Page 73 of Warrior Princess Assassin (Braided Fate #1)

Chapter Thirty-Four

The Warrior

W hen I returned to my quarters, I found them curled up beside each other, the princess clearly sound asleep.

At first, I thought Asher was, too, but when I slipped under the blanket beside them, his body took on an alertness that hasn’t gone away.

When the princess eventually shifted in her sleep, Asher moved away, letting her go.

He’s adrift in the blankets now, lying on his belly, because the brand is still a bit raw.

His eyes are still closed, but I know he’s not sleeping.

He’s avoiding me.

He hasn’t looked at me since the moment he said, Don’t touch me.

Not after he took my cock in his mouth to show her how to pleasure a man, not when I confirmed Jory’s lack of experience, not even when the princess was so lusciously pinned between us.

When he wrapped his hand around me, I nearly spilled right there.

I was already so close and Jory was exquisitely clenching around my fingers and Asher’s grip was.

..perfection. But his face was buried in her neck, and he never lifted his eyes.

And despite what he did—despite the fact that we’ve spent the last two nights all but pressed together—he’s now lying three feet away from me.

It didn’t escape my notice that he also left the Hall of Stars still rock hard, his trousers still laced in place. The princess wouldn’t notice—likely wouldn’t think to notice—but I did.

Maybe I should have stopped him before any of that happened. Maybe I broke whatever began. Or maybe he’s simply realized that I won’t stop him from being with Jory, so there’s no need to continue...whatever we were doing.

Or...maybe he scared himself away.

The princess herself continues to stun me.

So innocent, yet so... unflinching when it comes to things that matter.

I’ve been so hesitant to reveal the truth about my sister.

..and then she was so quietly gentle. She didn’t judge me for what happened with my people, and she’s ready to go take food from Astranza without even waiting for Dane to approve it.

When we finally confessed our hidden truths to each other, she was ready to ride right into war that very moment.

I said I wouldn’t ride back into her country without a regiment behind me, and she was so quick to correct me.

Behind us.

The falcon, always free, choosing to return to my hand.

Asher, by comparison, is the wolf willing to stand at her side, to do whatever she asks—even when it costs him something. Even when it costs him everything.

I think of that day when he held me captive. One of the very first things I noticed was how he’d obviously never been a soldier—and if he were, I’d have to carefully build his confidence, because so much of his courage is a facade. So much of his true spirit has already been stolen away.

Though...clearly not all of it.

“Asher,” I say, and I keep my voice low.

For the longest time, he doesn’t move, though I know he’s not sleeping. I don’t think he’s going to look at me, but I won’t ask again. I don’t want to make it a battle of wills. Not now.

But then his eyes flick open, more gray than blue in the shadows. He still doesn’t meet my gaze.

“Can I touch you?” I say.

He says nothing, and I don’t want to push him—though sometimes I think he likes to be pushed. He’s just out of reach, so I shift toward him, watching his reaction, stopping when we’re close enough to share breath.

He goes tense, of course, and he seems prepared to launch himself out of the bed.

“You only have about four guards in this entire palace,” he says, like it’s a warning. “I could escape in five minutes.”

“ Escape? ” I say softly. “Do you still feel you’re a captive, Asher?”

Emotions play over his face as he considers that, and it steals some of his fire. “I don’t know what I am.”

I remember how he didn’t ask to be freed from the chain. I wonder if there was a part of him, deep inside, that liked it. If captivity meant safety, in an odd way. Being my prisoner meant no one else could take him.

He’s so tense that he could walk onto a battlefield right now. “Would a fight make you feel better?” I say, and a tiny light sparks in his gaze that tells me it would. “Should I get some swords and we can go to the training yard?”

He looks a bit startled, but then he laughs under his breath. “Honestly, I have no idea what to do with a sword.”

That’s so shocking that I press up on one elbow and look down at him. “ What? ”

He shrugs. “It’s not the most efficient weapon for an assassin.” He makes a face. “I haven’t held one in forever. They’re heavy—awkward—”

“Asher.” I run a hand down my face. Bleeding skies, and he’s going to let them take him to Mossnum. “Can you shoot an arrow?”

“Probably? It’s been a while.”

I stare at him. He’s finally looking at me, and some of the bracing tension has slipped out of his body. He’s not prepared to leap from the bed anymore. I find it amusing that a conversation about fighting is what finally drew him out.

There was a moment when he was lying with Jory that he allowed me to stroke his hair. They both seemed lazy and content, curled up like purring cats beside me. He’s not purring now, but he doesn’t look ready to claw up my arm, either.

I reach out and thread my fingers through his hair.

He stops breathing, but he doesn’t pull away. I do it another time, and then another, until he finally lets out a breath and his eyes close.

He’s really so beautiful. They both are. When Asher and Jory were kneeling between my spread legs, I had a moment where I thought it couldn’t possibly be real, that maybe I died at some point during the journey and this was the heavenlands.

