Page 51 of Warrior Princess Assassin (Braided Fate #1)

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Warrior

I f anyone has been stupid, it’s me.

My comment to the princess about our need to camp in the ravines wasn’t quite true.

I know at least half a dozen inns and taverns within two hours’ ride from here.

But we rode for miles after we crossed the border, and the grass is still brown and dead, with no sign of resurgence—not even near the streams, where it should be lush and vibrant.

If the grass is this bad, I’m sure the crops are worse.

Or the lack of crops, I should say. If we found an inn, I doubt I’d be welcome.

Victoria , I think. Please tell me you haven’t made anything worse.

This alliance needs to proceed. King Theodore’s weather magic will renew our crops and keep them safe from damage.

If the miles of snow convinced me of anything, it’s that he’s powerful enough to do as he promised.

Once the princess and I are wed, my people will be able to stop worrying about how to survive the next season.

I’ll be able to help his soldiers hold their borders more effectively, protecting the citizens of Astranza from invading forces. We need each other.

But in the back of my mind, one threat has been left unanswered: those Hunters still came after us.

Sev has been fit to be tied all day. There haven’t been many opportunities for truly private conversation, but I know he’s still suspicious of the princess and her motives—to say nothing of Asher.

“This could all be part of a carefully laid plot to infiltrate the palace and kill off anyone in power,” he said earlier, the first time we had a moment to ourselves. “Asher could still be working with these Hunters.”

“If it is,” I said, “then it’s a poorly laid plan. Why invite suspicion on himself first?”

“Then how did anyone know where we stopped?” he says.

“How would Asher have alerted anyone at all?” I counter, frustrated. “He was chained to me the whole time!”

But as soon as I said it, I remembered, again , the way Asher was so sure that one of my own soldiers could be behind this.

I still can’t make that work out in my head.

They’re too loyal. I’ve known them too long.

And they’ve had ample opportunity to harm the princess.

There’d be no reason to hire anyone at all.

Later, when we stopped to rest, Sev saw Jory and Asher talking quietly, off by the horses. “Further plotting?” he muttered to me.

That time, it was obvious that my soldiers had noticed, too.

But when I approached Jory and Asher, it didn’t seem like plotting at all. It seemed like an uncertain princess and a captive assassin sharing a moment of doubt.

“They’re friends,” I said to Sev later.

“Oh, right. I look at all my friends that way.”

He’s not the only one who’s wary. My soldiers have been watching Asher all day, and I’ve heard some of their barbed comments. They’re protective, so I understand it. Tonight, they bristled when he touched the princess, and I watched every pair of eyes swing to me, waiting to see if I’d react.

But I didn’t. And when Garrett mentioned the “rematch,” I almost called them to order. Asher is wounded and sore, and it’s no secret from anyone.

Then Sev leaned in to murmur, “They’re either going to fight here, where you can see it, or they’re going to wait and do it when you can’t.”

I didn’t like it, but he was right. I wouldn’t like it if I found Asher in a broken, bloody pile outside of camp later, either.

So when Jory protested, I gave Asher an out, and I fully expected him to take it.

For most of the day, sheer force of will was all that kept him upright on the horse.

If he withdrew his challenge to Nikko, any of them would have understood it.

Honestly, a little wounded humility might have bought him some mercy.

Like an idiot, he didn’t take it.

The fight lasted less than a minute, but it was the longest minute of my life. I spent the whole time weighing the repercussions.

If Nikko kills Asher, the princess will never forgive me.

If Asher kills Nik, the men will tear him apart.

But then it was over. No one was dead. Asher was springing to the ground. My soldiers were looking at Asher with a little less fury—and a lot more regard.

Sev leaned close. “That man is more than just a hired killer, Ky.”

His words lodged in my thoughts and stuck there.

It’s later now, and bedrolls have been laid out close to the fire, almost everyone wrapped up for the night.

Garrett sits sentry a short ways off, perched on a stone outcropping that lets him see both paths into the ravine.

His bow is in his lap, his quiver strapped over his shoulder.

The rest of my men are already asleep—or at least their eyes are closed.

Even Asher has stretched out on his bedroll, his face turned to the fire.

The others are deeply tucked into their bedding, but Asher lies half-exposed, his back bare to the cold sky.

