streets, Nikko longs to be deserving of Rodas’s love.

  A respected war hero, Rodas is in a delicate political situation. He is not the kingdom’s natural heir, though many support his claim over the wastrel, Prince Fortin. The last thing Rodas wants is war. His highest ambition is for Nikko to openly wear the jewels he’s bestowed on him as a public declaration of their love.

  Neither man is prepared for the king to order Nikko to poison Rodas during the solstice feast or for the deadly intrigue they’re plunged into, which exposes their affair and rocks the foundations of the kingdom.

  Chapter 1

  DESPITE THE cold, the men had stripped off their shirts. Their swords glinted in the sun, and their breath came in puffs of white clouds, as though they were breathing fire. There’d been weapons demonstrations and mock fights all day. There would be feasting all night.

  Nikko glanced up at the clear blue winter sky. The frost that embraced the earth at dawn had melted long before lunch, and the sun was falling on the shortest day of the year.

  This was the last battle, and the king’s son, Fortin, was fighting his cousin. Unlike the other fights, this one was staged. The winner would be Fortin.

  Nikko was no swordsman. He knew enough to fend off an equally unskilled thief, but even he could tell Fortin’s strikes were sloppy. His footwork lacked grace, and his face was plastered with a dull smirk, as though he thought everyone around him a fool.

  In front of Nikko, the king grunted and shifted in his seat, no doubt uncomfortable with his son’s lackluster performance. Nikko switched his attention to the king’s nephew, Rodas.

  Usually he tried not to look at Rodas too closely, so he delighted in watching his lover openly today. Rodas’s dark hair was drawn back in a long braid. His focus was absolute, and there was no casual smile on his lips. It was the face of a warrior. While Nikko was familiar with his scars, seeing Rodas fight made his heart beat a little harder and his blood run a little hotter.

  To Nikko’s left, someone whispered about one of the battles Rodas had led and won. Nikko had hung on to every bit of news about the border wars while Rodas was away. He’d returned a hero and almost everyone loved him.

  Fortin had gone to war, but he stayed safe behind the lines—too valuable to risk on the field. Or was it no one would follow him, even if he tried to lead?

  The muscles on Rodas’s back bunched and flexed with each parry and strike. His feet moved through the complicated footwork of the fight. Nikko had watched him dance many times and been jealous of all of his partners, male and female. But that jealousy only lasted until Rodas came to his chamber to spend part of the night.

  They’d been sneaking around for three years. For a time it was exciting. Now it rasped over Nikko’s skin like a rough blade. He wanted more.

  He couldn’t have more.

  Especially not with a man of royal blood.

  He was a nobody, an orphan taken in by a poison maker. He’d become an apprentice and eventually a master, and by chance he ended up in the service of the king. But ten years of loyal service could unravel in a few breaths if the king thought he was conspiring with Rodas.

  Nikko tore his gaze away. The crowd gasped, and his attention snapped back to the fight. A thin line of red marred Rodas’s forearm. As planned, Fortin had drawn first blood—he was the heir and must beat his cousin. What happened next could’ve been excused as an unfortunate accident. Some would call it another of Fortin’s colossal errors, but others might say it was Rodas showing his exceptional skill as a swordsman.

  Rodas’s front foot slid as though the ground were icy. He dropped to his knee and, with a flick of his sword, disarmed Fortin and put the tip of his sword beneath Fortin’s ample chin.

  Not a noble breathed as they realized what had happened. Fortin had won, but Rodas had stolen the moment.

  The commoners watching from the other side, those who could afford the quarter-lunix entrance fee, cheered. They didn’t care about Fortin’s pride. They wanted to see a good fight, and Rodas had given them that. If Fortin were smarter or less lazy, he’d have put on a better performance.

  Fortin’s face flushed purple, which was much the same color as his father’s face. Rage pulled the king’s lips into a thin line. A vein throbbed in his cheek.

  “Well done, Fortin. First blood,” a man beside the king said. He nodded rapidly, as though he could make his words fact.

  Nikko bit back a smile. Someone was trying to curry favor, but the words had the desired effect and the tension dissipated. Nobles clapped. Rodas stepped away from the center and let Fortin claim his false victory. Fortin smiled and accepted the undeserved praise.

  The king remained tightlipped. No doubt the blame would fall at the wrong set of feet. If Fortin had made the fight look good, it wouldn’t have mattered, but that was too much work for the prince. Fortin’s only real skills were drinking and gambling, and it showed in his soft body and fleshy face.

  Nikko risked one more glance at Rodas. He was putting on his shirt, seemingly untroubled by what had happened. He unbraided his hair and let it hang loose, as befit a noble rather than a soldier, and then lifted his gaze to the stands. To anyone else it might seem he was acknowledging the king.

  Rodas’s gaze locked with Nikko’s. No smile passed between them or anything so intimate in public. But Rodas swept back his hair so Nikko could see the place on his neck where he liked to be kissed.

  Nikko’s heart quickened. He eased his hood back a little in acknowledgment, even though that meant exposing more of the tattoos on the right side of his face. Not that the shadow hid the luminescent ink in his skin. The tattoos glowed green in the dark so no one would fail to see the poison master sneaking around.

