Page 64 of Warrior Princess Assassin (Braided Fate #1)
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Assassin
I grew up in the royal palace in the heart of Astranza, and when I was a child, every hallway seemed magical.
The marble gleamed, the tapestries were vibrant, and there were hints of wealth and privilege everywhere, right down to the veins of silver embedded in the doorframes.
Gray and white stones could be found everywhere, with wooden beams crisscrossing every ceiling in artful patterns.
Even after I was exiled, I still thought it was the most beautiful building ever constructed.
Once I was hired by the Hunter’s Guild, I had occasion to visit very fine estates, some of which were so grand that I almost didn’t dare to break into them, but nothing ever came close to my childhood home.
Until now.
The Incendrian Palace is taller than any building I’ve ever seen, easily ten stories high at the center—and once we get inside, I realize that’s just the atrium.
From the outside, the stonework is heavy and dark, which made me think the interior would be gloomy, but the room is wide and airy, with plenty of light.
The ceiling of the center atrium is lined with stained glass that throws blue and yellow shadows across the floor.
As we climbed into Lastalorre from the valley, it didn’t seem so high, but that was clearly an illusion, a massive building dwarfed by the surrounding mountains.
There’s a part of me that wants to stare like a boy.
The king mentioned ironwork throughout the palace, and he almost understated it.
Steel and iron are everywhere . Stunning patterns line the stone walls: every archway, every window, even the floor in spots.
I should be reveling in the architecture, but I’ve spent so long as an assassin that my brain is sketching out places to hide, the paths to climb to the ceiling, and at least three ways to escape.
I expected the palace to be packed with people: courtiers and servants and guards and all the people who want to cling to royalty. Astranza’s court can be downright stifling.
But the palace here is...not. It seems to be nearly deserted, with few guards and fewer servants.
“I was not expected back so soon,” Ky explains to us, as the soldiers take the horses to the stables. Not even Captain Zale has accompanied the king into the palace proper. “I will show you to some rooms so you can rest.”
His voice is cold, formal, and I don’t think he’s made eye contact with Jory since she started going after him as we rode through the city. I don’t think he’s made eye contact with anyone. She still seems furious, so maybe she hasn’t noticed. Maybe she doesn’t want to notice.
Ky leads us down a narrow hallway, and every door we pass is lined with iron in a winding pattern.
We stop near the end, and he sketches a sigil to light a torch on the wall.
To my surprise, it’s not just a torch—once lit, the fire continues on a path down the entire wall, seeming to disappear behind each door and into the rooms beyond.
The hallway is suddenly thrown into vivid, flickering light, and the magic would likely be awe-inspiring on any other day.
But Jory stares at the trail of flame for a moment too long, then frowns.
I wonder if she’s thinking about the accusations from the Incendrian citizens.
Either way, the king notices, because his shoulders droop. This time, when he speaks, his voice is sad. “You can have this wing, Princess. I will have food sent. The fire will warm your rooms, as well as the washbasins beyond.” He hesitates. “Forgive me if you find it displeasing.”
Jory opens her mouth, then closes it. Her lips form a line.
The king looks to me. “Asher. I will take you to—”
“No.” Jory steps in front of me. “He will stay in this wing. With me.”
His gaze turns flinty. “Fine. I will return at sundown. Do not explore.”
Then he turns away, and he doesn’t say another word.
Jory turns away, and she doesn’t either.
Lady Charlotte looks between us all, then follows the princess.
Fine.
I pick a room and lose myself inside it.
I expect elegance, but it’s better. Six people could share the bed, and a set of doors twice my height leads to a terrace that overlooks the mountains.
Astranza may be stunning in the summertime, but right now, Incendar wins the view.
At the far side of the sleeping quarters is a washroom that’s double the size of the apartment I once rented in Perriden.
The trail of fire from the hallway ran the length of the wall in my bedroom, and it stretches into the washroom as well.
The fire ends in a pile of glass stones under a wide steel basin that’s more of a pool than a bathtub.
I pull a chain and water flows. My eyebrows go up.
Within minutes, water reaches the top. I touch my hand to the surface, and thanks to the glowing glass stones underneath, it’s already lukewarm.
Fine, Ky, you can win this, too. I lose every inch of armor and clothing and all but leap in.
