Page 36 of Warrior Princess Assassin (Braided Fate #1)
Chapter Seventeen
The Assassin
I thought they were never going to open the stupid door.
When I heard that asshole argue with Jory, I thought for sure he was going to stand guard in the snow, leaving me locked in here all night.
I broke the seat support an hour ago, and at first I was worried they’d hear it and drag me out.
But the wind and the snow must provide for good insulation, because no one stopped the carriage to investigate.
I thought about trying to slip out while we were moving, but the king was right about one thing: I have no boots, no cloak, nothing .
Just the few woolen blankets they left me with.
If these Incendrian soldiers didn’t kill me, the weather would’ve taken care of it.
So I hid deep in the corner of the carriage, tucking myself against the velvet seams.
And then I waited.
When the door opens, I spare one second to enjoy the king’s surprise when he realizes I’m “missing,” and then I explode through the opening.
I’ve got the steel links of my shackles wrapped around the knuckles of one hand, and he snaps back when I hit him.
It gives me enough distance to land a solid kick to his sternum, and that clears the doorway.
My branded shoulder is screaming at me, but I grit my teeth and try to ignore it.
That soldier Garrett is swearing, already reaching for weapons, but I’m too quick.
I grab hold of his armor, leap onto his shoulders, and get that chain around his neck.
Just as the king summons a handful of fire.
I freeze, tightening my grip, my knees pressing into the soldier’s armor. We’re all breathing hard, breath fogging in the night air.
Well, Garrett’s not doing so well with that. Not with the tension I have on this chain.
“Asher,” says the king. “Let him go.”
“So you can melt this chain through my arm?” I saw the way he made Jory drop the dagger. I have no doubt he could do it to this chain, too—if I didn’t have it wrapped around his soldier’s throat. “No, thank you. You already tricked me once.”
“I didn’t trick you, I was making sure a man who attacked me didn’t have the opportunity to do it again.”
Garrett is wrenching at the chain, but I dig in with my fingertips, using my knees to grip tight to his back.
He’s even bigger than the king, and every muscle in my body is reminding me that I’ve been hit a dozen times today—and I haven’t eaten anything since that cookie I shared with Jory.
Spots keep flaring in my vision, and I redouble my grip.
Then Garrett tries a different tactic. He whirls to slam me into the carriage. The hard wall collides with my shoulder, and I cry out, my suddenly slick fingers losing a few links. I scramble to regain purchase, to pull the chain taut again.
But now Garrett has a grip on it, and he dives forward into a roll. I see it coming and let go, trying to spring free so he doesn’t drive me into the ground.
Unfortunately, he’s too strong, and this time I’m the one who can’t break loose. I barely have time to tuck my head before he pulls me into an awkward somersault. My shoulders slam into the ground—and then he lands right on top of me.
I take his full weight: armor, weapons, and all. It knocks the breath right out of my chest. Those spots in my eyes turn to flaring stars.
Well, this went poorly.
I’ve lost track of the chain. I’ve lost track of how to breathe .
I barely realize when he rolls off of me, because I’m so focused on forcing air back into my lungs, and I feel like I’ve swallowed my tongue.
I definitely taste blood in my mouth. Before I know which way is up, I’m dragged onto my knees in the snow, and the horizon spins.
I don’t know what’s worse: the frigid snow against my bare feet, the fact that the king still has a ball of fire ready to incinerate me, or the soldier who’s found a blade and now has it against my throat.
“Garrett, hold .”
The king’s voice slices through my awareness, and his soldier goes still.
Garrett’s eyes are dark and furious, though.
His own throat is scraped raw from where I got him with the chain.
He’s standing over me, his free hand clutching the neckline of my shirt, holding me still.
Breath clouds between us, equally rapid.
He wants to finish what I started. I can see it in his face.
But he obeys the king’s order. He draws back an inch, but his gaze is locked on mine, his focus on the dagger.
So I wrap the chain in one fist and use both hands to punch him in the crotch.
