Page 38 of Warrior Princess Assassin (Braided Fate #1)

He exchanges a glance with his captain over the table. When he looks back at me, his voice is even lower. Softer. “I’m not tricking you. Eat.”

I snatch it out of his hand because I resent the note in his voice. But when I bite into my portion, it’s a reminder of how long it’s been since I’ve eaten, because this simple bread topped with salt and rosemary feels like the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

From the corner of my eye, I can see that Jory is eating her own portion of bread, but she’s watching me.

I dodge her gaze. I’ve spent years hiding this part of my life from her, and it was all for nothing. Now I won’t be the Asher she remembers anymore. I’ll be the man relegated to the stone floor, receiving scraps of food like a chained dog.

But as the others eat and hunger eases, the food steals some of the tense wariness from the air—even mine.

I’m tired and sore, and it’s warm, and there’s a part of me that wishes I did have a straw mat, because I’d curl up on the floor and let sleep take me away from the fact that any of this is happening.

At the front of the inn, the door swings open wide, with enough force to slam it against the wall with a bang, wood cracking.

I jump, but three of the soldiers are instantly on their feet, weapons drawn.

Beside me, the king already has a blade in his hand, and I didn’t even see him draw it.

Alarm cracks through the room, and I don’t know if people are more afraid of whatever threw the door open, or the Incendrian soldiers who suddenly look ready to level the place.

But there’s no threat. I peer past the rough and ready soldiers to see a boy who’s red-cheeked and windblown, carrying an armload of firewood. Wind and snow whistle through the doorway, and the innkeeper rushes to slam the door closed against the weather.

The soldiers exchange a glance, sheathe their weapons, and sit back down.

Jory must have grabbed hold of her lady’s hand, because she lets go, taking a long breath.

The king slips his dagger out of sight, but a muscle twitches in his jaw when the boy clatters the firewood onto the hearth.

I wonder if he’s still worried about assassins—or if he’s worried about a real Draeg spy.

“A Hunter isn’t going to throw open the door,” I mutter, and the king gives me a look. But some of the tension eases out of his body.

By the time the barmaid brings bowls of stew, the wariness has evaporated altogether, and the bread and ale have eased sharp tempers.

The soldiers at the other end of the table have begun exchanging good-natured barbs.

Even Lady Charlotte smiles when the one called Roman tells Garrett to stop eating like he’s been led to a trough.

The only one not smiling is Nikko. I can barely see him over the edge, but he’s not laughing, not teasing, not talking.

He’s watching me. The expression on his face is definitely not pity.

I fix my gaze on the floor again, on the scuffed boots of the king and his captain. This end of the table is deathly silent. When a steel bowl appears in my vision, I blink in surprise.

“Eat,” says the king. “I know you’re hungry.”

I don’t reach for it. “It’s yours.”

“I don’t eat before my people.”

That makes me scowl—and also ache. I’ve never heard a ruler in Astranza say something like that. “I’m not your people.”

“You’re mine for now. And there’s plenty. Astranza clearly has a different meaning for meager portions .” When I still don’t move, he adds, “I’ll share with Sev.”

His captain was eating a spoonful himself, but he automatically pushes his bowl to the middle of the table, between them. The king sets the one he was offering on the side of the bench, right in front of my face. Then he picks up the spoon from the other and ignores me.

Fuck it. I take the bowl and shovel some into my mouth. Like the bread, right now it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

Jory is glaring at the king now, her eyes narrow and fierce. “You won’t win my trust this way.”

The king pushes the spoon toward the other side of the bowl for Captain Zale. “I won’t watch a man go hungry either.”

“I know of your reputation,” she says coolly. “You won’t convince me otherwise. I know you torture prisoners.”

The king’s voice is just as cold. “I don’t starve them.”

His captain takes a mouthful of food and then pushes the bowl back. “For what it’s worth, Your...ah... Lady Jory, the Incendrian army rarely takes prisoners at all.”

A foreboding note hangs in his tone, and I’m reminded of the savage stories I’ve heard. There’s a reason Incendar might be the smallest country on the continent, but Draegonis hasn’t been able to gain a foothold. The implication of violence hangs over the table for a moment.

“But if we do,” he continues, “they’re never starved.” Captain Zale cuts a glance at me, and his voice turns dry. “Not even Draeg spies.”