I let go of his hair and run a hand down the curved muscles of his arm. When he shifts a little, his hand drifting the tiniest bit toward me, I say, “Will you let me hold you?”

I wait, and I’m rewarded when he responds, tucking his face in against my shoulder, aligning his body almost flush with mine.

I can feel him breathe, the too-quick fluttering of his heart, and I shift my stroking to run along the slope of his back, mindful of his wounds.

When he relaxes, he’s as responsive as the princess, and I begin to let my hand drift.

His back, his arm, his rib cage, his throat.

I brush a thumb over his nipple, and his eyes flick open, his breath catching the tiniest bit.

His skin is so warm, his pulse beginning to hum.

So I stop with my hand against his neck, my thumb right in that hollow under his jaw.

“You are not my prisoner, Asher. You are free to stay, just as you are free to leave. But no one will take you away from her. No one will take her away from you. Certainly not me.” I lean in, letting him hear the righteous conviction in my voice.

“You are free . But if this is where you choose to remain, know this: no one will take you away from me.”

He stops breathing again. His eyes fix and lock on mine.

I run a thumb across his chin, barely touching his lower lip. “Rest assured, I know how to go to war.”

He’s simply staring, so I lean in and brush my mouth over his.

It’s the first time I’ve kissed him, and he responds so softly, his lips barely brushing mine, his breath light and sweet as he withdraws.

He whispers, “It must have been really good if you’re offering to go to war .”

It makes me laugh in spite of myself. But then I’m thinking of his mouth again, the slow drag of his tongue, the way he looked to the princess and encouraged her to follow his lead.

And then the longer time, the moment he lingered, the way he pushed a finger inside me and I nearly pulsed right into his throat.

I blink and he’s watching me, his eyes so dark.

“Do you want me to do it again?” he says softly.

Yes .

I almost say it—because I’m already hard, just hearing him offer. But I realize this is a different kind of fighting for him. A different kind of challenge.

“No,” I say, and I stroke my hand through his hair. I consider the way he reacted when I brushed a finger across his nipple, so I do it again. “Do you want me to do it to you?”

His breath catches, and he shivers, and I don’t know if it’s from my hand or from the question. He shifts closer to me, almost unconsciously, pressing himself into my hip.

But then he tucks his face against my shoulder. It’s not a refusal—but it’s not a clear assent, either.

I pinch his nipple between my fingers and he grunts, almost thrusting against me.

There’s a desperate sound to it. A wanting sound.

But I also hear the fear underneath. It must be torture to live like this, to go without touch, to fear the motive of anyone who offers it even in the simplest way.

I have no idea how he hid it from the princess for so long.

Actually—maybe I do. Her innocence is likely the only armor he has.

“Take yourself in hand,” I whisper along his temple. “I’ll hold you.”

I don’t think he’ll do even this, but I’ve barely said the words before the cord is pulled and his cock is free. He strokes himself against my thigh.

The princess is so guileless that I have to guard my words, because I don’t want to shock her or frighten her—at least not until she’s a bit more experienced. But this is one thing I don’t need to fear with Asher.

I press a bit closer and drop my voice, speaking right against his skin. “When you’re ready, I’ll do that for you, Asher. Perhaps I could be the one to give the princess a lesson. You could tell me what you think of my mouth.”

He gasps against my shoulder.

I stroke a hand along his neck, tracing a line across his chest. “I rather liked what you did with your finger,” I say. I let my voice go husky. “That’s a trick I could show the princess. She certainly seemed to like it when you did it to her .”

He makes a small sound. His hand accelerates.

“Maybe you wouldn’t want to finish in my mouth,” I say. “Maybe you’d like to push Jory down against the bed. I saw the way you pulled her apart. I know you want to fill her up.”

“Fuck,” he gasps. A sheen of sweat has broken out on his shoulders. “ Fuck .”

I stroke a hand down his side, pressing my fingers into his hip. “Or maybe you’re the one who wants to be pushed down against a bed,” I whisper. “Maybe you don’t want my mouth. Maybe you just want me to fuck you .”

He grunts hard and bites down on my shoulder, almost whimpering as he comes, jerking himself hard until he’s done.

And then, to my surprise, it’s his breath that’s hitching, his eyes that are suddenly gleaming.

Bleeding skies.

I pull him close, kissing his temple, his cheek, his neck. “Hush, lovely,” I say, a little bit teasing, but very much not. I smooth his hair. “Hush.”

When his breathing settles, he doesn’t pull away. I want to get him linens from the washroom, but I’ll wait until he’s ready.

But then he says, “I bit your shoulder. I’m sorry.”

I look down, surprised to discover he broke the skin.

I kiss him on the forehead again. “That, Asher, is a wound I’ll wear with pride.”