The brand is red and weeping again, and the friction of the armor clearly didn’t help.

A line of fresh abrasions from the fight runs straight up the opposite side of his spine, and I can already see new bruises beginning to form.

I’m sure it hurts like hell. I can’t believe he was ready to tangle with me next.

Actually, I can. Brave and stupid, like the princess said.

I’ve unrolled my own bedding at my feet, but I’m nowhere close to sleep.

The princess seems to be the same, though Lady Charlotte has already curled up in her own blankets.

The woman holds herself aloof, but I’ve been impressed at her bravery—both in the way she agreed to come along for this journey, and the way my men don’t intimidate her.

As time goes on, the night sky grows heavy, and I become very aware of the fact that Jory and I are the only two left awake.

I wish I could read her thoughts. She’s so bold, and there are moments when I worry she’ll demand that I return her to Astranza.

She seemed so shocked by the prospect of camping , which took me by surprise and reminded me of how sheltered she must be.

But this morning, she leapt into the fray when those Hunters were attacking.

An hour ago, she glared at my soldiers and issued an order as if she’s been commanding armies her whole life.

When Nikko stood ready to fight with Asher, I thought she’d jump right in front of him.

But that’s not what’s fixed in my brain. Instead, it’s the way Asher caught her hand earlier—and the way she went still. She seems to long for his touch. They might be a little raw from what he revealed about his past, but that’ll ease. Some of it already has.

Last night, I asked Asher if he was jealous.

Right now, I think I am.

Maybe that’s better, though. I fully intended to go into this marriage as a matter of political strategy, and there’s no reason I can’t.

The princess deserves a gentle companion, not a jaded soldier who spends his waking hours walking across blood-soaked battlefields.

There’s no place for...for softness in my life.

But I keep feeling her delicate touch as she carefully washed the blood off my face.

A few tendrils had escaped her braid, and her cheeks were so pink from the wind, but her hands were warm and tender.

She didn’t flinch from the violence—or the result.

With every stroke of her fingers, I found myself wishing she wouldn’t stop.

I remember the way she sat in my lap astride the horse.

She was so angry, yet so determined. The memory of it sends a flare of desire through my belly, and my trousers go a bit snug.

I have to shove the thoughts away—but they’re immediately replaced with thoughts of Asher.

He bested Nikko so fluidly that it was almost artful—then yielded when I called him off.

He tries to be vicious and cold, but it’s so clear that he craves trust and security.

He craves certainty —and I think there’s a part of him that regrets he could never fully find it with the princess.

I’ve seen him flinch from her touch, but every time I put a hand on him, he goes so still.

I glance over at him again, watching the firelight paint shadows across the smooth, muscled arc of his shoulders.

Fuck . I need to think about something else. It’s foolish to lust after either one of them. They’re in love with each other .

But I can’t help glancing over at the princess. A breeze whips through the ravine, lifting the tendrils of her hair, and she shivers, tucking her hands into her sleeves. The camp has truly fallen into the heaviness of sleep, but I keep my voice low anyway.

“Cold?” I say.

She glances my way sheepishly. “I shouldn’t complain. It was far worse in the hut when we kidnapped you .”

“Yes,” I agree. “But here, my magic is not bound.” I sketch a sigil and pull a small blaze of fire to my palm, then shift to sit beside her.

We’re close, yet not touching, and the princess stares at the flame.

Firelight flickers off her cheeks, making her eyes sparkle, and I draw a little more power.

The warmth of the flame pulses almost in time with my heartbeat, and it only takes a moment before her hands pull free of her sleeves.

“Can I touch it?” she says.

“Carefully.” I hold it a bit closer. “It’s real fire, Princess. It’ll burn whatever it finds.”

She lifts a hand, reaching out delicately, like it’s a ball of glass. Her hand flickers along the edge, making the fire gutter and spark. But then her eyes light with daring, and I can see she’s going to push too far.

I twist my hand to crush out the flame before she burns herself.

I’m too late. She gives a sharp yip.

I swear under my breath and put out a hand. “Here. Let me see.”

She offers me her hand, but it looks like she only burned the tip of her middle finger. It’s red, a tiny blister already appearing.