Page 49 of Warrior Princess Assassin (Braided Fate #1)

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Princess

W e ride on for another three hours, until the grass turns crunchy underfoot and the moon is high overhead.

The footing has turned even more treacherous, especially in the dark, with many rocky outcroppings, and a few spots where we have to weave, single file, through narrow ravines that seem endless.

There’s a scent in the air I don’t recognize, though it’s not entirely unpleasant: some mix of burning leaves and smoked meat, reminding me of the fall harvest in Astranza.

My stomach has been hoping for food for hours.

Based on the scent in the air, I expect we’re close to another inn, so I’m surprised when we come to a dip along the wall of one of the ravines, and the king calls for a stop.

“We’ll camp here,” he says.

“Camp?” I say in surprise. I’m still off-balance from our exchange at the border, when I realized that I’ve been cut off from Astranza, for good or for bad.

“Yes, Princess. Camp. ”

Nearby, one of the soldiers chuckles under his breath as he climbs down from his horse. That makes me scowl.

The king whips his head in the man’s direction. “Garrett,” he snaps. “Dig a trench for the latrine.”

Garrett shuts up—and so do the others.

Inside, I’m spinning. I don’t know if it’s the threat still clinging to my back or just the simple fact that I’ve never camped anywhere. I move close to Ky. “Wouldn’t we be safer under cover?”

“Incendar has no inns or taverns this far north.” He kicks at the dried grass underfoot, which is sparse and brown.

“It’s mostly a few roving bands of nomads, and they keep to themselves.

The terrain here is not exactly hospitable.

” He pauses, and his expression turns challenging.

“We’ve had several long days—and nights—of riding, Princess.

My soldiers need to rest. The ravines are easily defensible—and I’ll have a sentry posted. ”

He’s right. I know he’s right. But I’m tired and hungry, and all that’s kept me going for the last few hours has been the promise of a soft bed and a hot meal.

Not the cold, hard ground and strips of dried beef or whatever the soldiers have left in their packs.

Emotion tightens my throat, but I refuse to let it get to me.

I already feel sheltered and inexperienced. No need to prove it to everyone else.

Nearby, Asher is tethering his horse with the others, and Charlotte is tying hers a short distance away. I head over to join them.

“I know you’ve never been a soldier,” I murmur to Asher. “Have you ever slept outside?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he sent Garrett to dig a trench. For a latrine .” I make a face—and I’m gratified when Charlotte looks as horrified as I feel. She and I privately relieved ourselves in the brush when we stopped earlier, but I hadn’t considered anything else. “Asher, have you ever had to use a—”

He cuts me a narrow glance. “Jory, it would probably be quicker to give you a list of unpleasant things I haven’t done.”

Well, that smacks me in the face—and it’s a reminder of everything he said last night.

I frown, wishing I could undo this odd hum of tension that’s formed between us.

But he’s already turned back to his horse, and he’s stripping the gear, arranging it in a pile like the soldiers.

I watch, following their patterns, doing the same thing.

By the time we finish, Asher and Charlotte haven’t left my side, and the king has made his way over. Behind him, a fire has been started, and I hear the low timbre of the other men’s voices.

“For a woman who seemed shocked by the idea of a campsite,” Ky says, “you did rather well with your gear.”

The compliment is startling, and I feel warmth on my cheeks, especially since his voice has fallen back into that silken tone. “I know how to tend a horse.”

“We’re in safer territory here,” he says. “You can strip your own armor as well.” He pauses. “If you like.”

That makes me realize he’s in a fresh tunic, with a cloak thrown over his shoulders. It looks like he’s splashed water over his face, too.

Yes, I absolutely do want to get out of this armor.

I reach for one of the buckles near my waist, but my hands falter when I find straps doubled over and tucked away in a pattern I can’t see in the dark.

“May I?” says the king.

My eyes flick up, and I nod.

He moves close, until I can hear his breath, and it reminds me of the moment I dabbed the blood off his face.

The king’s fingers brush my waist as he pulls at leather straps and tight buckles until it all comes free.

Every touch of his hands makes me want to shiver despite the warmth in his touch.

Maybe I’ve never slept outside, but there’s suddenly something very primal about this that I crave, being under the stars, stripping armor and tending horses.

