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Summary
As he watched the quiet twitch of Erik’s nostrils, Istvan thought about killing him. It’d be easy; he was defenseless. Erik slept in his armor should their pursuers catch up with them in the night, but his head and neck were exposed. A knife could so easily pierce that fragile skin, spill the blood Istvan could near see pumping just under the surface. It wouldn’t be the first time Istvan had bled a man to death in his sleep nor would it be the last. The knife had always sat right in his palm.
Killing him would be the smart thing to do. No more point of weakness, no more leverage against him. Nothing for Hanush or Radzig or any other pompous idiot to hold over him. No more questions of his true ambition. It’s what Istvan would have done before he met Erik, ruthlessly cutting any fat off his life.
Carefully, he removed his glove one finger at a time and put his hand to Erik’s throat.
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Istvan realizes his love for Erik outweighs his ambition