Page 69 of Warrior Princess Assassin (Braided Fate #1)

Chapter Thirty-Two

The Princess

I t’s so warm with both of them pressing into me in the heated water of the pool.

Ky holds me from behind, one arm around my waist, another stroking my breast. He must have stripped his jacket and tunic before splashing into the water, because his arm is bare, and the heat of his skin pulses against my back.

He’s tucked me against him so tightly that I can feel the length of him, hard and erect, through my layers of skirts.

Every time his finger strokes over my nipple, it pulls at something deep inside, like a chord only I can hear.

I can feel Asher, too, the hard press of him against my thigh.

His kisses have slowed, his tongue exploring my mouth, and it’s like he’s somehow timed it with the rhythm of Ky’s finger stroking my breast. At some point he pulled his own tunic over his head, and my fingers keep brushing his bare skin.

I shift against them both, craving more, wanting more, worried that this will stop before I’m ready—and terrified that it will keep going.

My legs part, almost of their own accord.

The king tugs at the lacing of my dress just as his teeth tug at my ear, and I make a small sound.

“Yes?” he says, the word gentle, careful. He pulls at the lacing again, and his question is clear.

“Yes,” I say, and my answer is practically a gasp. “Please.”

He tugs harder, and the ribbon comes loose.

His fingers encircle the bare skin of my breast just as Asher pushes my heavy skirts aside.

Asher strokes his hand up the length of my calf, then my thigh, his fingers so smooth under the water.

My clothes feel like they’re strangling me, and I’m suddenly panting, intoxicated from the feel of them both.

I feel as though my heart might stop—or possibly take flight.

“Jory,” says Asher, and I open my eyes.

The sky is full of stars behind him. He traces a thumb over my lower lip, his gaze searching mine. “Too much?”

The instant he says it, Ky goes still. Asher’s eyes shift, and they must exchange a glance over my head, because the king’s hands move, then let go of me altogether.

“Not too much,” I whisper. But maybe I’m lying. All of my inexperience seems to have caught up with me at once, leaving me tongue-tied.

Asher studies me again, and then he kisses me on the forehead. Simple and chaste.

I want to grab him. “Don’t you dare leave.”

He laughs a little, under his breath. “I’m not leaving you, Jor.” His eyes flick up again. “I’ll entertain your king while you determine what you want.”

Then without hesitation, he tackles Ky, full strength.

They go skidding backward in the water, causing ripples and waves to go over the side and sizzle where water meets the rocks.

At first, it’s so surprising that it makes me giggle—because it’s clear that Ky didn’t expect it, and I wonder if this is like that moment in the hallway.

Asher pressed the king into the wall in a way that seemed like a battle and a seduction until I couldn’t tell how much of their reaction was hostility—and how much was intrigue.

But just now, they tussle and roll in the water for longer than I expect, grappling and splashing and pinning each other with enough force that I start to think they’re really fighting.

“Hey,” I say. “Asher. Ky. Gentlemen .”

I try to crawl through the water toward them, but now the dress really is a problem.

The corset is already half-unlaced, so I shed it with the overskirts until I’m left in my muslin shift.

But just as I draw close, they somehow wrestle themselves upright.

They’re both on their knees, breathing hard, every muscle taut.

Water glistens on their skin, sparkling in the firelight.

They’re face-to-face, very close, and this time, the king has bested Asher.

Ky has his arms pinned behind his back, and I see the strain in his grip.

For a moment, I think belligerent animosity is going to break us apart again. Asher’s jaw is clenched, his chest rising and falling swiftly. But as I look at them, I realize there’s no lingering aggression in the air. No hostility. Asher isn’t trying to escape. Ky isn’t struggling to pin him.

This isn’t restraint. This isn’t confinement.

This...this is holding .

Eventually, the king speaks, and his voice is very low, very quiet. “You don’t have to pick a fight every time. You don’t.”

Asher’s body gives a little jerk, and he takes a sharp breath. I expect the king to let him go, but he doesn’t. He simply waits, and I watch Asher’s breathing slow, every muscle relaxing, one by one.

And then he puts his forehead down against Ky’s shoulder.

You don’t have to pick a fight .

But much like the king and his own inner struggles, I wonder if that’s the only way this feels safe for Asher. Like he doesn’t trust himself to be vulnerable, so someone else has to win it.

