Page 1 of Warrior Princess Assassin (Braided Fate #1)

Chapter One

The Princess

T he bells stopped tolling hours ago, so it must be near midnight.

It’s certainly dark enough. Cold, too, especially in my chambers.

My breath makes a thin cloud every time I exhale, and I inwardly curse my father’s decree that any flame in the kingdom needed to be doused at sunset.

It’s impossible to escape the bone-deep chill that’s settled over the palace.

This is surely the worst time for a dress fitting—especially for a wedding gown I have no intention of wearing.

A pin jabs into my shoulder, and I make a tiny sound, but I try to keep still.

The seamstress notices anyway. “Forgive me, Your Highness,” she says, blowing on her hands in an attempt to warm them. She’s middle-aged, with a round figure and graying dark hair that’s wrapped in a braid. “I can barely feel my fingers.”

She’s one of my dressmaker’s assistants, but I don’t know her name. Normally her mistress would be here to supervise, but this is my fifth fitting of this wedding gown, and I’m certain the prim and delicate Mistress Revelle considered the cold and the dark and wanted nothing to do with it.

It makes no difference to me. They could ask one of the stable hands to pin the dress together for all I care.

I glance at the window, where each pane is clouded with frost, gleaming in the moonlight. My heart thumps, and I hope for a flicker of motion outside, some sign that Asher has returned, that he’s hiding in the shadows, waiting for me to be alone.

If he were here, this wouldn’t all be so terrifying.

If he were here , I could beg him to help me escape.

Another pin pricks my shoulder, and I stifle a yelp. “Surely we can light the hearth for a short while,” I say. “The contingent from Incendar isn’t due to arrive until dawn.”

The seamstress looks hopefully over my shoulder toward Charlotte, my first lady-in-waiting. “My lady, if the princess insists—”

“No,” Charlotte says to her firmly. “All flames were to be doused before dark. The precinct officers have been out for hours, enforcing it all over Astranza. The king of Incendar must be within our borders by now, and there shall be no fire to draw his power, most definitely not in this room. Your father issued the order, and Prince Dane was very clear in delivering it.”

Well, my father isn’t half-naked and being treated like a pincushion, or I rather think his orders would be different.

Then again, it’s Father’s magic that’s making it so cold.

Another pin pokes me, and I bite my tongue and try not to jump.

Charlotte draws close, coming into view.

She’s a bit older than I am, with mouse-brown hair that she always twists back into a knot, and very sharp features that make her seem closer to forty than thirty.

She’s been with me for years, but she’s never quite been a friend.

Dane has too many lackeys and spies in the palace for me to fully trust anyone on the staff, so my only true friend has been Asher.

That said, Charlotte is one of the few people who seems more loyal to me than to my brother. If she refuses to allow a fire, then he must have been very clear indeed.

She confirms it when she adds, “Your brother is not willing to take any chances with Maddox Kyronan and his temper. Not until the king has made his marriage proposal and you have given your...” She hesitates. “Your response.”

She means when I say no .

If profanity from the princess wouldn’t cause a scandal, it would be fuck no.

I glance at the moonlit window again. Asher, please.

But I haven’t seen him in months.

Worry flares in my gut, and I try to tamp it down. Of anyone I know, Asher can certainly take care of himself, and I have bigger problems.

Like this marriage proposal that’s supposed to seal our alliance with Incendar.

Dane may have spent months negotiating for this union, but as far as I’m concerned, he can spend a few more.

I refuse to be sent away to a barren, sun-scorched kingdom as some kind of payment for their king’s brutal magic on the battlefield.

The instant I have the thought, a new twinge of worry pierces my belly.

Because I know why Dane is so desperate for this alliance.

The war heralds bring news to court every evening, so I heard the gasps when they announced that Maddox Kyronan won a narrow victory against Draegonis by setting an entire regiment of soldiers ablaze.

Thousands of Draegs burned to death on the field.

Any survivors were finished off with arrows and steel.

Dane would give anything for Astranza to be so victorious. We can barely keep Draegonis from breaching our borders. And as Father grows older, there have been rumblings from the people asking how we will manage to keep Astranza secure.

But we’ve all heard darker stories about Maddox Kyronan.

