Page 27 of Warrior Princess Assassin (Braided Fate #1)

“She rarely leaves the palace. It’s not her fault that she doesn’t know.

” It’s my fault, really. I could’ve told her about my life at any point over the last ten years—but I didn’t.

I couldn’t . “You heard her. A lot of people think like that—that it’s all fair and just .

Or sometimes they think it’s what a criminal deserves.

Either way, it’s seen as...as labor .

Simple tasks for a short while, and then you earn your freedom. ”

“But it’s not?”

I scoff and look at him. “Why do you care? It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.” His golden eyes hold mine. “I’m to ally with this country, Asher. I would know its faults as well as its promise.”

That makes me go still. Every word is so earnest.

I don’t like to think of my time with the slavers, but this conversation—or maybe this situation—has dredged the memories up anyway.

I think of the men and women I’ve seen, waiting in the stockyards to learn their fate, how one man could be sent to work in a shop, sweeping the floor and having a bed at night, but the woman next to him might be sold to a soldier who wanted a plaything to tether to his bunk.

When I was freshly exiled from the palace, charged and convicted of conspiring with a traitor, I was sold off and chained to a post that very night.

I remember the men and women who would stroll through the aisles, tugging at hair, prying mouths open, ripping clothes away to reveal what was available.

I’d just lost my mother. I’d lost everything I’d ever known.

I remember fighting my bonds, pulling away from every prying hand, until a woman nearby whispered to me, “Don’t fight.

Some of them are looking for the ones that fight. ”

At sixteen, it was terrifying.

At twenty-six, it’s worse. I know where I’d go and what would happen to me.

I’m more agile than strong, so I’d never be picked for hard labor.

I’d prefer hard labor. Instead, my bright hair and blue eyes would catch someone’s eye.

I’d be sold right back into one of the brothels.

I’d spend my days chained to a rail beside a bed or a chair—or even just a dirty corner without so much as thin carpet over the wood floor.

I was young the first time I escaped, but I knew I’d be caught. No one lets a prized pet out of its cage for too long. But I didn’t mind the punishment. I thought people might see that first stripe on my cheek and avoid a whore who’s marked as difficult .

I was wrong. Instead, I discovered how many people would see a mark of rebellion and take it as a challenge.

When I was accepted to train as a Hunter, the Guildmaster seemed surprised that I didn’t balk at his lessons on killing. But after my years in brothels and arenas, after my years in chains, I’d endured more than I thought I could survive. Killing meant freedom. So I did it.

The king is watching me, and I realize I haven’t said a word. His voice is very low, very quiet. “ You do not believe it’s fair.”

Tension has crawled down my arms to tighten my fingers.

I’ve never found the courage to discuss any of this with Jory.

She’s too protected, too far removed—and I never want her to see me that way.

I want her to remember the Asher she knew when we were young, the boy who’d steal cookies off a warm tray and sneak through the palace.

Not the Asher who was left naked and starving and shoved onto his knees to enforce obedience. Not the Asher who learned to kill so he could survive.

“Tell me,” says the king.

I don’t know why his voice has such an effect on me, but it tugs at me and makes me speak.

“The slavers assign a value to everything,” I say.

“So if you eat, it’s added to your debt.

If you sleep, you owe for the time. If you need a shirt.

Boots. Anything . So even as you work to erase what you owe, more is added.

And once your debt is sold, there are no standards.

You can be caged. Chained. Punished if you disobey.

” I hesitate. “Because you’re not a person, you’re a possession, and everyone is determined to get their money’s worth. ”

As soon as the words escape my mouth, I can’t believe I said so much.

To the king of Incendar of all people.

I expect him to ask why I was sold to the slavers at all, and I brace for the question. But he doesn’t.

“You earned your freedom,” he says.

I glance over. “I did.”

“And you learned to be a killer.”

He says this so frankly, without judgment, very unlike the way Jory ever mentions my work with the Hunter’s Guild. It reminds me of the way I challenged him earlier. You’re a killer, too.

So I nod. “Once you’re marked, it’s difficult to find work.”

His eyes flick to my cheek. “Those are from your time with the slavers, then.”

I glance at Jory and keep my voice very low.

“If you escape, you earn a mark when they catch you. It’s a warning to future buyers—but also a permanent sign of what you once were.

Most people just want to serve their debt and be done.

Once you’re marked, you can’t. Everyone will always know.

You’re questioned everywhere. It’s impossible to hide. ”

“You escaped seven times?”

“Yes. Well...I was caught seven times. But once I had one mark, I saw no reason to avoid more.”

He regards me silently for a moment, and his expression shifts, as if this answer surprises him.

“When you ran,” he says, “where did you go?”

I don’t intend to answer, because it’s too personal, too close to my heart. But my eyes flick to Jory before I can help it.

“ Ah ,” the king says, drawing out the word.

I flush. “We grew up together. I lived in the palace until I was sixteen.”

“You love her.”

“No. I...” The words freeze on my tongue, and again I think of the moment I held her against me in bed—after insisting that we should be apart. “No.”

“You do.”

I shrug a little. “She’s the princess. There could never be anything between us.”

“But she adores you. I can see it.”

The words make my heart thump, and I nearly press a hand to my chest. I remember all the times I escaped my captors just to flee to her window.

The number of times I wished I could hide in her wardrobe forever, letting her slip me pastries and cups of tea before the servants would find me.

Sometimes I’d be injured, and I wouldn’t want her to see.

I’d sit on the ledge of her windowsill, invisible in the darkness, watching her read by candlelight or stand up to Dane or tuck pins into her hair.

“And you adore her ,” the king says.