The brand on my shoulder reminds me that this was a terrible idea—but it only hurts for a moment. Or maybe the sensation of days’ worth of sweat and dirt and riding grime washing away is simply worth the pain. I sink completely under the water and hold my breath.
But once I’m there, I think of the king. I watched his reaction to Jory’s words when she was snapping at him. I saw the way her accusations struck him.
I saw it when he spoke to the people. I heard it in his voice.
For days, he’s been competent and commanding, in clear control: of himself, of his soldiers, of every situation we’ve encountered. Of me .
When those men confronted us, he was still in control. Just...more than he needed to be.
It wasn’t until he gave the order to attack that I realized Ky is just as broken as I am. Not broken by slavers or brothels. Not broken by cruelty or pain.
Broken by war.
Do his people not see that?
Does Jory not see that?
I come up from the water, swiping it from my eyes. I try to lie back against the edge, but that does hurt, so I turn the other way and hang over the rim, water dripping from my hair to sizzle on the glass rocks below.
I shouldn’t care if he’s broken. As always, this isn’t my war, isn’t my alliance. They’re to marry, and I’m no one. I shouldn’t be here at all.
But I think of the way he let me clutch at his arm. I think of the way he let me sleep curled against him.
I think of the way he heard my fear about the slavers, and he used it to trick me to gain his freedom—but then he still rescued me from Dane.
I think of the way my heart thrums when he touches me.
I think of the way he’s really quite striking, and I still kind of hate it.
I lay so long, dozing, until the water grows almost too warm for comfort, and I wonder if this stupid king’s magic might actually start to cook me.
A stack of bottles sits on a small table just within reach, along with a wooden box that turns out to be a shaving kit.
I lather and scrape my face clean, then randomly pour a jar of scented crystals into the water with me.
The scent of lavender flares in the air, and bubbles swirl through the water.
I duck under the surface again and scrub at my hair until it feels slick and clean. Then I hold my breath until it hurts.
When I sit up, Jory is in the doorway.
I startle so hard I almost overturn the bathtub. Thank the stars I put away the shaving razor. Water sloshes over the sides and sizzles on the stones, steam rising around me.
“Jory! Fuck. ” I run a hand down my face, then flip wet hair out of my eyes.
“I’m sorry!” she cries. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You were under for so long!”
My heart is pounding. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me drowning because I nearly leapt into the fire.”
“I’ll go.” Her cheeks are turning red. “I just—it’s nothing. I thought—I don’t—”
“ Stars in darkness, girl . Stop. What’s wrong?”
She turns around so she’s not facing me any longer, and even puts her hands over her eyes. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“So talk.”
“Asher, you’re naked .”
Sometimes her innocence is almost hilarious. She’s so fierce with the king, and I saw the dagger sticking out of that soldier’s thigh. But if anyone knows how sheltered she is, it’s me.
“You can’t see anything,” I say. “ I can’t even see anything. I poured an entire jar of soap in here.”
That makes her turn back around. She peeks between her fingers, and then, seeing that I’m mostly covered, she drops her hand.
Her hair is wet, clearly from her own bath, and wrapped into a ropy braid.
Her skin is also fresh-scrubbed. The worn armor and riding clothes are gone, replaced with a linen dress with a green overskirt.
She looks simple and innocent and pretty, and I much prefer this to the tense, formal Princess Marjoriana who lives in the palace in Astranza.
“What’s with the look?” she teases.
“I’m thinking you’re beautiful,” I say, and there’s no teasing in my tone at all.
She sobers. Then frowns. And then her eyes well.
“Ah, Jory,” I say. “Don’t cry.”
She comes into the washroom and all but drops to her knees beside the tub, and I realize this the first time we’ve been alone together since the morning I received orders to kill both her and the king.
She puts her hand on the edge of the tub, and I put mine over hers.
“Be mindful of the stones,” I say softly.
She swallows and nods, and a tear slips down her cheek.
I reach up to brush it away, but my hand is wet, so it just adds more. I frown. “I’m making it worse,” I say.
“You’re not.” Her eyes gaze up at me. “Asher, I love when you touch me.”
That tugs at my heart in so many ways. I’ve wanted her forever, but my life made that far too complicated. And she’s always been destined for someone else—including right now. Last night, she was scuffling with the king, and I know where that would’ve led if I hadn’t woken up.