Asher’s voice is very quiet. “They paid to kill you, Jory.”
I wet my lips and look back at Ky. He’s watching us both—and he makes absolutely no attempt to deny that. He wrenches at the bindings, but Asher was thorough. There’s no give.
I drop to a crouch to look at the king eye to eye. The rope marks on his throat are turning purple, vivid in the sunlight, and it looks like his bottom lip has cracked and split from the pressure of being gagged.
But his eyes blaze into mine, and there’s no fear. It’s all rage.
This spiraled out of control so quickly. I’m not sure how to explain—or if he even deserves an explanation.
“Did you hire an assassin to kill me?” I say.
That cuts through the fury. He goes still, and a line appears between his eyebrows. He shakes his head and tries to speak through the gag. “No.”
I regard him levelly. “Your soldiers, then?”
He shakes his head again, more emphatically. “No.”
I put out a hand to Asher. “Give me the dagger.”
“He wants you dead. If you cut him loose, you will be.”
The king says something I can’t quite make out, but it sounds a lot like “Youwill be.”
“I’m not cutting him loose,” I say—because it’s terrifying to consider that Asher is right. “But I need to talk to him.”
Asher sets his jaw, but he flips the dagger in his hand, then holds it out to me, hilt first.
When I look back at Ky, he’s watching this. Taking note of it as if it’s significant. It reminds me of that moment in my chambers, when he knew I’d hidden the hairpin.
Right for the eyes? That’s vicious, Princess.
I’m not vicious. Not really.
Butheis. I have to remind myself that there’s a reason my father set such a far-reaching decree, banning fire in the entire kingdom. There’s a reason the taverns are full of gossip.
He sat in my chambers and spoke of hope for his people, but I can’t forget that Maddox Kyronan has a dangerous reputation that long precedes him.
And we took him prisoner.
I brace myself, then reach out and cut the gag loose.
Ky spits the knotted rope into the snow, and he wastes no time. “Why would I send an assassin?” he demands. His eyes are fierce, his accent biting. He wrenches at his bindings again. “If you had such a suspicion, why would you not involve your guards?”
“Assassins know how to get past the guards,” Asher says flatly. “Clearly.”
The king’s eyes glance between us. “Who is this man, Princess? Are you working in conjunction with the Draegs?”
“No!”
“How much did they offer you?”
“Nothing!” I cry. He’s getting this all wrong. “I’m not working with Draegonis.”
“Then it’s ransom,” he says bitterly. “My sister won’t pay. But my soldierswillfind you.”
“I don’t want ransom! Would you listen—”
“You clearly need me alive,” he says. “It’s obvious you’re working with someone.”