  The markings went down his neck, along his arm, and ended on his right hand. They were created during the years he was an apprentice. The ink itself was toxic, so he’d had to build up a resistance. But his source of pride was also a source of shame. Like all poison masters, he was marked for all to see.

  Unlike an assassin, he could never walk away from his profession.

  Rodas didn’t care. He traced the markings from start to finish and claimed to like being able to find his lover’s lips in the dark. At first Nikko thought those were sweet words meant to soothe, but after three years, it was impossible to dismiss Rodas and their affair as merely a passing dalliance.

  Nikko had stopped pretending he didn’t love Rodas last solstice when Rodas gave him a gold ring. It wasn’t for his finger. He would never be able to wear one without drawing attention. The ring was to be worn on the toe, and he hadn’t taken it off since.

  With the displays over, the crowd on both sides started to break up. The commoners would hand their token in for their meal, and the nobles would get ready for their feast.

  Rodas would come to him while the palace was in mayhem, as servants rushed to help men and women who’d never had to learn to dress or even bathe themselves. They were a lot like overgrown children.
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  He glanced at the king. He was going to have a tantrum at some point that night. It was a question of when. With luck, Nikko would be elsewhere when that happened.

  NIKKO’S BODY ached and his lips hurt, but he wouldn’t change it. Rodas was sprawled on the bed next to him. When Rodas had entered the chamber, there were no words, just hard, desperate kisses as clothes came off. Nikko was still in his socks and undershirt, and Rodas was almost wearing pants. They were bunched around his thighs, leaving him exposed to Nikko’s gaze.

  So he examined his lover’s body and noted the changes since the last time they were together. Even though the border wars were over, Rodas hadn’t softened any. When he first came home, he was lean from tight rations and the endless riding and fighting. He’d filled out since then, and he looked healthier.

  Rodas glanced over and smiled. “Truly I need to visit my uncle more often.”

  “I need to check your arm.” He wouldn’t put it past Fortin to poison the blade of his sword. Fortin had about as much honor as a rat in the grain store. While Nikko was the official poison master, there were people in the city who would sell potions and poisons to anyone and not ask questions. The guild would fine them if they were caught, but there was money to be made in death. Ask any assassin.

  Those poisoners lacked the understanding that a poison, if used correctly, could cure. Illness was just something else to be killed.

  “My arm is fine… or do you think my performance lacked something?” Rodas rolled onto his side. “Do you tire of me?” There was a curve to his lips but no smile in his eyes.

  “No. I do not tire of you.” Nikko kissed him and, with his tongue, put into action what they never said. With their desperate need sated, they could linger. Taste and tease. “I worry, that’s all.”

  “Then look. It’s a scratch.” He offered his arm.

  Nikko examined the wound. It was a clean cut. Not deep. There was no strange smell or discoloration. He gave it a lick. No odd taste either. “If it festers, come and see me.”

  “Then I shall hope it does, so I have reason to linger longer in your chambers.” He lay back on the bed, a hand on his forehead. “I feel warm. The start of a fever? I don’t think I can risk being moved.”

  Nikko grinned.

  Rodas pulled him close. “I think there’s only one cure.”

  “How can you know the cure when you don’t know what ails you?” But Nikko straddled him. He knew what Rodas wanted. There was a reason he hadn’t done up his pants and left already. The first time was always rushed and needy. The second time was slower.

  For the next few days, they would seize every opportunity.

  After the feast, when everyone else was drunk, they would have the whole night. The next morning Rodas had to join the first hunt of the new year. The lengthening days would be welcomed with blood. It was a bad sign if no fresh meat was caught. But after the hunt, there would be time. They always stole time.

  Beneath him, Rodas’s staff thickened. Nikko stroked the familiar length and brushed his fingers over the fat, ruddy head.

  “I know what ails me. I have too much seed. You must help me spill it before I get the madness of monks.”

  Nikko leaned forward. “I think that’s called devotion to the gods. You would do well to give them some praise occasionally.”

  “When I’m with you, I thank them constantly. Don’t let my gratitude go to waste.” He rocked his hips, and his shaft grazed the cleft of Nikko’s ass.

  “I wouldn’t come between a man and his prayers.” Nikko paused a moment to feel the pressure of Rodas’s length against him. Then he sank down with a shudder of pleasure.

  Rodas groaned and gripped Nikko’s hips. “I’ve never been more filled with worship than when I’m with you.”

  Nikko smiled at Rodas’s blasphemy and the confession of love he’d never make. Neither of them could. If they admitted it, one of them might act foolishly. Their places in the palace were fixed. Like stars, they couldn’t change their paths to meet. All they had were stolen moments. That had to be enough.

  Right then it was everything. Nikko grasped himself and stroked.

  “No. Save it for me.” Rodas’s blue eyes were bright with lust.

  Nikko groaned but released his shaft.

