“Ky,” he says.
My eyebrows go up. “Ky?”
His eyes flick skyward, and if anything, his expression turns a bit sheepish. “Maddox Kyronan is far too long.”
It startles a giggle out of me, and he grins—possibly the first real smile I’ve seen on his face. It robs him of some of the severity—and it scares me how much I like this, too.
“Jory, then,” I say to him. “Because Marjoriana isfartoo pretentious.”
“Jory,” he says, and it’s startling to hear it in his accent. Warmth crawls up my neck.
He offers me a nod, then lets go of my hand. “Until later, Princess.”
Then he’s through the door, and I let out a breath, pressing my hands over my heart. Absolutelynoneof that went the way I thought it would.
Ky really meant everything he said. The desire rang in every syllable he spoke. It’s the only reason he’s putting up with Dane’s antics at all.
But so many people are afraid of him. So many people have horrific stories about him. That must meansomething.
A shadow passes across my window, and I think nothing of it. A bird, perhaps.
But then it happens again, followed by a scrape of metal along my windowsill.
My heart leaps to my throat. If it were the middle of the night, I’d know it was Asher.
But it’s midmorning—and Asher is gone.
A bitter draft swirls through the room. The window is open, a man in black coming over the sill. Terror grips my chest, and I think about the four thousand weapons the king was wearing, and I almost wish he were still here. I scrabble for another handful of hairpins, inhaling sharply to scream for the guards.
The intruder is quicker than thought, because he has a hand over my mouth before I can make a sound, and his other hand clamps around my waist. He wrenches me away from the table before I can grab anything, and I swing an elbow into his midsection, then clamp down hard with my teeth on his gloved hand. My attacker grunts, and I earn an inch of freedom, so I reach out, swiping a hand along the surface of the dressing table. My fingers finally close on one of those hairpins.
I don’t think. I stab back.
The man grunts again, tightening his grip. “Jory,stop!” he growls against my hair. “It’s me!”
Asher.
I freeze. As soon as I go still, he lets me go.
I whirl around and smack him on the arm. Twice for good measure. My heart is still pounding. “What are you doing?” I begin to shout, but he slaps a hand over my mouth again.
“Guards, Jory.” His face is in shadow under the hood of his jacket, but he’s breathing like he’s run a race.
My own heart won’t stop pounding. I shove his hand away from my mouth, but I keep my voice down. “What iswrongwith you!” I whisper furiously. “Why did yougrabme?”
“I’ve been waiting for him to go. You need to leave.” He shoves back his hood. “You need to leavenow.”
I suddenly can’t process what he’s saying. I haven’t seen Asher in the sunlight in ten years.
His hair is still so blond, but it glistens in the sunlight. I always thought he was pale, but his skin is like warm desert sand at midday, and the ink-brands on his cheek are stark. I never knew they were vaguely different colors, but in the bright light of day, I discover some lines are blue, some are black, one is purple. I wonder if it means anything.
“Jory,” he’s saying urgently. “Are you listening to me? You mustleave.”
It jolts me out of my reverie. “What?Why?”
“Because I’ve been given orders to kill you. If I don’t do it, they’re going to send another Hunter. We need to make it look like you ran, thatyou fled the marriage. That you’re rejecting the alliance to Incendar. I’ll hide his body, then lay tracks to make it look like he went after you.”
There are too many shocks in that statement. “Asher—”