Well—I try. The king grabs hold of me before I can make impact. He shoves me hard, the movement forceful enough to make me fall back in the snow.
Garrett glares down at me. “Please, Ky,” he says. “Let me break something .”
“Not yet.” The king reaches for my tunic, and I try to scramble back, but my body won’t respond quickly enough. When I swing for him with the chain, he grabs hold and pulls me upright. It wrenches at my shoulder and makes me gasp.
I wait for the chain to sear into my skin, but it doesn’t. Instead, he glares down at me. “You had my sympathy for about five minutes,” he says, that velvet accent clipped. “Now you’re just being a pain in the ass.”
I don’t know what to say to that, and he uses the grip on the chain to jerk me closer. I’m still on my knees, so it puts me on eye level with his belt.
Then he reaches for the buckle.
My eyes widen—then narrow. “I know you bought me from Dane, but I’m a little surprised you want my teeth anywhere near your—”
“I didn’t buy you.” Instead of unfastening the buckle, he unfastens the pouch beside it, and now he just sounds aggravated. “Bleeding skies, Asher.”
He withdraws a small key and unlocks the cuff on my left wrist. I should probably take the opportunity to punch him, but I’m so startled by this that I don’t move.
Especially when he clicks it onto his own.
After years with the slavers, and then years in the Hunter’s Guild, it takes a lot to shock me. This does it. I thought he was going to burn me into a pile of soot. Not...whatever this is. My eyes shoot from his face to the steel band tethering me to him.
It shocks Garrett, too, especially when the king tosses the key in his direction. I think the soldier’s eyes are as wide as mine.
“I’ve been more than fair,” the king says. His voice is low and resolute and leaves no room for argument. “I’ll remind you that I have a limit. Get up. Walk.”
More than fair , my ass. I’m not one of his soldiers, and he can go right to the pit of hell.
I set my jaw, sit back on my heels, and don’t move.
“Get up,” he says again.
The snow is making my feet go numb, but I glare up at him. “Fuck you.”
Maddox Kyronan takes a step closer, until his boots are right at my knees. “Asher. Get up .”
“I said, fuck you .” The words sound juvenile and petulant, and I don’t care. “Make me.”
His expression doesn’t flicker, and his tone doesn’t change. “Do you want me to make you?”
Somehow the question makes my mouth go dry, and I’m not entirely sure why.
But the words are spoken with low intensity, and my heart suddenly beats hard.
Maybe it’s the way his voice isn’t tight with anger, just quiet conviction.
Maybe it’s the focus of his gaze or the fact that I’m on my knees at his feet.
Maybe it’s because this doesn’t feel like a threat, it feels like a choice.
As I stare up at him, I realize that we were in almost this exact position hours ago, except our roles were reversed. I had a dagger in my hand, a blade at his throat. He didn’t yield.
Something tells me he won’t yield in this instant either.
Do you want me to make you?
He could. I know he could. Either through magic or force or even if he just dragged me by the chain.
But seconds tick by as he waits for my decision, as if his patience is eternal.
As if he genuinely wants me to weigh the simple choice between him breaking all my bones or me getting up as he commanded.
I don’t know if that makes him more terrifying or less.
Either way, I’m off-balance. I don’t want to choose wrong.
He hasn’t moved, and those fierce eyes haven’t left mine.
Before I realize it, I’m shaking my head.
“Good,” he says, his voice unchanged. “Get up.”
This time, the command sparks something inside me, and I scramble onto my feet so roughly I nearly stumble into Garrett.
The movement jars my shoulder, and I clutch my wrist to my belly, my breath coming in short bursts.
A sudden sweat slicks my back, some combination of pain and humiliation—and maybe a little bit of something else entirely.
He made me yield without lifting a finger. Without even raising his voice.
The king is watching me, as if anticipating my rage. “Don’t fuck with me, Asher.” He nods toward the tavern. “Walk.”
I hate him. I hate everything.
But I walk.