Page 44 of Warrior Princess Assassin (Braided Fate #1)

Chapter Twenty-One

The Assassin

I don’t know what wakes me, just that something does.

I’m no stranger to the sounds of the night, so I lie in the dark and listen.

Wind whistles against the shutters, but inside this room, silence hangs heavy.

The king is beside me, his breathing soft from sleep, the princess and Lady Charlotte nothing more than quiet shadows on the other pallet.

Beyond that, nothing.

Maybe I’m just cold. The hearth seems to have dwindled, and I can’t bear the weight of these woolen blankets against the raw flesh of my shoulder.

I turn my head to look at the king. Ky. His sharp features are soft from sleep, his breathing slow and even.

There’s a part of me that’s shocked he drifted off.

His weapons are on the floor, hardly out of reach.

I might be chained to his arm, but I’m quick.

I could cut his throat and disappear in the night before any of them even knew I was gone.

He didn’t even keep another soldier in the room .

But I won’t. And maybe it’s obvious I won’t. Maybe that’s why he’s asleep at all.

I can still feel the weight of his hand against my throat. The slow stroke of his thumb under my chin. Just the memory of it sends a shiver through me.

I’ve spent enough time in enough brothels to recognize desire, but this...isn’t it. Not quite.

I do know I can’t stop thinking about it.

Or perhaps this is just my brain refusing to think about what happened with Jory.

I’ve never snapped at her. Not like that. She didn’t even deserve it. I’ve loved her forever, and even on my worst days, it settled something in my heart to know she was in the palace, safe from harm. The last person in the world who still saw me as I was.

And now that’s gone. The loss pulses like a new wound, raw and weeping like the brand.

Princess. He’s had enough. Leave him be.

Fuck. My throat is tight. I stare at the ceiling and force the thoughts away.

Beside me, the king’s body jerks, and I look over again. A small sound comes from his throat, and he draws his arms closer to his body.

It’s so dark that I can’t see his expression, but I don’t sense that he’s awake. His arms twitch again, and he inhales sharply.

He’s dreaming.

He makes another sound that’s closer to a whimper.

Not a dream. A nightmare.

I reach out and put a hand over his forearm, pressing gently with my fingers. He wakes with a start, his eyes snapping open, and I jerk my hand back.

For a moment, we lie there staring at each other. The belligerent part of me wants to mock him. Poor baby. Scary dreams?

The deeper, darker, more vulnerable part of me wants to put a hand back on his arm.

And then I hear a sound, the soft scrape of wood against stone. It’s so quiet that I could’ve imagined it—but I know I didn’t.

The king sucks in a breath, but I slip a hand over his mouth and clamp down hard.

“Don’t let them know you’re awake,” I whisper, my voice barely more than breath against his cheek. If a Hunter has come after us, he’ll be watching to make sure no one moves. That said, this complete darkness can work in my favor, too.

The king nods. His eyes are dark pools in the shadows.

“No magic yet,” I warn—though I don’t actually know if he can. The hearth is dark, which makes me wonder if Hunters smothered it from the chimney. “If we can see, they can see.”

The king nods again.

I slip my hand away from his mouth, and I try not to consider the way his face feels under my fingers. A little rough, a little warm.

Especially since his voice is all business. “Asher. Hunters?”

“No idea.”

He exhales, and he sounds a little aggrieved.

“But probably,” I add. “Unchain me.”

“Garrett has the key.”

Well, shit. That’s not going to go well for either of us.

His eyes return to the darkness, so mine do, too. I hold very still, waiting. Listening. The king’s weight shifts, and I realize he’s reaching for one of the weapons he laid beside the pallet. I wonder if he’d give me one.

But then I hear another scrape, another whisper of sound. The king’s body goes still, and I know he heard it, too. The darkness shifts, air moving somewhere between us and the door. A shape dropping from above.

With no warning, Ky is moving, nearly as silent as I am—which is impressive.

I’m quick to follow, because he’s already got a weapon in hand, but he’s still chained to me.

I don’t want to hinder his efforts. His other hand lifts, beginning to sketch a sigil, and I don’t know if I should be grateful or terrified at the prospect of fire blazing to life in this room.

But it never forms. Another attacker drops from overhead, slamming into his shoulders, knocking the king to his knees. It’s a common move—and I should have expected it. Whoever the Guild sent already has a garrote around the king’s neck, and it chokes off any sound he was about to make.

