Page 60 of Warrior Princess Assassin (Braided Fate #1)

At least an acre separates us from the nearest structure, but I can see a half dozen people have gathered in the sunlight—and their shouts must have summoned others, because a few men and women come out of another distant building.

My smile widens. We’re close enough to Lastalorre that these people won’t be like the Suross, distant and reserved, rejecting their king. The citizens from his capital city will likely be rejoicing that Maddox Kyronan has finally returned.

I turn back to Ky, sure his expression will have brightened further, that he’ll be proud to let me see his people now that we’re safely arriving.

Maybe he’ll even make a bigger display of magic to flaunt his power, the way Father will sometimes summon clouds to form a perfect array of sunbeams over the royal family when we travel.

But to my surprise, Ky scowls, crushing the fire out of his palm like it’s displeasing. Instead of sitting straighter, preparing to greet his people, his shoulders have drooped. He looks like he’d almost rather turn back.

The captain glances at him. “We’ve seen the damage. You had to know.”

Ky nods. Any hint of a smile is gone from his face. His expression is all hard lines and stormy eyes.

“Know what?” I say.

They exchange another glance and say nothing.

Across the fields, more people have come out of their homes and outbuildings. They’re up a hill, barely more than silhouettes with the sun at their back. From the size of the people, most of them look like men.

“What have you done?” they shout. “Nothing will grow! Don’t you see? Don’t you see ?”

Around us, the guards have gone stony-faced and silent.

I fix my eyes on the king and shorten up the reins to my horse. “Ky. Why are they shouting? Tell me.”

He sets his jaw and says nothing.

I reach out and grab his rein, hauling both our horses to a stop—exactly the way he did to me.

The king is stronger, and he wrenches free, whirling to face me. Before he does, I realize Asher’s horse has all but slid to a stop beside mine. He’s so close, his knee brushing my knee. They’re suddenly facing each other like adversaries again. King and killer. Warrior and assassin.

Ky’s soldiers have shifted, responding to the sudden hostility.

“Stand down,” says Captain Zale—and to my surprise, his tone is mild.

He taps his knuckles to the king’s arm. “Ky. The Suross didn’t know you—but these people do.

You need to tell her something .” He jerks his head toward the gathered people, a few of whom now appear to be running down the hill toward us. “Or they’re going to do it for you.”

I look at Ky, and he stares right back at me. His jaw is still set, his shoulders tight, no inch of give in his expression.

But the barest flicker of emotion in his gaze takes me by surprise. It’s so unexpected and vulnerable I almost don’t recognize it: Fear .

Running downhill, the people don’t take long to reach us. It’s only six of them, and they’re older men, dressed in loose linen and calfskin, with scuffed boots—definitely farmers or tradesmen. No soldiers. But Callum and Garrett swing down from their horses to block them from getting any closer.

“It’s gotten worse!” one is shouting at Ky. He kicks at the ground. “Look what’s happening! Don’t you see?”

“You swore to fix it!” shouts another. He plants his hands right on Callum’s chest and gives a solid shove. The soldier shoves him back so hard that the man nearly goes sprawling, but Callum doesn’t pursue him. He casts a glance up at the king.

“I will fix it,” Ky grits out. But he taps two fingers to his shoulder, and Callum gives a sharp nod.

I remember his lesson about their signals. Don’t pick a fight, but stand your ground.

The first man takes a swing at Garrett, but it’s easily blocked. When he spits at the soldier, Garrett grabs his tunic and hooks his ankle. The man sits down hard.

“Be civil,” Garrett snaps at him.

The man glares at him. “Tell the king to be civil,” he growls, surging off the ground to get in Garrett’s face. “He’s letting his magic kill us all.”

The next two men are the oldest, probably nearing fifty, and they haven’t advanced on the soldiers like the others.

More shouts are coming from the hill, and I realize more people have gathered together between the farmhouses and outbuildings, and their shouts seem to be drawing attention from the gates leading into the city.

Far ahead, others have begun to come through the gates, stopping to watch.

It’s too far to see how many people are there, but it seems like a lot.

One of the older men looks back at the crowd near the farmhouses, then shifts his gaze to the crowd forming outside the city gates. Tension sizzles among us all, and I realize others are beginning to run down the hill, all shadowed figures in the fading sunlight.

After a bare hesitation, the man looks back to the guards blocking his path to the king.

