“We’re in safer territory here,” he says. “You can strip your own armor as well.” He pauses. “If you like.”
That makes me realize he’s in a fresh tunic, with a cloak thrown over his shoulders. It looks like he’s splashed water over his face, too.
Yes, I absolutelydowant to get out of this armor.
I reach for one of the buckles near my waist, but my hands falter when I find straps doubled over and tucked away in a pattern I can’t see in the dark.
“May I?” says the king.
My eyes flick up, and I nod.
He moves close, until I can hear his breath, and it reminds me of the moment I dabbed the blood off his face. The king’s fingers brush my waist as he pulls at leather straps and tight buckles until it all comes free. Every touch of his hands makes me want to shiver despite the warmth in his touch. Maybe I’ve never slept outside, but there’s suddenly something very primal about this that I crave, being under the stars, stripping armor and tending horses.
When cool air reaches my sweat-dampened clothes, Idoshiver. Ky tosses the armor with my gear, then he shrugs out of his cloak. In one swift movement, he throws it around my shoulders instead. His fingers are swift and gentle at my throat as he tugs the clasp together.
Much like everything else he does, it’s bold and forward, and I’m not entirely sure how to react—except I don’t hate it. Just like that, another tiny flame is lit.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says. “At the border.”
“You didn’t.” But my voice is a little thin, because he did—and I think it’s clear that he did.
“Those assassins did not just come after me,” he says. “They came after you as well.” He pauses. “My intent is not to trap you here. My intent is toprotectyou.”
His eyes are so determined, and his hands have gone still on the cloak at my throat. It’s so different from the way Asher said,I’m still here—but it’s also so similar.
“Come eat,” he says gently. “Callum and Nikko shot some mountain elk. Sev has some whiskey.” He smiles, and this time it’s not cunning or challenging at all. “We’re safe here.” His thumb brushes against my throat, and then he lets me go. “Youare safe here.”
“Even Asher?” I say.
The king’s eyes lift, shifting in Asher’s direction—reminding me that he’s been at my back this whole time, watching our interaction.
“That,” says Ky, “depends on him.”
THE CAMPFIRE ISsurprisingly inviting, and the cooked meat unexpectedly tasty. We’ve fallen into small paired clusters that form a circle around the fire: me and Charlotte, the king and his captain, Garrett and Callum, Nikko and Roman. Only Asher sits alone, though he’s to my left, a little closer to me than to Roman. His expression is still tight, and his wound wept through yet another tunic during our ride. He’s shirtless now, with one arm through the sleeve of a fur-lined jacket, his branded shoulder and left arm bare to the night air. It’s buckled at the waist, holding it all together. He must be cold, but he’s hardly said a word.
After a day on the road together, I’ve begun to piece together the soldiers’ personalities, and I find them all a bit fascinating. Captain Zale is clearly a close friend and confidant to the king. They exchange glances often, and it’s obvious that more is being said than what I’m allowed to hear. I can’t help but notice that Charlotte seems taken by the captain, because I’ve caught her watching him a few times—to the extent that I want to ask ifsheneeds a chaperone.
I’ve heard Garrett and Callum bicker all day, with a few remarks that might’ve sparked a fight if the king didn’t snap at them to stop. But they also seem to share a deeper intimacy. Last night, Callum flirted with that woman in the inn—but tonight, he’s on a low, flat rock by the fire, with Garrett leaning back against his legs. At one point, Garrett finished the piece of meat he was eating, so Callum tore his remaining portion in half, then held it out. Garrett bit it right from his fingers.
Nikko and Roman don’t bicker at all, but they don’t seem as tightly bound as the others. Roman is something of a strategist for the king—or maybe a tactician. He’s the one who arranged their riding patterns after the attack. He’s quieter. More easygoing—I think.
Nikko is quiet, too, but his silence is different. When he speaks, his voice is always low and unnaturally rough, like he’s inhaled a mouthfulof smoke. He’s very still, and very watchful, and it hasn’t escaped my notice that he seems to resent Asher’s presence.
Every time Nikko’s dark eyes settle on my friend, I’m reminded of Asher’s comment when we stopped.
I kidnapped their king right out from under them. They saw that, too.
Small steel cups of water are passed around while we eat, but the king was right about Captain Zale’s whiskey, because that’s shared with much more enthusiasm. In Astranza, I wouldneverbe invited to drink liquor with a group of soldiers, so I don’t expect the bottle to come my way at all. But the king passes it to Lady Charlotte—who immediately hands it to me. I automatically turn toward Asher without taking a sip.
But once the heavy glass bottle is in my grip, I hesitate, biting my lip. I’m half-turned to face Asher, and when he sees me reconsider, his eyes flare in surprise.
I raise my eyebrows at him, wondering if he’s going to tell me to stop.
He doesn’t. “Dane would have afit,” he says. His voice is quiet and low, and it sounds like a dare.
After hours of silence and tension, it’s the lightest thing he’s said all day, and it lights a tiny spark of hope in my chest. “Exactly.”
To my right, Charlotte gasps out loud. “My lady,” she says. “I must object to—”
