Chapter One

Master Nicolo

Part One

The Master

The first time I saw Master Nicolo, he was striding down the corridor that led from the Prince's Tower to the Great Hall.

I had, of course, already heard of him. It was impossible not to have heard of him. Not with a reputation such as he had.

Regardless, I remained focused on my work, dusting the frame of one of the royal portraits that lined the corridor. A maidservant who was caught doing anything but working was asking for trouble from Mistress Rosana, who governed the maids with an iron hand (and a bamboo stick), but I allowed my eyes to drift in Nicolo's direction anyway. Truth be told, I couldn't help it.

My gaze lingered on him as he passed.

Nicolo was very tall, broad and muscular, with unruly dark hair that curled around his ears, ending at the point where his neck met his shoulders. It was almost but not quite black and in the right light, could almost look as though streaked with blue. In general, he always had the appearance of not having shaved for at least a few days, his strong jaw rough with stubble. His clothes were always black—darkness seemed to be the image he wanted to project.

He wore a soft leather jerkin, black, that terminated mid-thigh, a silk shirt buttoned up to his throat, also black, and stretched hose that clung to the contours of his strong legs. Those, too, were black as were the high leather boots that hugged his calves. He strode with an easy confidence, not as if he owned the place, but as if it didn't matter that he didn't.

His eyes, which remained focused straight out ahead of him (though I got the sense he noticed everything happening around him), were violet. I'd heard about his violet eyes before, as rumors have a way of persisting, but I never really believed it until I saw them for myself. And truly, they appeared as two gems inserted into his face, glistening and sparkling amethyst.

Yes, Master Nicolo was an arresting sight.

But my first impression of the man was based more on how everyone else reacted to him. When in his presence, maids, like myself, suddenly became deeply focused on whatever task they were doing; soldiers standing guard found a point in middle distance and stared blankly at it. No one wanted to meet that violet gaze, afraid if they did, he might notice them . And that was exactly what you didn't want—Master Nicolo noticing you.

Members of the nobility deferred to him, got out of his way and bowed as he passed, as afraid to meet Nicolo's eye as were the servants, because who knew what the consequences might be? Technically Nicolo was their social inferior, but that didn't matter because he was still and always would be: Master Nicolo.

Still more fascinating was how everyone reacted after Nicolo passed, when they all wore their relief to be out of his gaze—no doubt pleased to be less liable to cause unintended offence. Every eye surreptitiously followed him, of course. They all feared Nicolo, so that made sense. But their interest went beyond mere fear—people couldn't help but be drawn to him, as they are drawn to power and to danger.

To his face they called him ‘Master Nicolo', but in the whispers behind his back, he was known as ‘The Unbreakable'.

***

The second time I saw Master Nicolo was in the banqueting hall of the Great Castle that sat in the middle of the vast, multi-castle complex of Woodfall Gath.

I'd served the lower tables before, but this was my first time waiting on the horseshoe of grand tables on the raised dais, looming down on the rest of the hall. It was unusual for a newcomer like myself to be trusted with such a responsibility (one slip of the ladle and both I and Mistress Rosana would be in trouble) but I only had myself to blame. It had become a simple matter of being at the wrong place at the wrong time—I'd walked in on an argument among the other girls.

"I did it last time," said the redheaded maid. I believed her name to be Elsie.

"That's not how it works," said the pockmarked one. Perhaps Trudy? Or Katy?

"She knows that's not how it works." No, that one was Katy.

"We draw lots," said another of them, whose name I'd missed.

"Can't we choose differently this time?" asked Elsie.

"We've always drawn lots, that's how we've always done it," this said by the pockmarked one. Yes, I did believe her name was Trudy.

"Yes, but I did it last time! And if someone did it most recently, that person should be excused from drawing this time!" Elsie yelled.

"You're only saying that because you drew ‘The Unbreakable'," Katy pointed out.

"No, that's not why."

"Regardless, it's how we've always done it," Trudy said.

"Done what?" I asked, joining the conversation.

The five girls having this debate all looked at me sharply (the newest girls were decidedly lowest on the totem pole). "We're deciding who waits on the royal family for the banquet tonight," Katy said.

"We're deciding who waits on Master Nicolo ," another girl corrected. I'd never seen her before.

"Why don't you want to wait on him?" I asked, frowning at them both.

They all looked at each other before looking at me, their expressions revealing that I'd just asked the stupidest question they'd ever heard.