The king, who still hasn’t explained what’s happening.

The man grits his teeth and draws a long dagger.

Quicker than thought, Nikko and Roman have arrows nocked—and Garrett and Callum have weapons drawn.

The closest men scramble back, but that one violent motion has triggered a dozen others, like the spark from a hearth launching an inferno.

The men are suddenly wielding their tools like weapons.

Two have real daggers, but the others are armed more crudely with hammers or axes—tools they must have been in the midst of using.

They’re shouting at Ky, they’re shouting at the soldiers, and I sense that they’re not going to wait for those reinforcements coming down the hill.

I look past them, expecting more armed men, but all I see are swirls of color.

The newcomers are shouting, too, but their voices are tiny and high-pitched, unlike the men in front of us.

The crowds gathering outside the city gates have grown.

“If you can’t help us,” one man growls at Ky, “what good are you?”

Another one surges forward with his dagger. “Maybe we should solve the problem right now.”

He slams into Garrett, but the soldier snaps the blade right out of his hand, then slams him to the ground—more aggressively than before. Blood blooms on the man’s lip.

I suck in a sharp breath, and Lady Charlotte gives a little yip of alarm. “Your Highness,” she breathes at me. “We must run.”

But we can’t. We’re trapped between the king and his men and the citizens running down the hill. There must be more than a dozen of them—with more waiting outside the gates to the city.

We’ve been braced for silent assassins for days. I never thought we’d walk right into an assault from Ky’s own people. In a moment, we’re going to be surrounded.

But then I realize that the people coming down the hill aren’t calling for more violence. “Stop!” they’re shouting. “Stop this!”

They’re not armed reinforcements at all. They’re women, they’re children, they’re two dozen people shouting for the others to stop .

Ky’s soldiers are completely still, braced for violence. Waiting for an attack—or an order.

The king is already moving his hand toward his shoulder. Three fingers this time.

Lethal force .

“ No! ” The word comes out of me like a crack of lightning. I don’t wait to see if the king listens, or even if his soldiers do. Heedless of arrows and swords and whatever else they might have, I swing to the ground and stride between the horses and soldiers.

Behind me, I hear swearing and regrouping, and a hand grabs for my jacket, but I slip free. I don’t know if it’s Asher or the king, or maybe even Charlotte. A man mutters, “Stars in darkness, Jory , ” and then boots hit the ground.

That is definitely Asher.

I don’t care. I keep going.

Garrett and Callum have swords drawn now, but I step between them. The older tradesmen are braced like they’re going to surge forward and attack, regardless of the consequences. The others are going to be on top of us any minute, and I sense this really will turn into a battle.

But these men are ready to go down fighting. A note of desperation hangs in the air, and I know they’ve seen the nocked arrows.

He’s letting his magic kill us all.

This is different from the Suross people. They just wanted to be left alone.

These people are about to attack their king—and they don’t care that he might kill them. They don’t think they have anything to lose.

It reminds me of that moment in the inn, when Asher finally broke. The way he said I didn’t see him. The way he said no one sees him.

When I step past the soldiers, the men quickly size me up—and immediately disregard me. I’m certainly not dressed as a princess, and I’m clearly not much of a threat.

But that’s fine. I’ve spent a lifetime in my brother’s shadow, and I’m not really used to anyone seeing me either.

“I am Princess Marjoriana of Astranza,” I shout. “Tell me what has been done.” I pause, looking at each of them in turn. They’re all breathing hard, glaring. “Tell me what you need.”

“He knows what we need!” snaps the one with the dagger. He thrusts it in the air, gesturing toward the king, but it’s two inches from my face.

Garrett steps forward, but Asher is quicker—and closer. He grabs the man’s wrist.

“Stop,” he says, and his voice is deadly quiet. “Listen to her.”

The man begins to fight him, but whatever he sees in Asher’s face makes him go still. I forgot how lethally terrifying he can be when he wants to be.

“ Listen to her,” Asher says again. “She came here to help you.”

Their gazes snap to me again. A crowd has gathered as the others have made it to us, but they stop, too.

More men, ranging in age, including one who can’t be out of his teens.

Three women, one of whom looks so pregnant that she might give birth before we finish whatever we’re doing here.

Also three children, none of whom are older than ten.

They all have stones in their hands.

It makes me swallow. Do they hate him? Do the Incendrians hate their king?