Page 23 of Warrior Princess Assassin (Braided Fate #1)

The princess is in worse shape. Her gown is thick, because the palace was so cold, but it’s completely unsuitable for a hike in the snow.

She tried to hold her dress out of the water, but the hem is soaking wet anyway, along with her boots.

They’re slim suede riding boots, not army boots, and the water from the stream likely soaked through.

Despite the velvet of her dress, she’s shivering so fiercely that I almost feel pity.

Asher looks at the stove for a long moment, then looks at me from under the hood. His tense deliberation practically radiates .

“Cold?” I say darkly.

“I’m fine.”

“The princess isn’t. Untie me. I can make it warm.”

“By burning me alive? No, thank you.” But he glances at the princess, then shoves back the hood and shrugs out of his jacket.

“Here,” he says to Jory. His tone is quieter. Gentler. “Put this on.”

“Th-thank you,” she says, slipping her arms through the sleeves, pulling it tightly around herself, even going so far as to draw the hood up, until it’s her face in shadow.

But I’m not looking at her, I’m looking at Asher.

It’s my first chance to really see him, and I’m surprised to discover that he’s not some unkempt outlaw.

He’s clean-shaven and sharp-featured, and a bit younger than I expected—closer to the princess’s age than mine.

His white-blond hair is a shade I’ve never seen on a grown man.

It’s longer on top, falling into his blue eyes in a way that makes him seem almost petulant.

Dark vertical lines have been inked onto his left cheek, stretching from his jaw to just below his eye.

They must be significant. I saw a few men with something similar in one of Prince Dane’s battle camps, but those men only had one or two. Asher seems to have half a dozen.

He’s lithe and leanly muscled, not built like a soldier at all. It explains how he was able to leap onto that beam like he was weightless—and why he struggled to keep me pinned. I probably have him by forty pounds. Maybe more.

If he were a second slower, I could’ve broken every bone in his body before he even knew it was happening. If the princess hadn’t asked me to disarm, I could’ve cut that garrote and plunged a dagger into his throat before he pulled it taut.

I’m such an idiot.

Jory hasn’t stopped shivering, and I’m guessing it’s the soaked boots causing a problem. She’s begun to stomp her feet against the dirt floor, and a little whimper escapes her mouth. She glances around the tiny room desperately, likely looking for the same blankets or cloaks I hoped for.

I refuse to let it tug at my heart. I’m still bound, and I’m not sure I believe anything they’ve told me.

I refuse .

“Take these, too,” says Asher, yanking his gloves free. His voice is still low.

Jory shivers, pulling them over her hands. Her clouded breath stutters with her voice. “Th-thank you.”

Oh, fine. I’m not heartless. “You need to take the boots off,” I say. “If your feet are wet, you’ll never get warm. Sit on the floor and wrap your feet up in your skirts so they dry.”

I don’t expect her to listen, but she does. She sits in a pile of lavender velvet and satin, tucking the dry parts of her skirts around her legs, the black leather and fur of his jacket a stark contrast. The worst of her shivering seems to abate.

This time she looks at me, and a hint of a blush finds her cheeks. “Thank you, Ky.”

“Yes, Princess.”

Asher scowls.

Jory’s eyes flick to the stove, and then back to him—and finally to me. I already know what she’s thinking, but I hold her gaze and say nothing.

She chews on her lip, and her eyes shift back to Asher. “We should light it,” she says.

His focus is locked on me. “No.”

“His hands are bound.”

“I don’t care.”

“It doesn’t do us any good if we freeze to death!” she says.

“It doesn’t do us any good if we burn to death.”

“It’s freezing,” she says more quietly. “Asher, please.”

He draws an aggravated breath—but when he exhales, it streams out in a visible cloud, and even he can’t hold back a shiver. “I don’t have flint,” he finally says. “Do you?”

She inhales sharply—then frowns. Of course she doesn’t.

“I have flint,” I offer.

Asher regards me for the longest minute, but he doesn’t move. I add, “You’re going to torture her because you’re afraid of me?”

“I’m not doing anything to her. It’s freezing because of you.” But he crosses the small stretch of floor to stop in front of me, and our fogging breaths mingle between us. “Where is it?”

I don’t answer. Garrett would spit right in his face, but I’m not quite that petty. This close, I can see the start of bruising along his chin, the slight split in his lip. I remember the bruises on the princess’s knuckles. Is he the one she punched? What did he do to cause it?