I bristle, but the king just scoops another spoonful. “He could barely organize a kidnapping, Sev. He’s not a spy. Someone else is behind this.”

I can’t believe this asshole is defending me and insulting me in the same breath. The worst part is that I agree with him.

The captain takes a swig of his ale and says, “Well, you’ve chained him to your wrist, so I hope he doesn’t prove you wrong in your sleep.”

The king scoffs. “And then what? He has to drag around a dead body?”

“I’ll just cut your hand off,” I mutter.

At that, they all snap their heads around to look at me. Every single stein of ale or spoonful of stew goes still.

“Asher,” whispers Jory.

I don’t take it back. I’m still glaring at the king.

He stares right back at me. “No,” he says. “You won’t.”

We’re frozen in place for a moment, and the tension between us is just like that moment in the hut when I said I’d cut his eyes out. He called my bluff, and I didn’t like it.

I don’t like it now. Every time he does this, it stirs me up, especially after the way he forced me to get up out of the snow. It makes me want to grab that dagger from Captain Zale’s thigh and stab it right into him. I can already feel the weight of the weapon, the minimal effort it would take.

But the king just shrugs and takes another spoonful of stew. “I can always chain you to whoever takes first watch.”

The others are absolutely silent, as if debating whether that’s a veiled threat or a warning or just an attempt to break the tension. I’m not even sure myself.

Garrett finally offers a dark smile. “Cal volunteers, don’t you?”

The note in his voice makes me flush immediately, especially because I didn’t expect it.

It triggers something in my head, because there was a time in my life when I knew how to use any flicker of attraction to my advantage—but it’s been too long, and I hate that part of myself.

I’ve spent years burying those instincts.

But Callum isn’t even looking at me; he’s gazing at the opposite side of the tavern, where a lone young woman is nursing a stein of ale in the corner.

“That was half an hour ago,” he says. “I’ve moved on.” He pauses as the solitary woman looks over, and a slow smile spreads over his face. “Someone else is taking first watch, right?”

At that, Garrett reaches across the table to punch him in the shoulder.

Callum doesn’t even wince. Without looking, he reaches out to pat Garrett on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Gar. You’re still pretty.” But then he’s up, moving away.

The captain looks after him. “If someone else takes first watch,” he calls, “that’s when you’re supposed to be sleeping .”

“I’ll be in a bed. It counts.”

From farther down the table, one of the other soldiers speaks, and I think it’s Roman. “Here, Ky. I had plenty.” A moment later, a bowl goes sliding along the table. The king catches it, automatically pushing the other back to his captain.

I’m struck by how casual they are with each other. These soldiers must be high-ranking officers if they’re traveling with the king—or at least men of importance. I’ve been around Astranzan soldiers before, and I’ve never seen this kind of easy camaraderie.

Jory seems to have noticed, too, because she’s also studying them. Some of her ire has melted away, replaced with curiosity.

Garrett notices her focus, and he pushes a basket of bread in her direction. His voice is gentler. “We have plenty of bread, too, Lady Jory.”

She blinks in surprise, and I watch her eyes flick to the marks on his neck. I’m sure she’s thinking of what the king said about me. She gives him a nod. “Thank you.”

When she looks in my direction, I finally meet her eyes. I’m not sure what she sees in my expression, but her own turns troubled, and she mouths two words at me.

I’m sorry .

I shake my head, then look away. It’s not really an apology at all. It’s resignation. She can be as icy as she wants to Maddox Kyronan, but she’s still going to Incendar. He needs her for this alliance.

But he doesn’t need me.

A day ago, I was watching her bite a cookie right from my fingertips, wishing she could escape the palace with me, that we could disappear into the shadows together.

I frown. It was an empty wish. It always is. If I’m going to wish for anything, I should wish for escape.

But even that is probably fruitless. I doubt I can get her away from him—and I don’t even know that I should .

If nothing else, the king really will keep her safe.

So that leaves me. I clearly can’t go back to the Hunter’s Guild.

And with these marks on my face, it would be nearly impossible to find work—if I didn’t get picked up the way I did in Morinstead.

I would offer you sanctuary, Asher.

I swallow. I wanted to believe those words so badly.

None of these thoughts are helpful.

“What happened to your shoulder?” says the king.

“Nothing.” I look down at my bowl and scrape the last bits of stew from the sides.

“You’ve been favoring it all evening.” His hand brushes against the neckline of my tunic.