"It's the master, " Elsie said.

" The Unbreakable ," Trudy added.

"Yes, so I've been told he's called," I answered on a shrug, doing my best to keep my smile to myself—there was a certain sense of mirth to be taken from others' shock.

"Then you would know why none of us wants to wait on him." Hmm, I'd have to find out this one's name.

"Oh, actually, I don't," I answered, chewing on my lip and offering them an expression of ignorance.

"Do you know what he might do to you?" Elsie asked.

"No," I admitted, frowning on another shrug. "But do tell because owing to your expressions, it must be quite scandalous?"

"Whatever he wants," the girl nearest me, Jurval I thought her name might be, replied. Or perhaps it was Surval? Burval?

It sounded to me as if they didn't know what they were scared of, and they were just scared on principle. As far as I could tell, everyone was scared of ‘the master' and I still had no idea why.

"I'll serve him."

They didn't waste any time before accepting my offer. In fact, their relief was palpable and I was quite certain both I and my idiocy would be the subject going round the scullery maids tonight.

Regardless, that night, I found myself standing just behind and to the right of Master Nicolo's chair, where he sat at the head table, beside the heir to the throne, Prince Balduin. As far as I understood things, Nicolo was Balduin's closest friend, and also the only reason Balduin was even alive.

The prince, himself, sat to the right of the Old Queen. Though she was officially titled ‘Queen Nell', everyone referred to her and thought of her as the ‘Old Queen', the only monarch most could remember.

Women weren't permitted to rule—apparently the Great God had some sort of issue with it—but when King Moros had died young, his death was kept a closely guarded secret by Queen Nell and the immediate court, partly to avoid civil war over an unclear succession, partly because Queen Nell wasn't planning on going anywhere.

For five years she ruled as regent, while the king's ‘ill health' prevented him from appearing in public. By the time his death was finally admitted to, everyone had gotten accustomed to Queen Nell being in charge, and she'd clung to that power through plots and coups ever since.

The Old Queen had born two daughters of her own (both situated some way down the table, reflecting their place in the succession). Of those two, only Princess Maeve had had children, and after five daughters, the question of the succession had loomed again. Then she gave birth to Balduin, and the future of the throne was safe.

Or so it seemed at the time.

Master Nicolo raised his hand and I was instantly beside him to refill his glass. I took the opportunity to get a closer look at him. What I'd glossed over that first time I'd seen him in the corridor was just how truly handsome he was, in a rugged, rough-hewn sort of way. But even in his good looks there seemed an edge of danger, a darkness to the undeniable sexuality that hung about him.

Or maybe I was getting carried away.

There was something about Nicolo that made me feel as if I were just like all the other girls, both anxious and unintentionally admiring. The difference was that I'd always tended to run towards the things that scared me, to touch them, to try them, to get over my fear in the most direct way possible. But, in this case, it would have been a breach of social etiquette for me to touch Master Nicolo, however much I wanted to run my fingers along that strong, rough jawline, or catch them in the curls of hair around his ears.

Almost as if he were privy to my thoughts, his violet eyes flashed in my direction and held my gaze. There was surprise in his—surprise no doubt owing to the fact that he'd never seen me before, as I was new here. But soon that surprise yielded to something else—admiration. I could see as much in the way the ice in his gaze melted just so and a heat overtook it.

I allowed myself what I hoped was a teasing smile.

He smiled back but the expression on his face wasn't a kind one. No, there was nothing generous or gentle about that smile—it was the devil's own—the sort of expression that belonged to the ultimate of predators. For an instant, his eyes flicked down to my bosom—the maid's uniforms were designed to lift and enhance, because the men of the court liked entertainment while they ate. Because I'd been graced generously in both my upper and lower departments, the uniform was quite snug in both areas. And I'd adjusted my blouse to reveal even more, because I wanted Nicolo to notice me.

And that was exactly what he was currently doing.

His eyes lingered on my cleavage long enough for me to be quite convinced he liked what he saw. When his eyes found mine once again, they further thawed.

"Is there anything else you desire, Master?" I asked, my tone of voice deep and sultry. It was something I'd practiced—along with the lowering of my eyes so as to appear submissive, the slight breath through my open lips and the slow sweep of my eyelashes.

His eyes remained on my face. "Step back."

It was the first time I'd heard that low, husky voice. It sounded like the taste of dark liquor, rich and smoky. But above all, it was a voice of command, and one not to be disobeyed.