I tuck myself in behind him, mindful of his wound, pressing my face to his good shoulder. I feel him stiffen as soon as he feels me behind him, and I almost regret touching him. But after a moment, he relaxes again.

The king adjusts to pull me into their odd embrace, resting his hand against my cheek, holding me against Asher. For the longest moment, we simply rest there in the warmth of the water, feeling each other breathe.

But then Ky shifts, moving slightly. He leans in to kiss me gently on the lips, drawing a wet finger along my chin.

“Princess,” he says. Then, as before, he runs a finger under Asher’s jaw, too, and I feel the shiver go through my friend’s body.

This time, however, he leans down to press the lightest kiss to Asher’s temple.

“Hunter.” He nods toward the edge. “As usual, you’re both a chaotic mess.

Come. Get out of the water. I know what we need. ”

WE LIE IN the pillows, and the king has a servant bring small bowls of fruits and nuts, along with a bottle of wine.

The fire makes the air warm enough that my shift dries quickly, and we lie on the pillows and mats from the benches.

Ky was the first to stretch out on one, and he says, “Tell me what you were like when you were young.”

At first, we’re quiet, because it’s unclear which one of us he was speaking to. But then I realize it’s both , because Asher says, “We drove the palace staff crazy. We were always somewhere we weren’t supposed to be.”

And then he’s telling a story about our childhood, a time we snuck into the kitchens to steal pastries that were so hot they left blisters on my fingers for days.

It leads to other memories, other stories, until we talk about the time we were teenagers in the hayloft above the stables, how the night watchman almost caught us.

Some of the stories turn darker, the months of waiting when I thought I’d never see Asher again.

The way I rejoiced when he finally appeared in my chambers—and how afraid I was when he told me I had to keep his presence a secret.

We talk about Dane and his cruelty, which makes me think of Ky and his sister, the way he must care for her so much, while fearing the risk she brings to his kingdom.

He tells us stories from the battlefield, the way he met Sev when he was young, how the origin of their friendship is wrapped up in memories of the loss of his father.

We learn a lot—likely too much—about the way he’s formed his regiments, the way he runs his army, how seriously he takes their training and drilling and organization.

It’s clear that he and his captain are very close, that they bear no secrets and their trust runs deep.

Asher has been my best friend for my whole life, but I’ve never had that kind of friendship with another woman.

It makes me think of Charlotte, who’s not quite a friend—but might be. I remember the way her cheeks turned pink every time she looked at the captain.

“Is Sev married?” I say.

Ky snorts. “Sev? No. His longest relationship is with his horse. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with the same woman for more than a month.” He pauses. “Why?”

I wonder how the prim and proper Charlotte will take this news. “Just curious.”

As we talk, as the wine flows, our words grow a bit looser, our thoughts a bit freer.

I’m lying beside Asher on some of the cushions, and as the night has gone on, I’ve shifted to lie against him, our hands loosely intertwined.

At some point, Ky moved to fetch more food, and when he returned, he sat against the foot of the bench, so he’s now perpendicular to us, our heads by his thigh.

At first, Ky would touch me lightly as we spoke, his finger drifting along my hairline, or maybe along my cheek.

But now, lying like this, he strokes my hair, my shoulder, my collarbone.

Always gentle, always simple, but it’s becoming intoxicating.

I’ve felt a pulsing warmth in my belly, and it’s been building for a while.

My breasts feel heavy, my nipples sensitive to the dried fabric of the shift.

But all he does is continue the chaste path. Hair. Face. Arm. Collarbone. Shoulder.

When Asher shifts closer and his face falls against my shoulder, Ky incorporates him, too.

Running his fingers lightly through his hair, tracing one of the lines on his cheek.

I wait for Asher to go tense, but he doesn’t.

He’s very still, his breathing quiet. When the king’s finger drifts over his mouth, and then mine, I feel Asher’s cock twitch against my thigh, and I flush.

Do you fancy the king?

I don’t want to.

His body does. And it’s clear the king fancies us both. I fancy them both.

But I think of what just happened in the pool, and I wonder if any of us should be fancying anyone at all.

This is too complicated to think about. We’ve gone too long without speaking. “Tell us about your men,” I say.

“Which ones?”

“What happened to Nikko?” says Asher.