Page 30 of Warrior Princess Assassin (Braided Fate #1)

Chapter Fourteen

The Princess

I ’m such a fool. I should have listened to Asher to begin with. I should have just let him do what he was sent to do. We could be at the Three Fishes, on our way to...Well, I have no idea where we’d be.

But I wouldn’t be barefoot in the snow, shivering fiercely while the king of Incendar drags me around like a captive.

The worst part about all of this is that, despite my indignant anger, despite my absolute fury , I also want to cry.

I can just imagine how Dane is going to react when Maddox Kyronan hauls me into the palace with my hands tied behind my back—especially when he reveals that Asher was the instigator. I watched them drag my friend away once. I don’t want to watch them do it again.

Especially since it’s my fault. I begged him to do this.

Against my will, a tear slips down my cheek. I try to blink it away, but it doesn’t work. I have to hold my breath and duck my face, because I don’t want the king to know. I definitely don’t want his men to know. Tears feel too vulnerable. I already feel too vulnerable.

Luckily, the sky has grown dark, so shadows fall across us both as he guides me toward one of the tethered horses outside the hut. My toes are curling in the snow, and I stumble, my breath catching hard. Ky keeps a tight grip on my arm, and I bite my lip so I don’t make a sound.

Then, to my absolute surprise, he reaches past me to pull a short knife from behind the horse’s saddle, and he cuts my hands free.

I waste no time. I raise a hand and whirl.

He catches my wrists before I can hit him, and he wrestles me still. For the first time, his grip borders on painful, reminding me of every dangerous story I’ve heard about this man. My heart stutters.

But he simply holds me in place. His eyes roam over my face, so I know he sees the tears.

“We are returning to the palace,” he says.

His voice is cold, that gentle accent honed to a harsh edge.

For a man who can speak in low, intense tones that make my insides melt, it’s a reminder that he also leads armies into war.

“I would rather not bring you as a prisoner, but if that is what you prefer, tell me now.”

I shiver fiercely, and I can’t stop my hitching breath. “Fine,” I gasp, feeling another tear escape. I dig my fingernails into my palms. “I won’t f-fight you.”

Without another word, he puts his hands on my waist, lifts me into the air, and then I’m astride the horse.

My skirts bunch around me, leaving my lower legs bare, my stockinged thighs pressing into cold tack.

Before I can grab hold of the pommel, he’s got a boot in the stirrup and he swings up behind me.

His hands seize my waist again, lifting me a bit, situating my weight until I’m half in the saddle and half in his lap.

My lower body is trapped between his hips and the pommel of the saddle, my upper body held between his arms. I’m frozen in place, because it’s shocking—and wildly unexpected, despite my layers of skirts.

His breastplate presses against my spine, and the edges of his greaves brush my calves.

The muscles of his thighs are right below mine, reminding me of exactly what I’m sitting against.

I suddenly can’t think of anything else.

His entire manner is cool, unperturbed, but my cheeks catch on fire, a stunning contrast to the wind finding my tears.

I keep myself ramrod straight, because I’m so busy trying to comprehend his closeness.

I can’t even decide if I’m cold, because parts of me are absolutely frigid, like my fingers and toes, while the parts of me pressed against him seem unnaturally warm.

When he takes up the reins and gives the signal to walk, our hips sway with the movement of the horse. The pommel of the saddle holds me in place, securing me tightly against him. I can feel everything. Everything .

“This is inappropriate,” I say, shivering. Lady Charlotte would be horrified. “You should put me b-behind you.” Snowflakes are settling in the horse’s mane, melting when they strike my arms. I press my feet into the horse’s furred shoulders, seeking the animal’s warmth.

When he speaks, his voice is low and close to my ear. “Inappropriate, Princess?”

“I’m in your lap .”

“I’m not sure it’s safe to have you at my back.”

I clench my jaw, wondering if he’s mocking me. “You’re not afraid of me.”

“No. But you have no armor. If someone wants us dead, I don’t want you to take an arrow from behind.”

That’s sobering. I’ve been so focused on Asher that I almost forgot the entire reason we left the palace at all. I can’t help the shiver that rolls through my body.

To my surprise, the king swoops the cloak around us both, covering my legs along with his, twisting a steel clasp together to hold it in place in front of my waist. The inside is lined with fur, silky soft where it brushes against my feet.

