Callum whistles through his teeth again, but this time it’s not taunting. “Stripes isfast.”
Asher makes a derisive sound. “No. Lucky.”
Nikko surveys him for a long, quiet moment. “That was skill. Not luck.” He doesn’t seem happy about this, but he takes the offered blade and slides it home, then turns to sit back down.
Captain Zale’s gaze is more assessing, his voice cool. “You said you Hunters were trained to kill, not fight.”
“I saidtheyweren’t trained to fight.” Asher returns to where he was sitting, but I notice that he doesn’t pull the jacket back over his skin. A dozen bleeding abrasions run up the side of his back opposite the burn scar. He still seems to be breathing too hard, especially for such a short fight, and his skin seems a little pale in the firelight.
I wonder how close that really was.
He glances at me. “What’s with the look?”
I want to tell him that I was worried he’d get himself killed. I want to say that he’s so fast and agile that it’s almost poetic. I want to tell him he’s my only friend, and I can’t lose him now, like this.
But then I remember everything he said last night. I remember the way he took my hand and said,I’m still here.
I consider what he looks like right now, half-glistening, half-dusty, cords of fatigued muscle bunched across his shoulders.
Friendsuddenly feels like the wrong word. I need to stop staring.
The gulps of whiskey have fully hit me, so what I end up saying is, “That was very brave. And verystupid.”
Asher chokes on a laugh as if I’ve genuinely surprised him—and so do a handful of the soldiers.
Ky doesn’t laugh. He’s looking between the two of us. As always, his eyes are intense and unyielding, the fire reflecting off his features to paint gold in his hair. Is he angry? Jealous? I can’t tell.
Asher sobers, regarding him. For a heartbeat of time, emotion flickers betweenthem,and my heart stutters. It feels like a challenge. A warning. The air shifts, and Asher’s form takes on that ready stillness again. So does Ky’s.
My breath catches. The king won’t go down as easily as Nikko. Not in front of his men. Not in front ofme.
I can’t watch that again. I can’t.
But the king shrugs one shoulder and sits back, his posture almost lazy in the firelight. “You’ve earned a rest, Asher.” His accented voice is low and silky, easing through the tension in the air. “Take it.”
At that, Asher blinks, as if the simple words catch him by surprise. But he swallows, and the aggressive bracing in his body melts away. He pushes sweat-damp hair back from his face, then picks up the abandoned bottle of whiskey and holds it out to Roman. This time, the soldier takes it.
I’m still studying the king, however. Asher’s fight took my breath away, but there’s something so fascinating aboutthis, the king’s quiet resolve. The way he’s able to unravel tension before it spirals into something worse. I’ve seen it for days, in the way he spoke so thoughtfully when tears were on my cheeks, or how he was prepared to stand in the snow and guard my carriage, simply because his men were hungry and tired. It’s in the way he put a gentle hand on Asher’s neck, or offered food from his own dish.
Maddox Kyronan has a reputation that long precedes him, and from everything I’ve seen, that reputation is hard won and well deserved. He slaughtered those assassins like it was nothing, and he still wears armor bearing their blood. But what I find so surprising is that the most formidable part of his character seems to have nothing to do with his magic, or his soldiers, or his strength.
Instead, I’m discovering that the most powerful thing about him—in fact, the mostcompellingthing about him—has nothing to do with violence at all.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Warrior
If anyone has been stupid, it’s me.
My comment to the princess about our need to camp in the ravines wasn’t quite true. I know at least half a dozen inns and taverns within two hours’ ride from here. But we rode for miles after we crossed the border, and the grass is still brown and dead, with no sign of resurgence—not even near the streams, where it should be lush and vibrant. If the grass is this bad, I’m sure the crops are worse.
Or thelackof crops, I should say. If we found an inn, I doubt I’d be welcome.
Victoria, I think.Please tell me you haven’t made anything worse.
This alliance needs to proceed. King Theodore’s weather magic will renew our crops and keep them safe from damage. If the miles of snow convinced me of anything, it’s that he’s powerful enough to do as he promised. Once the princess and I are wed, my people will be able to stop worrying about how to survive the next season. I’ll be able to help his soldiers hold their borders more effectively, protecting the citizens of Astranza from invading forces. Weneedeach other.
But in the back of my mind, one threat has been left unanswered: those Hunters still came after us.
