Another Attack?

I must admit I am surprised at what happens.

Kassian doesn't stop me. Instead, his shadows disappear. He solidifies before me, so that when my finger touches his brow, it doesn't go through. It meets warm resistance and brushes that lock back.

Oh, but how I wish I could feel the exact texture of his hair.

When done, I let my hand fall back into my lap. But our eyes are still trapped upon each other.

Finally, Kassian looks down at my sketchbook. "What are you making? A day dress? Something with pants?" His voice is deeper than it was before, I note, and it almost rambles, as though he's making up the words just before he says them.

After a lengthy pause in which I'd forgotten that I'd held anything in my hands at all, I manage, "A ball gown, actually. I was inspired by your mother's roses." I look up at the blossoms in question.

"We must throw a ball, then, so you may show it off once it is finished."

"Could we? Oh, I've never organized a ball before."

"Would you like to?"

I nod.

"You name the date, and we will make it happen." All of a sudden, I don't feel as though I need the shawl wrapped around my shoulders. I'm so very warm and light. Once, there was another boy who made me feel this way. One who made me feel full and seen and loved.

Now the bugs of the earth have feasted on his flesh. But I won't let Jason ruin this moment I'm having with the king. Something moves out of the corner of my vision. I turn, thinking perhaps it is only a flower stem swaying with the breeze.

But it is much bigger. Much sturdier. Much more alive.

"Kallias!"

I throw myself forward, but too late.

A shot sounds before I can move, filling the garden's quiet. Ruining its peace.

Striking the king.

Kassian falls backward, his back hitting a patch of grass first, before his legs follow, slipping over the sides of the bench.

I'm paralyzed to the spot, staring in horror at where Kassian lies, his vest a deeper black right in the middle of his gut, where the fabric has become damp with blood.

Percy leaps after the king. He whines lightly when Kassian doesn't move after he nudges him with his nose. My hand shakes as I reach for Kallias, but what am I to do? I don't know anything about healing.

Help. I should go for help.

I stand abruptly, but then I notice a man running toward us. I don't process anything other than the fact that he's holding a semiautomatic handgun, which he returns to a holster on his side, and reaches for the rapier at his waist to replace it.

The assassin is coming to make sure his mark is dead. I plant my feet before the bench and stare the assassin down. He comes to an abrupt halt before me and points his sword out in front of him.

"Out of the way, or I'll run you through."

All I can hear is my breathing in my ears. All I can feel is the rise and fall of my chest. But I don't move an inch to let the man by.

My single night of failed boxing comes to mind.

Unhelpful.

Words are my only ally in this situation.

"You hit him square in the chest," I say. "Now go before the guards come running to investigate the sound of the shot."

With his free hand, he shoves me away. I hit the ground hard, but I don't register the pain as I rise to a sitting position, reaching for my boot.

The rubies around the hilt of my dagger gleam as I bring the blade down in an arc, sinking it into the man's thigh. He howls and backhands me with the hand not holding his Rapier. I go sprawling on the ground again, really hating the bricks that take the skin off my knees.

The assassin reaches down for my dagger. With a grunt, he pulls the blade from his skin and tosses it away. His murderous eyes are turned to me now, but before he can take a step in my direction, we both snap our necks toward the dark shape rising from the other side of the bench.

Kassian is off the ground, standing firmly on two feet, swathed in shadows. He walks right through the bench, and as he does so something metal plinks onto the brick walkway below us.

The bullet. Though his clothes still bear the stain of blood, he holds himself without a hunch or anything else to show signs of him being in pain. He takes one glance at me on the ground, at the red outline of a handprint on my cheek, before turning back to the assassin.

"You'll die for that," Kassian says, his voice a deep rumble.

"It's you who will die today," the man says, and he steps forward, thrusting the tip of his sword through Kallias. The assassin nearly loses his footing when his sword doesn't meet the expected resistance, instead going clean through Kallias's shadow form.

"What the—?"

Kassian steps right through him, and a shiver goes through me, as I remember the smoky sensation of Kassian's shadow form all around me.

The assassin whirls, facing Kassian now that he's on the other side of him. He draws his gun once again, and this time deposits the entire round of bullets into Kallias's chest.

But of course, they go right through him.

He drops the gun as the king pulls his own sword from his side, the shadows disappearing from around the blade and hand that holds it.

And then they duel.

Indeed, Kassian hadn't lied when he said he knew how to use that blade. He sends out a series of quick thrusts that the assassin deflects just in time. He's slower with the injury I dealt him, but he just manages to evade each one.

After a time, I realize Kassian is toying with him. Though the two swords meet in the air with metallic clanks, every time the assassin attempts to make his own jabs toward the king, they go right through him.

Like he's dueling a ghost. Unkillable. Untouchable.

Eventually, the assassin tires of the game. When the swords of the two men come together, he hurls his weight into the connection, sending Kallias stumbling backward.

Then the man takes off at a run, his steps hitching with the leg I stabbed. Kassian runs over to one of the flower beds, bends over the ground, and comes up with my dagger. He barely takes aim before the weapon goes twirling out of his hand.

It hits the assassin square in the back. He goes down.

Kassian whirls on me, bending at the knees on the bricks beside me. His shadows are gone.

"Are you hurt?" he asks.

"I'm fine."

But either he doesn't believe me, or he doesn't hear my answer at all, because his gloved hands sweep over me. First touching my cheeks and neck, then sliding down my sides, over my abdomen, down my legs. Checking for injuries.

But because I have none, my breathing hitches at the contact. And even though his hands are gloved, the heat of them reaches through my pant-clad legs.

By the time he finishes, he lets his gaze return to mine, and he freezes at what he sees there. His hands are wrapped around my ankles. They tighten their grip when his eyes latch on to mine, and a rush of heat steals up my spine.

His hands move to my knees, spreading them apart so he can settle there. We're close. So close. Too close. Closer than we've ever been before and—