Garrett must sense my focus, because he turns in my direction, then signals a query.All well?
I nod, then shift onto my own bedroll between Asher and Sev.
Asher is facing me, but his eyes are closed, and his arms are curledin tight to his bare upper body. Every muscle is bunched, and there’s enough fire for me to see gooseflesh all over his skin.
Fine. You win.
I don’t want to touch him again, because I know it makes him anxious, despite how badly he seems to want it. When I speak, I keep my voice soft. “Asher.”
His eyes flick open, finding mine in the darkness. Dark and piercing, just as before.
“We are not at odds,” I say quietly. “This is not a competition.”
“I know,” he says. “Like I said, you’ve already won her affection.”
Maybe—but it doesn’t feel like something I’vewon.I think of the slow drag of her fingers through the scruff on my chin, the way it was almost inquisitive. It stirs something inside me—and I’m surprised to realize it’s not different from the way I felt about doing the same thing tohim.
I hold his gaze. “That does not mean I’m stealing it away from you.”
He says nothing to that. Another gust of wind whips through the ravine, and he bites back a shiver. I watch him try to tuck his arms closer.
“You’re cold,” I say. “Move closer if you like.”
His mouth forms a line. He says nothing and turns back to the fire.
“Or not,” I say. I sigh, adjust my blankets, and rest my head on my arm. I don’t think I’ll sleep, but it’s been too many long days and nights in succession. Exhaustion eventually claims my thoughts.
Sometime later, I wake, and I realize that Asher’s face is all but pressed against my arm. The moon is still high, and the air is still cold. I lie there and wait to remember whatever nightmare woke me. I wait for visions of my soldiers dying, Draeg soldiers ripping them limb from limb. Bodies strewn on a battlefield, my own soldiers responding with equally vicious violence.
But for the first time in a while, I can’t remember a single dream. No blood, no death, no soldiers being torn apart while I watch, helpless. I’m warm and safe, sleep already calling me back.
Especially since Asher is quiet and still, his bare arms tucked between us, his wounded body stretched out alongside my own.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Assassin
When we ride out, the air is sharp and I’m still sore. This much riding is often reserved for the nobility or the cavalry, and I’m neither. If there’s any spot of relief, the burn on my shoulder has mostly stopped weeping, and new scabs have begun to form. It makes the weight of the leather armor less bothersome. I’d rather not wear it atall, because it’s heavy enough to slow me down in a fight, but the soldiers’ angry glares and muttered comments seem to have shifted into grudging acceptance. I’ll strap leather to my body if it makes them keep their distance.
But maybeI’mthe one keeping my distance. They’re all clearly less worried about an attack now that we’re in Incendar, so we’re riding in more of a pack today, and everyone seems to have fallen into similar pairings as last night. Nikko and Roman are at the front, followed by the king and his captain, Jory and Charlotte, and finally Garrett and Callum.
And then me.
In a way, I don’t mind. I’m used to being alone—and I’m glad I’m not tethered to anyone anymore. My horse drifts along behind them, well trained to follow a formation. We’ve been riding through dried grass and sparse vegetation for hours. Narrow ravines are frequent, but so are open fields of...nothing. I’ve heard rumors of the poor crops in Incendar, and I suppose I’m seeing the proof. From time to time, the air seems thick with woodsmoke, but then the wind will shift and I’ll think I imagined it. We haven’t come close to a single flame since we buried our campfire. When we pass villages and settlements, they’re always at a distance—but maybe that’s on purpose. I don’t ask, because I don’t care. No one is looking to me to navigate. Not even the horse. I suspect I could fall asleep and this army steed would continue plodding along until we stopped.
It’s tempting. Being awake is giving me too much time to think.
My thoughts are full of the princess—and the memory of the king on top of her.
I wasn’t trying to stare. I wasn’t even trying to spy. But they’d gone quiet for a little too long, and then I heard the rough breaths and scuffling. I remembered how frightened she’d been in her chambers.
When I looked, he was pinning her to the ground, but Jory did not look afraid. Her hand was on his face, and there was no disguising the flicker of desire on his. There was no disguising the desire onhers. She seemed flushed and eager from their “fight,” completely contrary to the prim and proper princess I know from the palace. Maybe itstartedas sparring, but it certainly wasn’t going to end that way.
For one blinding second, they didn’t see me, and I had an opportunity to look away. To go to sleep. To pretend I’d seen nothing. I’ve lived in a dozen different brothels, so I’m no stranger to any level of intimacy happening right beside me.
But then she saw me, and so did the king. I was caught, my eyes wide open.
Fine,I said to him. You win.