"Apologies, Master." I bobbed a curtsey, staying down a beat longer than necessary to allow him another eyeful of my cleavage.

Before I drifted back out of earshot, Master Nicolo returned to his conversation with Prince Balduin.

"I'm not convinced of his loyalty," he said.

"He's a Duke, Nicolo," the prince responded.

"Does that automatically make him loyal?"

The prince tossed a grape into the air and caught it in his mouth. "He knows which side his bread is buttered."

"You need to be careful," Nicolo argued.

Balduin patted his friend on the shoulder. "You're careful enough for the both of us." He looked around, and I hurriedly shuffled back so they wouldn't realize I'd been eavesdropping, keeping my head lowered all the while.

When I brought my gaze back up again, I found both Prince Balduin and Master Nicolo staring at me. I swallowed hard, something which wasn't an act.

"I don't believe I've seen that maid before," Balduin said as he appreciated my more obvious… assets.

"Nor have I," Nicolo answered and by the sound of his voice, he was less than interested. Yet, his attention remained on me. As did the prince's.

"Very… attractive," commented Balduin, talking about me as if I weren't standing there, not five feet away from him. "I don't believe I've seen hair such a flaxen color before," he continued. "And that white skin leads me to believe her nipples would be the color of the roses in my garden."

Nicolo said nothing, but his eyes travelled from my feet, up my body, pausing at my breasts, before arriving at my eyes. He seemed to approve, but it was hard to tell with the master, who gave away nothing. Even if he liked what he saw, it didn't necessarily make me something special; Nicolo and Balduin were both known to have an eye for the ladies.

More than an eye, in fact.

Based on the stories I'd heard in the maids' dormitory, I wouldn't be the first to catch their attention—the prince treated the maidservants like a fruit tree, to be plucked whenever he was hungry. Many of the girls were quite proud of these encounters and kept a tally scratched on the dormitory's wooden walls, creating an unofficial hierarchy of favorites.

I didn't intend to be one of those tallies but with the way the prince was staring at me, that might prove to be difficult.

The first course finished, I hurried forward with the other maids to clear away the detritus of plates, knives, discarded bones and so on. Perhaps I leaned a little further than necessary across Master Nicolo to pick up his plates, allowing my chest to brush lightly against his arm.

"Apologies, Master," I whispered with what I hoped was a coquettish smile (I had practiced it in the mirror).

"No need to apologize." There was that voice again.

"And what of my plates?" the prince said as he reached forward and wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me towards him and tugging me into his lap. Then he looked at his friend. "She smells heavenly… of… what is that arresting scent? Lilies?"

"Jasmine, my lord," I said in a soft voice as I kept my eyes trained to the floor. The jasmine oil had done exactly as I'd intended.

"Nicolo, smell her," Balduin said as he reached for his friend who wore the same expression he had since first seeing me. "She smells like Spring itself."

"I believe you," Nicolo said on that dagger of a smile.

"Your plates have been cleared, my lord," I peeped as I tried to pull myself from Balduin's lap. He released me with a nod and another longing gaze at my breasts.

"So, they have been." Once I was able to free myself, I immediately carried the dishes to the kitchen and left them there before returning to my post behind Nicolo and against the wall.

"My sister is trying to catch your attention, Nicolo," said Prince Balduin.

"Which?" asked Nicolo.

"Laurel. Her husband is busy talking and she takes the opportunity to make eyes at you. Really, she's so gauche, you'd think a princess would be a bit more… refined."

Nicolo looked at Balduin's sister. "She appears embarrassed."

"Well, it must be difficult to flirt with you when you're sitting next to her brother and you're twenty feet away." He then glanced back at me. "And when you're surrounded by much more… desirable maids."

Nicolo shrugged and seemed very unconcerned. "Laurel has never been subtle."

"Subtlety is a gift with which none of my sisters were blessed," agreed Balduin with a hearty chuckle. "They would all like to seduce you, then kill me, then return to your bed. The easiest route to the throne."

Nicolo shook his head. "Not as easy as they might think." Then he faced me as I took a few steps forward and pretended to be searching for any errant plates or silverware. "I believe the table is clear now." His tone was harsh, irritated. I nodded and ducked away hurriedly.

"Yes, Master. Apologies, Master."

"Mmm," Balduin said as he took another feasting look at me.

"You're excused, girl," Nicolo barked at me and Balduin's face fell.

"Always botching my good fun, Nicolo."

