Page 13 of Warrior Princess Assassin (Braided Fate #1)

Chapter Six

The Warrior

T he sun is fully up now, and my men are finally sleeping.

I, however, am not.

My instincts have been screaming at me since the moment we arrived in the palace. Honestly, since we crossed the border. We’ve only been here for an hour, but every shadow seems to hide a spy, every sound seems to indicate an impending attack.

Then again, it’s possible I’m just exhausted.

We’ve been given a very fine set of rooms, with platters of food and pitchers of wine, along with a full decanter of whiskey after Sev expressed an interest. All of it is ice-cold, but the servants have clearly been ordered to spare no expense to ensure my soldiers and I are comfortable.

Sev could have his own quarters, but he’s sprawled on the chaise longue in mine, two blankets drawn up to his chin. He drank two shots of whiskey, so I’m not surprised he can sleep. He’s still wearing every weapon, though, still buckled into every inch of his armor, right down to his boots.

So am I.

I think the others are, too—the only sign that I’m not alone in my worries. They’ve heard about how my potential bride dressed as a maid to spy on the Incendrian “soldiers,” so maybe they’re all just biding their time, waiting to see how bad this gets.

Your king torments his own people, does he not?

Her words cut like a blade.

A shadow flickers across the stone wall, and my eyes snap to the windows, scanning each one for movement. My hand has already gone to the hilt of my sword.

But there’s nothing. Just the piercing blue sky of early morning. Not even a shifting cloud.

I run a hand over my face. I need to relax. A part of me wants to wake Sev, because we could find the bottom of that bottle together.

But I won’t steal sleep from my men when they can find it.

Instead, I walk a patrol, as if we’re in drafty tents on a battlefield instead of elegant rooms lined with polished mahogany and gleaming marble.

I slip through my doorway and glance into the next room, where Roman is sound asleep under a pile of furs, though the edge of his armor is visible.

To my surprise, Nikko is wide awake and alert in the chair by the window.

A gray fur is thrown over his lap, and a book sits on top of it.

I raise my eyebrows and glance at Roman, then back at Nikko.

He uses two fingers to tap under his right eye twice, then makes a circular motion to indicate the room. It’s a common soldier signal, and I know it.

Keeping watch.

So maybe I’m not the only one who’s anxious.

Mindful of the man asleep on the bed, I lift a hand and signal for him to follow me, peeking into the other rooms as I go.

The next one is empty, and when I glance into the third, I see why: Callum and Garrett have shared the bed, doubling their ration of blankets.

A dagger hilt sticks out from under Callum’s pillow, his hand right beside it.

I can’t see Garrett’s pillow, but I’d bet he’s done the same.

When I turn, Nikko is by my side, waiting. I don’t want to wake my sleeping soldiers, so I lead him back to the quarters that Sev left untouched. Once we’re inside, I half close the door and gesture to the plush chairs arranged near the cold bricks of the hearth.

He must be tired, because Nikko doesn’t need any more encouragement than that. He eases into one, so I do the same.

Nikko will go hours without speaking unless someone drags a conversation out of him, so I say, “Did Sev make you sit sentry?”

“No,” he says, his voice low and unnaturally rough. “We drew for it.”

“You should sleep, Nikko. I’m not going to.”

“I’ll wake Roman in a bit.”

There’s a familiar resolve in the way he says that.

A refusal that’s not a refusal. Even if I ordered him to sleep, he’d lie in bed and stare at the ceiling until whatever predetermined time they agreed on.

At thirty-six, Nikko is the oldest of our group, and he’s been a soldier long enough that he served under my father before me.

He has black hair that he wears short, and skin the color of driftwood that turns to a rich brown in the summer.

Dark, deep-set eyes, too. When we visit the taverns, he’s never lacking for admirers—though I’ve never seen him leave with anyone. I rarely even see him talk to anyone.

He’s not shy. Just...aloof. Especially with strangers.

Few people know that under his armor, the left side of his body is marked with burn scars from shoulder to ankle.

Three years ago he was part of a small contingent that was captured by soldiers from Draegonis.

Half of his group was killed, including his captain.

The other half were tortured, set on fire over and over again in an attempt to gain information—and later, to lay a trap for me.

The Draeg soldiers wanted to get my attention.

They got it, just not in the way they wanted.

After we rescued those who were still alive, I discharged the most badly injured, allowing them to return home with pay.

Nikko was among them. I didn’t expect any of them to return to service.

Their injuries were too severe, the harm too great.

But Nikko reported right to me on the first day he could manage to strap on his armor.

At first, Sev told me to be careful and privately advised me to turn him away. We’d both seen the effects of torture, the way dormant fear can make someone falter in the worst moments. How a drive for vengeance can make someone reckless and wild.