My lack of an answer seems to aggravate him, because he steps closer and begins tugging at the pouches of my belt. I wonder if I have enough give in these bootlaces to kick him in the crotch and take him down. Probably not.

Instead, I say, “What do the marks on your face mean?”

“They mean I was stupid.” He finds a handful of coins before he finds flint, and they jingle in his palm as he looks down at the silver. I fully expect him to pocket the coins like a thief, and I’m genuinely surprised when he puts them back.

“An honorable killer?” I say to him, and his blue eyes flick up.

“You’re a killer, too,” he says. “Don’t try to deny it.”

“I didn’t.”

He tugs at the next pouch, but his eyes hold mine. “I’m not a thief.”

“What is your plan?” I say.

“You don’t need to worry about my plan .”

“Because you don’t have one?” I say, and it earns me a glare. He finds the flint and palms it, turning away from me to kneel before the stove. When he draws the door open, a plume of dust comes with it.

“We’re going to an inn,” the princess says, shivering between words. “The Three Fishes. Right?”

“We can’t go there now,” Asher says. “We have to stay out of sight.” He thrusts a dusty log into the stove, tosses some kindling on top, and strikes the flint.

The instant a spark forms, I feel it in my bones, like a surge of energy I can’t ignore.

It’s stronger than I ever remember, but maybe the length of time away from any kind of flame made my magic desperate.

The kindling catches, and I jerk at my bonds involuntarily.

Every muscle in my body goes taut, my hands fighting to form a sigil before I’m even aware of what I’m doing.

Nothing. I’m bound too tightly.

But the sudden effort makes me gasp, and Asher and Jory both snap their heads up to look at me.

Inside the stove, the fire catches the wood, and warmth swells into the room, quick and intense.

This close, I can feel every flicker, every plume of flame, like a beckoning.

Even without sigils, any fire in my presence responds to my magic, burning hotter and higher than normal, like an eager student awaiting a teacher’s instruction.

Asher draws back, but Jory quickly shuffles forward on her skirts, holding out her hands toward the stove.

Asher is watching me instead. His throat jumps as he swallows. Even with my hands bound, the fire makes him anxious, I can tell.

I might be willing to tear him to pieces if I get loose, but I don’t want him anxious. At any moment, he could decide my survival means too much risk to them both. I’m surprised he hasn’t already.

So I lean against the wall and slide down to sitting, and I take the edge out of my voice. “So you have no plan.” I tug at the leather straps trapping my arms. “I am to be your captive in this tiny room for...ever?”

“You’re not our captive,” Jory says, and her voice is quiet. She glances from me to Asher. “Asher brought me his orders, and I...I didn’t know who I could trust.”

“I am bound, and he is not. The aim of your trust is clear.” Her frown deepens, so I continue, “You said you had proof of these orders. Show me.”

Jory reaches into the bodice of her dress and pulls folded parchment free, then crawls in her skirts to stop in front of me.

She pushes the hood of his coat back, and a few curls escape her pinned hair, leaving tendrils to twist around her jaw.

She looks so small and helpless. I cannot believe this is the same young woman who helped an assassin steal me away from the palace.

Actually, yes I can. She already hid her identity once. Then I believed all her words about hope and need and wanting the best for her people. When she seemed so afraid, when she so guilelessly asked me to disarm a second time, I did it.

Bleeding skies, I am such an idiot.

“Look,” she says, holding up the parchment.

I study the shimmering seal that I recognize from documents Dane and I have already exchanged, then look up. “Who is the Hunter’s Guild?”

Asher raises a hand. “Me.”

“They’re assassins,” Jory says, and her voice has gone a bit hushed. “They can be hired by anyone. For anyone.”

I glance between them. “For anyone ? And your king allows this?”

“The palace pays the Hunter’s Guild quite a bit.

” Asher must have decided I can’t incinerate him, because he’s finally moved closer to the fire.

He drops to sit beside Jory. He pushes hair back from his face, and the fire turns the strands to gold.

“The Guildmaster approves every job before they’re revealed to the Hunters.

I shouldn’t even have those. We’re supposed to burn them after we read them, but.

..” He gestures to me. “ Well . It’s rumored that any killings of political import are sanctioned by the king himself—or Dane, now that he’s regent.

That’s why there’s a seal—so we know we’re not risking treason . ”

“Is this how you know each other?” I say, glancing between them both. “The princess of Astranza is secretly ruthless with her pet mercenary?”

“No!” she cries, just as Asher growls, “I’m no one’s pet .”

I raise my eyebrows and look back at them.