“Would you rather ride with Callum or Garrett?” he says.

My cheeks burn hotter at the thought of being handed to a stranger, especially having to sit like this, thigh to thigh, hip to hip. I can’t tell if Ky is teasing me or if that’s a genuine offer. I refuse to dignify it with a response.

He’s so warm, though, especially where his arms brush against mine. Is it his magic? Or does he just have better clothes? He did say he rode all night in this weather. Either way, I’ve been cold for so long that some of the tension begins to slip out of my body.

“Put your hands under the cloak,” he says, his breath sparking warmth along my neck. His voice is lower, lacking an edge now. “I won’t let you fall.”

I don’t want to obey, but my hands have a mind of their own—or maybe I’m just too cold to care.

I slide my hands under the cloak, pressing them into my own thighs.

The satin in my skirts must stick to the calfskin leather of his trousers, because each step and sway of the horse seems to cause friction between us.

The press of his belt buckle reminds me of the moment he disarmed the first time, the gentle timbre of his voice, the slow slide of leather across steel.

Suddenly, I’m not cold at all. My cheeks must be on fire.

I need to think about something else. He lied. He tricked us. His men are probably beating Asher to death right now.

That thought throws an icy bucket of water on all my warmth.

I turn my head to see his face, but the sky has grown darker, and his profile is in shadow.

His men are riding closer than I expected, one at each flank.

The one on this side is Callum, I think.

I’m trying to keep them straight. Callum has lighter hair than the king, but he’s not as blond as Asher.

The one with reddish hair and freckles on his pale cheeks was Roman.

He’s the one Ky told to make Asher walk.

There was another one, too: Nikko, the one Asher attacked. I can’t see either of them.

On our other side, that leaves...Garrett, then. He seems to be the tallest, with rich brown skin and hair so black it shines. When I glance in his direction, his gaze meets mine.

His eyes are so cold that I nearly flinch.

No, I definitely don’t want to ride with one of them. I twist and face forward, my shoulders tense now. I remember how he punched Asher in the back, the way he looked ready to go after him again.

The way he chuckled as he said, Oh, we’ll bring him.

My throat tightens. When I glance over again, he’s still looking at me with that icy gaze.

I can’t believe these Incendrian soldiers are so bold. I should order him to look away. If we were back in the palace, I would.

But we’re not . I’m in his king’s lap, being marched home like I’m due for a scolding. It’s humiliating.

When I think of Asher, it’s terrifying.

A fresh round of tears gathers. This time I can’t help the hitching breath.

“Are these tears real?” says the king. His voice is still low, but it’s coolly practical—and somehow that makes it worse.

“They’re real,” I breathe. I have to pull a hand free to swipe at my face.

“Why?” he says. “I’ve caused you no harm.”

“But you did. You took my trust and you used it against us.”

“Did you not do the same when you came to my chambers? You asked for my men to leave, then asked me to disarm.”

That cuts like a blade, and it reminds me of the moment we met, when I accused Incendar of brutality. He said it was the very reason my father sought this alliance.

Since the moment we met, all you’ve given me are lies.

We haven’t begun with faith and honesty at all.

In my silence, the king guesses, “You’re worried for Asher?”

“Of course I am,” I say. “You left your men to beat him to death.”

“No,” he says. “If I wanted anyone to beat him to death, I would’ve given him to these two. Roman and Nikko will follow my orders and do no more.”

I wonder how true that is. I felt the aggressive tension in the hut. “You told them to make him walk .”

“Yes, Princess. Because I don’t trust him at anyone’s back.”

I want to scoff at that, but his tone is still so pragmatic. In a way, this conversation is fascinating, because I’ve never had a man—much less a king —talk to me so candidly. If we were talking about anything else, I might actually enjoy it.

“A cornered man will make reckless choices,” Ky adds. “And your Asher is very determined to get you away from me.”

Your Asher.

“He’s not mine,” I whisper.

But Asher curled against me in my bed, swearing that he’d find me, even in Incendar. Swearing that I could send word, and he’d do whatever needed doing.

He kidnapped the king for me—and cut him loose when I begged.

Another tear slips down my cheek. He is mine. But I could never be his.

“Asher said he once lived in the palace,” Ky says. His voice is so low, his breath so warm against my hair. “How did he end up with these slavers?”