This I can answer without hesitation. “I do.”

“Then protect her, Asher. Flee these Hunters on your own. With fire at my hand, no one will be able to draw near. I have my best soldiers with me, and I trust them . We will find the source of these orders and take action. Surely you know that we have the force to accomplish it. She will be warm and safe, and you will be well away. I had no quarrel with you before this morning, and I have none with you now.”

I stare at him, and I hate that every word of this sounds as earnest as everything else he’s said.

He looks right back at me. “She said you are her friend. She will need friends. Head east, and cross the border into Incendar at the northernmost point, near where the ocean meets the cliffs. There is a guard station there, and if you claim sanctuary from the king, they will bring you to me.” He pauses, and his voice goes very quiet.

“We may have our faults, but I can promise you this: there are no slavers in Incendar. I would offer you sanctuary, Asher. I swear it.”

I swear it. My heart pounds again, and my breathing feels shallow. I glance across at the princess again, and to my surprise, she’s half sitting up, watching us with parted lips.

She might not have heard everything, but she heard that part.

“Please,” she says.

I want to resist. I want to be the one to keep her safe.

But I can’t. I know I can’t. I’ve known it for hours.

Honestly, I’ve known it for years .

I run a hand down my face, then clench my fists, my fingertips digging into my palms. I draw a ragged breath and look back at the king.

“You cannot leave her alone,” I say in a rush.

“You cannot leave your back unguarded. The other Hunters know the sewers. They can get in the same way we got out. Don’t stay in Astranza one second longer than necessary. ”

He looks at me intently, like he’s memorizing every word. “Understood.”

“They are fast and they are brutal . Don’t eat the food. They have poisons. Weapons. Disguises. And you may trust your men, but I don’t. Someone from Incendar paid for that order.” I don’t even wait for a response, I just look at Jory. “Do you truly trust him?”

“Yes. Asher, yes .”

I clench my eyes closed. My fingernails feel like they’re drawing blood from my palms. But I keep thinking about the cold.

The marks on my face that make it impossible for me to go anywhere without being interrogated.

Her silly suede boots that probably came close to freezing her toes off.

The fact that she’s never been anywhere outside the palace without a dozen guards and attendants.

I really do adore her. I would give her anything she asked. My heart aches.

I open my eyes and look at the king. “You swear it?”

“I do.”

“Fine.” I draw the blade buckled to my thigh, and before I can reconsider, I slice through his bonds.

The king makes a sound that’s half relief, half agony, followed by a gasping breath.

My heart is thumping, and I keep a tight grip on my dagger, ready to plunge it right into him.

For one tense moment, I think he’ll summon his magic and the room will be overcome by an inferno.

But aside from the reflection of firelight in his eyes, there’s nothing.

He’s just a man gingerly rubbing his wrists, hunching his shoulders as if they ache.

“Thank you,” he says.

I swallow, because this doesn’t feel like a moment for thanks. My heart is still pounding.

Jory lets out a breath. “Asher.”

I sheathe the knife and turn for her, half rising on my knees to shift to standing. “Jory—”

Her eyes flare wide and she sucks in a breath, and that’s all the warning I have before the king tackles me. My jaw slams into the stone floor, and my right arm is wrenched behind my back, and then his weight pins me there. I’m scrabbling for weapons, but he’s too heavy, especially with his armor.

Fuck. Fuck.

His grip turns searing hot, and I cry out. It forces me still, and almost pulls a whimper from my throat.

Stars. I was so stupid.

“ No , Princess,” the king says sharply, and I realize she’s drawn one of the blades from my jacket, and she’s holding it up in front of him.

Good girl . I hope she stabs him.

But she shrieks and drops the blade. It’s glowing red. She scrambles back, clutching her hand to her chest like it burned her.

“I’m sorry,” I’m gasping. “Jory—I’m sorry.”

The king grabs my free hand and wrenches it behind my back using every ounce of force I used on him. I brace myself for him to melt my hands together or something even worse, but he only tethers my wrists, likely with the same leather strap.

I’m so stupid.

So stupid.

“You will let him go ,” Jory is saying breathlessly to the king. “ Now. I won’t marry you if you hurt him. The alliance will be worthless. You need my father’s magic—”

“And you need mine.” His voice is tired. “I haven’t hurt him, Princess.” He grabs hold of my bindings and jerks me upright, until I’m on my knees, facing him.

If I had that garrote around his throat now, I wouldn’t stop. Not even for Jory. I hate that I talked to him. I hate that I listened to him. I hate that I trusted him, even for a second. Rage is building in my chest, and I can barely breathe through it.

“I hope the other Hunters find you,” the princess says to him. The viciousness in her voice is chilling. “I hope they take their time .”

“My soldiers will find us first,” he says. His voice is cool, practical. “And you will be safe, as promised. But I cannot release a man who killed one of my soldiers and forced us out of the palace.”

“I didn’t kill him!” I snap.

Jory takes a step forward, until they’re nearly toe to toe. In the flickering firelight, she looks every bit as dangerous as he does. “You will release him. You will let him go , or I will make sure my father’s army ends you.”

The king looks right back at her, and he doesn’t back down. I’m beginning to think he never does. He lifts his right hand, then sketches a quick sigil. A lick of flame swirls right out of the stove to hover above his palm, inches from her arm.

Jory draws a sharp breath, suddenly frozen in place.

So am I.

As we watch, the flame gathers in a ball on the king’s palm, reflecting off his cheeks and spinning gold in his hair. It’s terrifying and wondrous and in spite of everything, I can’t help but stare.

When Maddox Kyronan speaks, it’s his tone that’s chilling. “Do I seem worried?”