Those birds again. My instincts aren’t quite screaming at me, but my fingers hesitate as I reach for my sword belt.
The princess reaches out to rest her fingers over mine, and it drags my gaze back down to meet hers. Her hand is faintly trembling, and I frown. I think of that man in the snow who seemed so terrified of my soldiers—and me.
“What has happened?” I say. I yank at the buckle that holds my sword in place, then toss it onto the chair with my bracers. The dagger quickly follows. “My commitment to this alliance is genuine, I assure you.”
Her breathing has quickened. “I want to believe you,” she says. “I just...” Her voice trails off, and she presses her hands to her mouth, inhaling deeply.
Then I notice the broken skin across the knuckles of her right hand, the slight swelling of her knuckles.
She definitely didn’t have that before.
Maybe this is why my instincts are screaming. Maybe she’s trying to tell me she’s indanger.
I swiftly step forward and take hold of her hand. “You hit someone. Who hurt you? Was it your brother?”
She inhales sharply, her eyes searching mine. There’s a pleading there. Aneed.
“Tell me,” I demand, and this time I make no effort to hide the fury in my voice. “Believethis, Princess. If Dane is threatening you in regards to our alliance, I truly will consider it an act of—”
Metal scrapes over stone from somewhere above.
I snap my head up, but all I see is a dark blur. A heavy weight slams straight down into my shoulders with enough force to bring me to my knees. I barely stop myself from crashing face-first into the floor. My hands reach for weapons that aren’t there, and I inhale to shout for my men.
Before I make a sound, a thin rope snaps tight against my throat.
Well,fuck.
I automatically go for the rope, but it’s drawn so tight that I’m already seeing stars. There’s weight on my back, and what feels like a knee pressing into my rib cage. I try to fling myself back to dislodge my assailant, but there’s no wall behind me, and whoever it is grips tight. I try to roll, to use my weight to my advantage, but the rope goes tighter. I surge against the ground, reaching back, striking at anything I can reach.
I hit something vital, because my attacker grunts, telling me it’s a man. That rope goes slack, but it snaps tight before I can get more than a second of air. It’s enough time for me to strike again.
He’s ready for it. He catches my wrist and wrenches it back so fiercely that my shoulder might dislocate. The sudden sharp pain brings me to the ground, the rope still tight around my throat. Now there’s a knee in my lower back, digging into my kidney, and another just over my spine. The stone floor grits against my face, and my eyes are beginning to water from the lack of air.
The princess isn’t screaming. Has someone attacked her, too?
I have one hand free, and I press against the ground, but whoever’s on my back has too much leverage. My lungs are beginning to scream.
Jory’s skirts are visible in my blurring vision. She’s still on her feet. I fight to speak, but the rope is too tight.Run,I think.Scream.
The man speaks from behind me, his voice low, the tone tight with strain. “Jory. His dagger belt. Quick.”
Oh.
I’m an idiot.
Desperate, I sketch a sigil against the stone floor, praying someone has lit a firesomewhere.
Nothing.
“Jory!” the man says again. “Now.”
“Asher,” she says breathlessly. “Asher, you’re hurting him.”
“You knew he wasn’t going to walk out the door!” the man growls. “I need you to tie his hands.”
Asher.I search my memories for the name and come up with nothing. It’s possible the lack of oxygen isn’t helping. I let my muscles go slack, hoping that will earn me some leverage, but whoever’s pinning me doesn’t fall for it. I surge against his hold anyway, and I’m gratified when he swears and has to adjust his grip. In the struggle, I’m able to get a lungful of air—but then the rope is too tight and I can’t shout for help. I redouble my efforts, hoping I’ll knock into a table or something will fall and summon my men from the other side of the door.
I’m not that lucky.