So far, the attack has been so silent that the women are still sleeping.

The first assailant pays me no mind whatsoever, and I don’t know if he can’t see me in the dark—doubtful—or if he simply thinks I won’t interfere.

He’s wrong. I’ve already got one of the king’s blades in hand, and I bury it between the assassin’s ribs.

His body jerks, but I’m not done. I yank the dagger free just as the king summons two handfuls of fire.

The flames are smaller than I expect, but I don’t have time to wonder.

The king grabs hold of his attacker’s wrists, and the man inhales sharply to scream.

I cut his throat first. The blade is sharp, and blood flows, pouring over my hand. I give him a shove, and the king’s breathing is suddenly loud and ragged.

“Where’s the other one?” he says.

The smell of burned flesh is sickly sweet in the room, but the fire has gone out. My eyes search the shadows just as fabric rustles to my left. The princess and her lady are beginning to shift, mumbling about the noise, but I’ve lost the other man in the darkness.

No, I haven’t. He’s there, about to leap onto Jory.

I don’t think. The chain rattles and jerks tight as I leap over the king, skidding into bed beside the princess.

Jory cries out, disoriented, but the man lands on top of me instead of her.

My branded shoulder scrapes across the mattress, and every bruise on my skin flares to life.

I grunt through the pain and jerk the chain high, bracing it between the fist of one hand and the dagger in my other.

His blade comes slashing down, but I deflect with the chain.

Steel rings against steel in the silence of the room.

The man growls and lifts his blade for another strike. “Asher, you — ”

The king slams a dagger right into the side of his rib cage. The words choke off. The body jerks twice, and it doesn’t feel voluntary. It feels like the king is twisting the blade, going for the heart.

Yes, he’s definitely more brutal than I am.

“Guards!” he’s shouting.

I’m still straining under the weight of this attacker. From his voice, I think it’s Gunnar—and I know he won’t stop until he’s well and truly dead. He’s still bearing down on the first blade, but I can see his other arm scrabbling for something else he must have in his jacket.

The door swings open, but the king’s men aren’t going to be fast enough. The king is fighting one-handed, since this chain is all that’s keeping Gunnar from driving that dagger right through my throat. I grunt under the pressure, especially when I feel him slip a smaller blade free.

Shadows move in from the side, and for an instant, I think maybe that’s it.

The king and I are both a bit pinned, so if there’s a third assassin, we might be lost. But then I see the fluttering fabric of a sleeping shift just as the princess throws herself at the pallet.

A sound of rage pours from her throat, and then her fist connects with the man’s head so hard that he snaps to the side. The chain goes slack as he slides free.

But he still has a weapon in his hand, and he’s as swift as I am. As he slides away, he swings his arm in an arc, aiming for her throat instead.

“No!” I shout. I’m tangled under the chain, under his weight.

Lady Charlotte is right behind her, and she grabs hold of Jory—but the princess has already jerked back.

The man’s blade slices through the air, harmless, and the sudden slack in the chain gives the king enough leverage to yank the dagger free.

This time he makes sure it’s done. He cuts Gunnar’s throat.

The Hunter collapses onto me. Blood immediately pours over my skin, and I want to shove him away. My shoulder is aching, and everything smells like copper and burned flesh.

Ugh . This is why I hate to use a blade.

“Asher.” Jory’s voice. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” I grunt, though I’m not entirely sure.

Shadows have moved into the room through the door. I can’t see faces, but I recognize the captain’s voice. “Ro. Fetch a lantern. Ky—are you all right?”

“Yes.” But the king doesn’t wait for a lantern. He sketches another sigil, pulling flame from somewhere else in the inn to make another ball of light appear on his palm. I finally manage to shove Gunnar off of me, and the body slumps to the ground.

The scene is grim. The first attacker—Logan—is dead on the floor as well. Blood has already spread to coat the floorboards. A good bit of it poured down the king’s back too, turning half his tunic black in the shadows.

Gunnar’s blood slicks the front of my chest and most of my arm, along with half the length of chain. A lot more has already soaked into the straw mattress covering the pallet. In the glow from the light, I can see that blood speckles the king’s face, and I’m sure it’s on mine as well.

The princess is staring at both of us, her chest heaving. I doubt she’s seen violence like this since the day her mother died. She’s clearly unsettled—as is her lady. They’re gripping each other’s hands, their eyes wide.

I remember she was terrified of the king’s brutality.