But I liked that Nikko was quiet and reserved when he came to me, unlike the ones who are full of blustering swagger. I’m always reluctant to turn away an experienced soldier who wants to fight, too. So I gave him a chance, and I told Sev to keep him close so we could be sure.

I’ve never regretted it for a second.

Nikko glances at the cold hearth, and I watch him bite back a shiver, but he says nothing. He’s probably wishing he brought that fur in here, but he won’t complain about it.

I rise from the chair, grab the two quilts off the unused bed, and toss them both at Nikko. Then I drop back into my chair.

He smiles and untangles the blankets, then tosses one onto me. “We don’t both have to freeze.”

“I actually think that’s their intent,” I say.

He laughs softly, but then he sobers when he sees I’m not kidding.

When the palace footmen first showed us to these rooms, Sev said, “They can’t order us to keep the hearths cold, can they? Garrett, where’s your flint?”

Garrett pulled it from his belt almost instantly—but I told him to put it away. No matter how desperate I am, everything in this palace is too tense. The last thing I’m going to do is start a fire .

Nikko’s expression is serious, and he studies me.

“Roman sketched a map of what we’ve seen of the palace,” he says.

“He’s got most of their guard placements down.

It might be a challenge while the sun is up, but we know where the horses are kept, and our footmen aren’t far.

We could disappear before nightfall if you want to move. ”

Roman is my best tactician. I’m not surprised he’s already mapped out an escape route, and he accounted for everyone in our party.

I hate that we’re talking about this.

A flicker of motion from above nearly makes me jump. Nikko’s eyes lock on the window, too, but there’s nothing. I frown.

I rub a hand across the back of my neck and sigh.

My thoughts are too twisted up for this.

I keep thinking about the way the princess appeared, hiding her identity, creeping behind me and Sev to listen to our conversation.

Was that a clumsy attempt at subterfuge?

Prince Dane seemed furious to see her there, so it clearly wasn’t planned by him.

Was it King Theodore? I’ve met the man on two occasions, and I simply can’t see him dressing up his daughter to spy on me. Why risk her at all?

Which means it had to be her decision.

But if it was...then what was Princess Marjoriana planning? I was prepared for her to hate me, but this...this feels altogether different.

I know you’re ruthless and cruel.

She’s right. I am.

Did she think I wouldn’t remember her? Did she really think we could have any sort of accord if our first meeting was spun from a lie?

Nikko is still looking at me, waiting for a response about whether I want to leave.

I glance at the sunlit window and think of my sister, sitting back at home. I hope Victoria is enjoying a peaceful morning. Painting, perhaps, or walking in the gardens.

I hope she isn’t causing any more trouble.

I scrub a hand across my jaw. “I don’t want to move yet.”

“Have you slept?”

“I will.” Maybe.

He nods at the bed. “I’ll keep watch.”

I hesitate, because it’s tempting, and I trust Nikko at my back. I trust everyone I brought with me. I just...don’t trust anyone else in the palace.

But my sleep is never peaceful. Horrors from the battlefield like to haunt my dreams, especially when I’m anxious.

I doubt being here would make that any better.

My hand absently sketches a sigil in the air, a force of habit from when I’m stressed, but there’s no flame to draw.

The sigil barely glows before vanishing, and I frown.

Nikko is looking at me with something akin to pity, and I curl my hand into a fist.

“I wish I knew what her goal was,” I say. “I wish...I wish her brother hadn’t interrupted us quite so quickly.”

“Why?”

It’s a good question. I don’t fully have an answer.

I frown. “Because...”

My voice trails off. Because she might have been spying, but she didn’t seem like a spy.

A scratch against stone sounds from above. It’s barely a whisper of sound, but I jerk my head up.

Again, nothing. This is ridiculous. It’s probably just birds roosting in the snow.

Maybe my instincts are screaming about nothing at all.

The thought is striking. Perhaps I really have spent too many days along the front lines of battle. I’ve been looking at everything like a plotted attack, as if Astranza’s royalty sought to lay a trap—as if armed men might storm in from above at any moment.

I realign my thoughts and attempt to reevaluate the way the princess entered the room, the way the other woman scolded her on the steps, the way she was rearranging the flowers behind us. She couldn’t have known who I was. No one knew who she was.

When Prince Dane appeared, he was scolding her. He gripped her wrist so tightly. I heard the sound she made.

Of course I’m not hurting her .

That’s what Dane said. But the princess never answered.

For hours, I’ve been wondering if Princess Marjoriana devised this as a plan to get access to me or my soldiers, as if her scheme was part of some master plot to work against Incendar. As if she hoped to hear secrets that she would later report back to her brother or father.

But for the first time, I consider another reason a princess would feel the need to sneak and hide—and it has nothing to do with subterfuge.

“Wake Sev,” I say to Nikko. “There’s still work to be done.”