"We have more important topics to discuss than the color of the maid's nipples," he answered in that haughty, privileged way of his.

"Pity," Balduin answered on a sigh.

I gave them both a curtsey and took it as a win as Nicolo watched me go.

Alongside the tallies, the walls of the maids' dormitory also boasted a large number of crude drawings—stick figures engaged in questionable (borderline impossible) sexual behaviors, dirty jokes, and insults about each other. One would not have believed it, but when a group of young girls are assembled, they're just as bad as boys.

Chief amongst this graffiti was a very simple graphic consisting of a pair of vertical parallel lines, one with the name ‘Balduin' below it, the other ‘Nicolo'. Balduin's line was just over the length of a man's handspan (from thumb to pinkie at full stretch), while Nicolo's was longer by a finger-length.

In my naivety, I had no idea what this graphic meant.

But I certainly planned to find out.

***

"There's a fight! There's a fight!" Elsie screamed, nearly choking on her own tongue in her hurry to get the words out.

"Is it the stable hands brawling again? I like that blonde one," one of the girls responded. It could have been Surval. Gurval?

"It's The Unbreakable!" Katy yelled.

The third time I saw Master Nicolo was in the courtyard of the King's Tower.

I'd just joined the scurrying gaggle of maids, all jostling for a place and banging into one another with little care, hanging out the windows to get a good view of the fight going on in the yard beneath us.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I don't know," someone answered.

There were soldiers about the periphery of the courtyard but they all kept back as Master Nicolo held up a hand. He stood in the center of the yard, facing a man in red, who was hemmed in on all sides.

Nicolo spoke. "Someone give him a bloody sword!"

A sword was tossed out to the man in red, who caught it, drew it and ran an eye up and down its length.

"Will it do?" asked Nicolo with narrowed gaze. He wasn't unlike a hawk eyeing its nemesis.

The man nodded.

Nicolo drew his own weapon, and the fight began.

When I'd seen Nicolo in the corridor that first time, I'd noted the confidence of his movement, but that was nothing to seeing him like this. Master Nicolo had struck me as a creature of court, someone who spent his days lounging about while others buzzed around, providing for his every whim. He'd certainly never served as a foot soldier in any army. But you would never have known it, watching him now. He moved with a muscular, animal grace.

The man in red charged, swinging his blade, but Nicolo parried, ducked and came up fighting, and then landed a harsh kick right to the man's back.

When I was a child, I'd watched a cat stalking birds in the gardens of the institution where I was brought up. That was the exact memory that visited me now—Nicolo reminded me of that cat. Even when he moved slowly, you could almost sense the muscles beneath the leather of his jerkin, and when he struck, he did so with an explosion of power. It was almost as if he were doing a dance of sorts—as if his feet moved on air, rather on the hard, cold ground. There was an ease and a fluidity to his body that almost seemed impossible for a human body. And yet, there he was.

The man in red was a trained warrior who handled his weapon with skill and precision, certainly, but Nicolo's skill was at least his equal, and his athleticism clearly beyond. When the man struck, Nicolo was somehow no longer there—he simply sidestepped or backstepped or frontstepped his opponent. And he did so quickly—incredibly so. He never seemed rushed; no, he moved with the grace of a dancer, the strength of a warrior and the speed of a cat.

Briefly, I looked up from the spectacle in the courtyard to the walls of the King's Tower. People watched from most the windows, but the one person who caught my eye was the highest up.

Was it…? I had to shield my eyes from the sun to be sure.

Yes.

The Old Queen was watching. And she didn't look happy.

From what I had gathered in my studies, the man now known as Master Nicolo had been born a peasant, not even in the Gath itself, but in one of those country villages that scraped out a farming existence in the shadow of the Castle Complex. One day Woodfall Gath would swallow them too—just like it had all the others.

Anyway, Nicolo's violet eyes had made him and his mother outcasts, as superstitious villagers insisted he was the spawn of a demon. The fact that Nicolo's mother couldn't name his father confirmed this belief and the pair were driven from their home.

To watch Nicolo now, I half-wondered if the rumors were true and his demonic heritage was the reason for his skill and the way in which his body moved.

Returning to the stories of his youth, for years, Nicolo's mother eked out what living she could on the fringes of those little villages, begging, stealing scraps and doing everything in her power to keep her child alive.

Then, one day, the royal coach cracked a wheel near the place where Nicolo and his mother were living. The coach contained the Old Queen, her daughter and Prince Balduin, the heir to the throne, though at this point in time, the prince was only five years old.

