Her rage quieted, replaced by a heavy sorrow. “There was nothing you could have done,” she whispered. “He would have killed us both.”
Vane laughed bitterly, shirking off his pants. Now, she did look away. Not because she didn’t want to see him like this, but because, for a moment, looking at him at all was too heavy, toopainful. There was a deep wound between them, the knife still buried in both their chests where Kronos had ripped out her heart. And for it, for all Vane had suffered, for Kelshie, she would rip out his.
The cot bowed as Vane sat next to her, wearing his usual leather breeches, his chest still bare.
“It’s almost morning,” she said, and he nodded.
She sighed heavily. Outside, a dragon screeched, and dim light filtered in through the tent. She glanced at Vane. “King Johannas?—”
But Vane cut her off, kissing her hard. She gasped against his mouth, though it was over by the time it had really started. He pulled away, still cradling his face with one hand as he said, “He’ll likely send someone to investigate. You were quite high up when it happened, so there’s no telling what they all saw.”
“That I was going to try and kill him,” she confirmed sharply. “The masked rider.”
Vane took a quick breath. “Yes.”
“And the rest of it? The others in Aren’s army who I…” She trailed off, not quite able to say it.
Death was a whispered beat inside her. It always had been, but that didn’t stop her from being afraid of it.
Vane’s expression grew hard. “Johannas likes his weapons, and he prefers to be on the winning side. If you can provide him both of those things, he won’t touch you, at least not personally.”
“Vane…does he know about you?”
His gaze dropped as he opened his mouth, but then a horn sounded from somewhere in the camp. Vane shot to his feet, grabbing a shirt and leather chest armor, tugging them both on.
“More rebels?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, just—” He cut himself off, swearing softly under his breath. His hand twitched at his side, and he muttered, “Damn it.”
“What?”
“The king is here.”
Chapter 25
Soren dressed quicklywhile Vane paced silently near the entrance of the tent. When she had finished, he ran a hand over his face and spoke again.
“He’ll want to see you.”
She swallowed hard. “I know. It’s fine. I’ve dealt with him before. I lived in his palace for nearly all my life.”
Vane didn’t look comforted at the thought. She finished tying up her boots and stood, a little wobbly on her feet after recovering and all they had done in the past hours. He was at her side instantly, brow creased and a hand on her arm.
“I’m fine.”
He took a deep breath. “Alright. We should go.”
“How did you know it was him?” she asked as he turned away from her.
His shoulders tensed, but he merely replied, “The horn call is different from an alarm.”
She hadn’t heard the difference, and she had a hunch he was lying, but she ignored the feeling, following him out of the tent. The camp was bustling, the soldiers’ breaths clouding in the cold morning air as they sat around fires or started training. The winter season had truly reached Aren, even this far south.
Stares trailed both her and Vane as they walked the short distance through the camp to meet the king. Some looked at her with disgust and fear, others with awe. She didn’t blame those who despised her now. She had no idea who she might have taken from them.
A sudden thought sent a spike of fear through her.
“The princess?—”
