Warrior Princess Assassin (Braided Fate, #1)

by Brigid Kemmerer

I’m so startled that I bounce on the bed like a little girl who’s just been promised a bowl of sugared berries. “What? Really?”

He tsks under his breath. “Be a good princess, or you won’t get what you want.”

He’s staring at my mouth like a starving man desperate for a meal.

“Because I’m not the boy you remember.” His eyes open, dark and intent and fixed on mine. “And you’re about to marry another man.”

It’s so sweet and so comforting—and a reminder of everything I’ll never have.

“Can I ask you something?” “Anything.” “Do you know if it’ll hurt?”

“It shouldn’t hurt.” He pauses. “Not if it’s done right.”

“What if he hurts me?” I whisper. This time there’s no keeping the fear out of my voice.

“I’d find my way to you. King or not, magic or not, I’ll do whatever needs doing.”

His strength is apparent in every touch, and I long for him to press me into the bed, to feel the weight of his body on mine.

The king’s fingers catch my wrist again, just as gentle as before. “Did he hurt you?”

I keep thinking of the way she fell asleep pressed against me, the way she clutched my hand to her chest. How small her voice sounded when she said, What if he hurts me? Or the way she trusted me to take care of it if he did.

I’m probably the last person anyone should trust. But she’s so innocent. So sheltered.

There was something so comforting about the feel of her heartbeat against my chest, the softness of her body yielding against mine. I’d forgotten that touch could be like that, simple and gentle and without expectation.

What if he hurts me? Her voice was so small. So innocent. Ah, Jory. I made her a promise, and I meant it. I know what I have to do.

“I said that if this alliance is to proceed through marriage, he will not lay a hand on you again. If he does, I will consider it an act of war.”

I’m sure everyone is hovering, wondering what he’s doing to me.

“But I’ll disarm for you, Princess.”

For as fierce as he seems, something in his gaze gentles. Softens.

“She’s the only reason you’re not dead. Hurt her again, and you will be.”

I’m going to tear him apart.

“Get up and walk, or I will drag you into the hallway. And then I will wait for the rest of your men, and I will kill them one by one as they enter this room. While you watch.”

For a flash, he’s not a terrifying assassin kidnapping the king of a rival nation; he’s Asher, my gentle childhood friend, the man I welcomed into my room in the dead of night.

It’s no surprise that he had to attack from above and behind. I rather doubt he would’ve had the mettle to come at me face-to-face.

His white-blond hair is a shade I’ve never seen on a grown man. It’s longer on top, falling into his blue eyes in a way that makes him seem almost petulant.

She looks so small and helpless. I cannot believe this is the same young woman who helped an assassin steal me away from the palace.

“But I’m not going back to the slavers. Not even for you.”

“If you don’t shut up and look away, I’m going to cut your eyes out.” I hold his gaze. “Then do it, Asher.”

In any other circumstance, I’d find him intriguing. I can see why the princess seems so devoted. Despite the chaos of this venture, there’s something a bit compelling about him.

Last night, she seemed revolted by the idea of having a pile of children with this man, but now that she’s met him, I half expect her to ask if they should start trying right here.

Her lips parted, and her eyes went soft. She was ready to draw a dagger and cut him free on the spot. I don’t want to be jealous. I don’t. But I am.

This is why it’s easier to just kill people. I only need to be terrifying for a second.

We’re so close that we could share breath, and for a moment, I’m struck by the fact that this is the first time I’ve been this close to another man where he is bound and I am not.

I don’t want Jory to see him coming undone. She flushed bright red when I curled up with her in her chambers, and that was fully clothed.

“You intend to drag the princess out of here in the dead of night, on foot, with no horse, no cloak, and no supplies.” He looks me right in the eyes. “You are going to talk to me, Asher.”

But she kept staring up at me with those eyes, like I could be her savior. She’s the only person who’s ever looked at me like that. She could have told me to throw myself off a parapet, and I would’ve asked which one.

“When you ran,” he says, “where did you go?” I don’t intend to answer, because it’s too personal, too close to my heart. But my eyes flick to Jory before I can help it.

I remember all the times I escaped my captors just to flee to her window. The number of times I wished I could hide in her wardrobe forever, letting her slip me pastries and cups of tea before the servants would find me. Sometimes I’d be injured, and I wouldn’t want her to see. I’d sit on the ledge of her windowsill, invisible in the darkness, watching her read by candlelight or stand up to Dane or tuck pins into her hair. “And you adore her,” the king says. This I can answer without hesitation. “I do.”

I want to be the one to keep her safe. But I can’t. I know I can’t. I’ve known it for hours. Honestly, I’ve known it for years.

I really do adore her. I would give her anything she asked.

Good girl. I hope she stabs him.

Am I to be your villain now?”

Individually or together, they’re both intriguing. Compelling. Striking,

Something about these two makes all of my protective instincts flare. Dane grabbed her arm, and I threatened to declare a war. When he backhanded Asher in the throne room, I wanted to set him on fire. It settles something inside me to know I have them both in a carriage, safe and sound.

“I couldn’t leave them there,

Maddox Kyronan takes a step closer, until his boots are right at my knees. “Asher. Get up.” “I said, fuck you.” The words sound juvenile and petulant, and I don’t care. “Make me.” His expression doesn’t flicker, and his tone doesn’t change. “Do you want me to make you?”

He made me yield without lifting a finger. Without even raising his voice.

“Don’t refuse just to spite me.” The edge has faded from his voice, and his accent turns every word to honey again. “Take it.” I obey. This feels like a different kind of yielding, and I hate it. It makes me want to take the tiniest sip possible and shove it back at him.

“Eat,” says the king. “I know you’re hungry.” I don’t reach for it. “It’s yours.” “I don’t eat before my people.” That makes me scowl—and also ache. I’ve never heard a ruler in Astranza say something like that. “I’m not your people.” “You’re mine for now.

The way he said, You’re mine right now. Like he’ll start a war if he doesn’t like what he sees. Sudden longing tightens my chest, and it’s so unexpected that my breath almost catches. Fuck. Fuck. Because I hate him. He already tricked me once, in exactly this way. But something deep inside me craves every emotion that his voice evokes. Something inside me trusts him, despite all he’s done and all that’s happened. I’ve been broken a thousand different ways, but never like this. Never with choice. Never with patience.