  Three sharp raps on the door made them both freeze. Nikko put his finger to his lips. Perhaps the knocker would think no one was there. Even motionless, Nikko could feel Rodas inside him. Rodas rolled his hips slowly and created a delicious sensation that stroked exactly the right spot. Nikko gritted his teeth. He wouldn’t be saving anything if Rodas continued.

  Another three raps on the door. Whoever it was wasn’t going away.

  Rodas shook his head and mouthed go.

  Nikko agreed. The last thing they needed was someone bursting in. In their haste they hadn’t closed the door between the bedroom and the outer room, and they would be clearly visible. Although he hated the interruption of what little time they had together, he eased off Rodas and then off the bed, even though he was in no state to receive anyone.

  “A moment. I’m getting changed,” Nikko called, lest the person chance opening the door. It was a legitimate excuse, given the feast required more formal clothing.

  Rodas ran his fingers over Nikko’s shaft, gave the end a kiss, and tore himself away. Neither of them had gotten what they wanted.

  Nikko pulled on the pants he’d placed over the chair and swapped shirts. He could smell sweat, sex, and Rodas on his skin. Would the knocker notice? No. Probably not. Nikko’s sense of smell was heightened from years of training.

  Rodas tucked himself into his pants, grabbed the rest of his clothing, and hid himself in the alcove as Nikko pulled the bedroom door shut and opened the door to his chambers. “Yes?”

  His heart bounced hard in his chest. Getting caught with Rodas would bring trouble. The king would cease to trust him. He would think they were colluding, which they weren’t. They were simply lovers with no idea how to make their relationship public. Nikko refused to dwell on that problem. It only made him miserable.

  “The king wishes to see you before the feast.” The page looked at Nikko’s socks instead of his face. Few servants looked him in the eye. Did they think he would kill them with a glance? Or maybe a touch?

  “I’ll be there shortly.” Once he’d ridden Rodas to completion and then had Rodas swallow every inch of him, he’d kneel over his lover’s face the way Rodas loved. He was glad the page kept his gaze on the floor and didn’t notice the way Nikko’s shirt did a poor job of hiding his still-hard staff.

  “I’m to wait,” the page mumbled.

  Four words more bitter than any poison Nikko could brew. That’s what came from making fun of the gods. “Very well. I’ll finish dressing, unless I’m to come in my socks?”

  “Umm….”

  Nikko shut the door. He leaned against it for a moment, cursed the intrusion, and walked back to his bedchamber.

  Rodas was fully dressed, and he looked none too happy. “That was too close.” He kissed Nikko deeply and drew him near. “I’ll wait a few moments before leaving.”

  Nikko had chambers in the old area of the palace, the kind of place where nobles didn’t venture because there were no silken tapestries, and there were occasional odd smells when Nikko was brewing. But it had the advantage of being near the stables and not well traveled, so Rodas could go downstairs and slip out with no one thinking he’d been to see the poison master. Usually Nikko would act as lookout to send him away safely.

  They rested their foreheads together, the heat and longing still tight between them. He threaded his fingers through Rodas’s hair. The first time Nikko saw Rodas, he’d wanted him. It had twisted his guts to know Rodas would see only the tattoos and not the man. But Rodas had come to his laboratory the next day, seeking a tonic for a hangover. The tonic he wanted came straight from Nikko’s spout.

  “Be safe,” Nikko whispered. He finished dressing in his finest clothes, which were
not as beautiful as what Rodas would wear but were nicer than anything he had dreamed of wearing when he lived on the street. He glanced once more at Rodas and left his chambers.

  What was so urgent that the king had to see him?

  Chapter 2

  THE KING was being dressed, but when Nikko entered, he sent the servants away with a flick of his fingers. They scuttled like obedient beetles. The king regarded him for a moment and then picked up his amethyst goblet and took a large drink. It wasn’t his first drink of the evening. His face was flushed, and his eyes had a sheen like wet pebbles.

  Nikko remained silent, eyes slightly downcast, and waited for the king to speak first. His position, while prestigious, was also delicate. No one trusted a poison master, despite the many miracle healings and mysterious deaths he engineered.

  “What did you think of the fighting display?” The king put his goblet down harder than necessary.

  “I always marvel at the skill of the fighters.” Which wasn’t a lie. He did, especially when he could marvel openly at his lover.

  “And my son?”

  Nikko swallowed. “Scored first blood.”

  The king stared at him as though he could discern Nikko’s true feelings if he looked hard enough. Eventually he grunted. “You should’ve been a diplomat.”

  They both knew Nikko lacked the pedigree for that kind of position. Those roles went to nobles or the bastards of nobles, but Nikko smiled anyway. It was meant as a compliment, no matter how twisted it came out.

  The king turned to the mirror and fiddled with his coat. The silver-and-green fabric shimmered in the light, and the silver buttons would’ve fed Nikko for many a month on the streets. These days he didn’t want for food, and he had access to plants and minerals even his teacher couldn’t afford.

  He was the envy of every other poison master, but everyone in the guild knew poison masters for the king didn’t live to old age. It was a risky job. But a life without risk was one not lived. That was why he couldn’t walk away from Rodas. If he were smart, he never would have let Rodas drop to his knees that first time.