When cool air reaches my sweat-dampened clothes, I do shiver. Ky tosses the armor with my gear, then he shrugs out of his cloak. In one swift movement, he throws it around my shoulders instead. His fingers are swift and gentle at my throat as he tugs the clasp together.

Much like everything else he does, it’s bold and forward, and I’m not entirely sure how to react—except I don’t hate it. Just like that, another tiny flame is lit.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says. “At the border.”

“You didn’t.” But my voice is a little thin, because he did—and I think it’s clear that he did.

“Those assassins did not just come after me,” he says. “They came after you as well.” He pauses. “My intent is not to trap you here. My intent is to protect you.”

His eyes are so determined, and his hands have gone still on the cloak at my throat. It’s so different from the way Asher said, I’m still here —but it’s also so similar.

“Come eat,” he says gently. “Callum and Nikko shot some mountain elk. Sev has some whiskey.” He smiles, and this time it’s not cunning or challenging at all. “We’re safe here.” His thumb brushes against my throat, and then he lets me go. “ You are safe here.”

“Even Asher?” I say.

The king’s eyes lift, shifting in Asher’s direction—reminding me that he’s been at my back this whole time, watching our interaction.

“That,” says Ky, “depends on him.”

THE CAMPFIRE IS surprisingly inviting, and the cooked meat unexpectedly tasty.

We’ve fallen into small paired clusters that form a circle around the fire: me and Charlotte, the king and his captain, Garrett and Callum, Nikko and Roman.

Only Asher sits alone, though he’s to my left, a little closer to me than to Roman.

His expression is still tight, and his wound wept through yet another tunic during our ride.

He’s shirtless now, with one arm through the sleeve of a fur-lined jacket, his branded shoulder and left arm bare to the night air.

It’s buckled at the waist, holding it all together.

He must be cold, but he’s hardly said a word.

After a day on the road together, I’ve begun to piece together the soldiers’ personalities, and I find them all a bit fascinating.

Captain Zale is clearly a close friend and confidant to the king.

They exchange glances often, and it’s obvious that more is being said than what I’m allowed to hear.

I can’t help but notice that Charlotte seems taken by the captain, because I’ve caught her watching him a few times—to the extent that I want to ask if she needs a chaperone.

I’ve heard Garrett and Callum bicker all day, with a few remarks that might’ve sparked a fight if the king didn’t snap at them to stop.

But they also seem to share a deeper intimacy.

Last night, Callum flirted with that woman in the inn—but tonight, he’s on a low, flat rock by the fire, with Garrett leaning back against his legs.

At one point, Garrett finished the piece of meat he was eating, so Callum tore his remaining portion in half, then held it out. Garrett bit it right from his fingers.

Nikko and Roman don’t bicker at all, but they don’t seem as tightly bound as the others. Roman is something of a strategist for the king—or maybe a tactician. He’s the one who arranged their riding patterns after the attack. He’s quieter. More easygoing—I think.

Nikko is quiet, too, but his silence is different. When he speaks, his voice is always low and unnaturally rough, like he’s inhaled a mouthful of smoke. He’s very still, and very watchful, and it hasn’t escaped my notice that he seems to resent Asher’s presence.

Every time Nikko’s dark eyes settle on my friend, I’m reminded of Asher’s comment when we stopped.

I kidnapped their king right out from under them. They saw that, too.

Small steel cups of water are passed around while we eat, but the king was right about Captain Zale’s whiskey, because that’s shared with much more enthusiasm.

In Astranza, I would never be invited to drink liquor with a group of soldiers, so I don’t expect the bottle to come my way at all.

But the king passes it to Lady Charlotte—who immediately hands it to me.

I automatically turn toward Asher without taking a sip.

But once the heavy glass bottle is in my grip, I hesitate, biting my lip. I’m half-turned to face Asher, and when he sees me reconsider, his eyes flare in surprise.

I raise my eyebrows at him, wondering if he’s going to tell me to stop.

He doesn’t. “Dane would have a fit ,” he says. His voice is quiet and low, and it sounds like a dare.

After hours of silence and tension, it’s the lightest thing he’s said all day, and it lights a tiny spark of hope in my chest. “Exactly.”

To my right, Charlotte gasps out loud. “ My lady ,” she says. “I must object to—”

I tilt the bottle back and drink.

A lot.