A day maid whispered that he once sketched sigils in the air and turned a man to ash right in the middle of his throne room, leaving his advisers aghast. Another one said that the touch of his skin can cause blistering burns, searing right through muscle and bone if he refuses to let go.

I shuddered when I heard that, but it’s not even the worst of it.

There are rumors that Maddox Kyronan keeps his people obedient by scorching their limited fields and leaving them hungry, too.

When they complain, charred, blistered bodies are strung from pikes along the road, ghastly reminders of his power.

And Dane just plans to hand me over.

Something inside me curls up, tight and afraid.

I need to stop thinking about this. No one can be that powerful.

My own father’s magic always seems vast, allowing him to harness the weather and keep Astranza’s fields bountiful and prosperous—a king providing for his people.

Rumors about his magnanimous abilities swirl through Astranza, too.

But they’re not all true. Even Father has limits.

The seamstress pokes me again, and I have to suck back a yip.

It’s so cold that I’d honestly let them light this dress on fire while I’m wearing it.

I hope the pins are drawing blood, because there will be sparks of crimson on the bodice in the morning, and that might be reason to delay the wedding.

Maybe that’s worse. Maybe this vicious king would like specks of blood on my dress.

I glance at the window again, but there’s nothing. Just the silent moon, taunting me.

My chest tightens. Asher’s duties have taken him far from the capital city in the past, but it’s rare, and he’s never been gone for so long.

But if something happened to him, no one would even think to tell me.

An assassin from the Hunter’s Guild would never be associated with the prim and proper Princess Marjoriana.

But Asher is my dearest friend. My only friend.

I glance at the frosted windowpane again. He could be hurt. He could be dead .

The very thought makes my throat go tight, and I have to swallow.

Charlotte reaches out and squeezes my hand, and I blink away tears.

“Maybe he won’t be so horrible,” she murmurs.

She’s still talking about Maddox Kyronan, and she probably thinks I’m overwhelmed with emotion about the proposal. I huff a laugh, because it’s better than letting a tear roll down my cheek. “Every hearth is dark,” I say. “Clearly everyone else expects him to be horrible.”

She frowns and says nothing—which is answer enough.

Charlotte said the king and his retinue are inside our borders, so they must be riding toward the palace right now.

I’ve never been to the southern border, so I don’t know how long the journey would be in this weather.

Will they be riding through the night? I wonder if Father is allowing the snow to fall to hide the vastness of our fields, or if this is just an example of his power, meant to impress visiting royalty.

Maybe both. Incendar might have mountain ranges full of valuable iron ore, but it’s no secret that they’ve been struggling with barren fields for years now—regardless of whether their king is causing it.

All the iron in the world won’t feed starving people.

No one here in Astranza ever goes hungry, not with our miles of farmland.

Father’s magic brings the perfect balance of sunshine and rain to let our crops and livestock flourish.

I’ve heard army generals warn my brother that Maddox Kyronan could one day turn his sights on Astranza—and I wonder if this is part of the reason Dane and my father have sought an alliance now .

A rap sounds at the door, and before Charlotte can cross the room, it swings wide. My brother strides in without hesitation—without even asking if I’m willing to receive him.

“Marjoriana,” he says crisply. He’s ten years older than I am, with gray threading the hair at his temples, though at thirty-five, his beard is still full and black.

“Dane,” I say, my tone just as cold. “By all means, come in with no regard for whether I’m dressed.”

“I will,” he says, because he refuses to acknowledge sarcasm.

He walks past the women, who both hastily curtsy, though he ignores them.

He studies the heavy train of delicately beaded fabric that’s carefully draped over a chair behind me, and then his eyes shift to the two dozen pins surrounding my décolletage.

“I expected to find you sleeping,” he says, “but your guards indicated that the dressmaker was still at work.”

He sounds upset, and the seamstress flinches.

Though honestly, Dane always sounds upset about everything.

He’s been that way for as long as I can remember.

When I was young, I used to hear whispers that my birth was a blessing, because my mother had had numerous miscarriages, but Dane never saw it that way.

He’s always been the crown prince, off learning to hold a sword and ride a horse and rule a country, while I’ve always been the baby princess, sheltered and coddled and kept away from any danger.