Princess of Thorns

“All part of my plan,” I say, clapping Ror on the back. “Now I’ll be able to eat your portion as well.”

“Devious,” he says.

“When it comes to food? Always, my friend.”

Ror’s laughter makes his eyes light up and his cheeks dimple, transforming his face into something a little too lovely. For the first time since seeing him in the ring, I appreciate what a clever thing he did, using his appearance against people who assumed a soft boy with a pretty face would be unable to hold his own.

“What were the odds against you?” I ask, wondering how many coins are in his burlap purse.

“Twenty-five to one,” he says. “I bet five of your gold pieces on myself.”

“You should have bet twenty.”

His eyes widen. “Twenty?”

“You were sure you would win.”

“Mostly sure.” He fidgets with the strings on the purse. “But I didn’t want to wager too much. Just in case.”

“You were already wagering your life. Money is nothing compared to that.” I wait until he glances up and hold his eyes. “Next time, if you’re betting your life, feel free to bet as much of my gold as you like.”

Ror is quiet for a long moment before giving a curt nod.

“But there won’t be a next time, right?” I ask with a pointed look.

“I’m not the sort who goes looking for a fight, Niklaas.”

“Yes, you are,” I say. “You’re spoiling for a fight, anywhere, anytime, any way you can get one. I know you better than you think, too, you know.”

Ror’s mouth quirks up on one side. “You think so?”

“I know so,” I say, nudging Alama into an easy canter. “Come on. There’s a saddler near the mercantile. My ass says a saddle should be the first item on our list.”

Button picks up his pace and Ror and I ride into Goreman side by side, crossing the final bridge into the town center, where the city of fighters, fisherman, and thieves is already bustling with preparations for the night’s tournaments.

I spy more than a few pairs of brothers bargaining for new leather chest plates at the armory and standing in line to have their swords sharpened by a peddler with a whetstone and am grateful that Ror and I will be staying far away from the prize fights.

It will be a relief to spend a night in Goreman without worrying that someone I care about is going to have their blood spilled before morning.

Chapter Thirteen

Aurora

Niklaas and I finish our shopping and find a simple i

I wash my body three times and my hair twice before wrapping up in a towel and pulling the room’s wooden chair in front of the fire to comb out my tangles. I had the i

I’ve decided to tell him the truth tomorrow, as soon as we hire our guide, and let him decide whether a journey into the Feeding Hills is worth his time once he’s in possession of all the facts. I trust him not to abduct me, the way I once feared he would. He might still consider it, but my performance in the ring today should leave no doubt that if I decide to fight for my freedom, it won’t be a fight that’s easy for him to win.

And despite his size and strength and stubbor

I didn’t require his help, but still … it warms something inside of me to know that Niklaas values my life more than his gold.

“Values Ror’s life,” I mutter as I run my fingers through my long hair, holding segments up to the fire to dry.

Once Niklaas knows the truth, he might have reasons aside from the revelation of my true identity to change his good opinion of me. I have lied to him. I have lied to him every day for seven days that feel like seven months. Our journey has brought us closer than two people usually would be after knowing each other only a week. It has made lies even more unforgivable. Niklaas hasn’t told me his entire truth, but he hasn’t deceived me, and if he had I would be livid.

He may hate me come tomorrow.

“All the more reason to enjoy tonight,” I mutter, wiggling my bare toes at the fire, considering my squat little feet, wondering if Niklaas would find them pretty.

I banish the thought immediately, but the shame of thinking it lingers, making my cheeks hot for reasons that have nothing to do with the fire.

“Fool.” I tug hard on a tangle, sending pain zinging along my scalp, knowing I deserve that punishment and more.

I am a fool, and maybe I can’t help thinking foolish things, but I can help being cruel. I will never be cruel to Niklaas. I will never give him a reason to believe I’m curious, let alone that curiosity might develop into something more. I care about him, and I wouldn’t damn a man I hated, let alone a friend, to be my husband. I’ve already destroyed one strong, clever, beautiful boy, I won’t destroy another.

By the time I’ve pulled on my things—new gray linen pants and a gray undershirt with my freshly oiled leather overshorts on top—I am Ror again, firmly back in my boy skin and no longer thinking anything about Niklaas except how awed he’ll be when I’m able to eat more fish than he can.

I reach for my armor but decide to wear the new leather vest I purchased at the mercantile instead. The temptation of an evening without armor weighing on my shoulders is too much to resist. I’ve bound my chest beneath my undershirt, and the vest reaches my hips and will conceal my curves. I will look boyish enough, and if Niklaas hasn’t questioned my nature in the past seven days, it’s doubtful he’ll start tonight.

I finish by pulling my mostly dry hair atop my head with a fresh strip of leather, working the waist-long strands into three braids and wrapping the braids into a tight warrior’s knot that I secure with more leather.

When I finally leave my room two hours after going in, I find Niklaas sitting in a patch of setting sun outside my door, his blue eyes slitted and a lazy smile on his face.

He’s wearing his new clothes, too—a cream shirt that emphasizes the gold of his skin and tight brown pants that cling to his thighs more than his other pair, leaving no doubt that Niklaas’s lower half is as well muscled as the top. His hair has dried a lighter shade of lion mane than it looked when covered in dust and lies in shining waves to his shoulders. His cheeks and chin are freshly shaven, and his full lips once again dominate his face, drawing my attention no matter how I try to pull my eyes away.

“Ready to eat?” I ask, my voice thankfully less breathless than I feel.

“Past ready. I’ve already bathed, napped, checked on the horses, and put out the word to a trusted friend that we’re looking for a guide into the Feeding Hills.” He springs to his feet and claps me on the back hard enough to make me cough. “You, meanwhile, have wasted the afternoon away.”