But Balduin at five was a very different boy to the strong man he would come to be; he was not expected to live to be six. A year prior, he'd been struck down by the same wasting disease that had claimed his grandfather, King Moros, and since then, Queen Nell had devoted herself to seeing the boy cured.

The queen had exhausted every doctor, healer and preacher in Woodfall Gath, and so they'd ridden out beyond the Castle Complex, in search of local mystics and medicine men who might be able to help the young prince. They were on their way back from another fruitless visit when the accident occurred.

As the coachman fixed the wheel, the two boys played together, and by the time the afternoon was waning into evening, Prince Balduin was healthier than he had been for months. The adults assumed this gift was simply the delayed effects of the healer whom they had seen earlier that day. So, they gave thanks to the Great God and headed back to the Great Castle.

But, the following day, Balduin lapsed back into ill health and the Old Queen wondered over his happy disposition the previous day. The very next day she returned to Nicolo and his mother, and again the boys played, and again, Balduin grew better. At the end of the day, the Old Queen offered to buy Nicolo.

Though ground down by poverty, Nicolo's mother refused to sell her son.

So, the queen's guards simply took the boy.

From the day Nicolo arrived at the castle, Balduin grew better, until he was as strong as his new playmate, who now shared his every waking hour and who slept in the same room with him.

It was a wrench for young Nicolo to be separated from his loving mother, but the pain was made easier by his youth, the fact that his every request was happily seen to, and by the fact that he'd never before had a friend, and he and Balduin were fast friends. They could have been made for each other, sharing everything, enjoying private jokes and pranks, playing together to their heart's content.

They'd remained that way through the years, as close as brothers, which was why so many feared Master Nicolo: the peasant who had the ear and heart of the heir to the throne.

Through my research, I learned that in preparation for his role as King, Balduin was given lessons on everything from politics to sword-fighting, from strategy to geography. Nicolo was there too; not being taught, of course, but learning, just the same. But when it came to lessons, the boys differed; Balduin had no interest in his education, preferring play and, as he grew older, wine and women. Nicolo too acquired a taste for wine and women, but he remained an avid student. He learned to be a better king than his friend could ever be, and that too scared the people because it wasn't the way things were supposed to be.

Those of the royal line were supposed to lead, not poor bastards with the strangest of eye colors.

As the man in red struck again, Nicolo spun out of his way and delivered a sharp blow to the back of the man's head, knocking him to his knees. Then Nicolo disarmed his opponent with a swift kick.

"What a specimen of a man," breathed Elsie from beside me.

"Aye, but what a right bastard," whispered Katy.

"Yes. But a magnificent bastard," said Burval.

For a moment, the two combatants looked at each other, in acknowledgment that the fight was over. Most of the girls looked away as Nicolo ended the duel with a single cut, the man's body dropping to the ground.

I looked up to see the queen's window empty.

She'd forbidden Nicolo from taking part in such fights, because if he died, so did Balduin. And they knew this from trial and error. According to my sources, the queen had done experiments, Nicolo leaving the Great Castle for increasingly long periods. Balduin's condition had improved as he got older but three weeks was the limit he could go without his friend before the disease returned. And to this day, no one quite knew why Balduin's health was returned to him when in Nicolo's presence. Of course, rumors of Nicolo being the demon spawn of hell were never far from conversations regarding the bizarre mystery.

But to any civilized person, such stories were nothing more than fairy tales because we were all well-aware that there were no such things as demons.

The girls looked down again, not to see the body, but to see the victor. He'd just killed a man, but Nicolo drew their attention as magnetically as ever. That palpable sense of danger, even cruelty, gave an edge to the dominant sexuality that Master Nicolo radiated. And yet…

"What did the man do?" Katy asked.

"Tried to assassinate The Unbreakable." Elsie shook her head and worried her apron as she answered.

If the would-be assassin had been taken alive, he would have been tortured in order to reveal whoever he worked for. Thus, in a way, Nicolo had spared him.

"How many is that then?" Katy asked.

"Five this year."

Five assassination attempts on Master Nicolo. Did they know that killing Nicolo was as good as killing Balduin? Some did, because rumors spread, but most did not. They simply wanted The Unbreakable out of the picture.

But Nicolo had foiled all of them. He was too clever, too careful, too skilled with the blade.

None of which was good news for me, because I was here in the Castle, disguised as a maid, to assassinate the master.