Page 12 of The Twisted Throne

Georgie’s eyebrows rose. “I’d hardly say that being attacked by your own crew qualifies as ineptitude. Amarid must have been working on this for months, and it’s the spymasters who failed to discover the plot. It’s not your fault.”

“Everything is my fault, Georgie,” James replied. “You should know that by now. Take stock of the situation while I speak to the Ithicanians.”

Ignoring his friend’s protests, James started down the pier, two of his soldiers rushing to flank him on Georgie’s orders. The woman approached as well, picking her way over the smoldering debris of his ship, the pace giving him ample time to finally take a good look at her.

And then to look again.

Tall and lean, her long dark hair clung to the side of her face, which was beautiful enough to make a blind man look twice. Along scar stretched down from her forehead, crossing her brow and onto her cheek, but rather than detracting from her appearance, it only accentuated the fierceness of her hazel gaze. Having shed much of her clothing in the water, she wore only snug trousers and a thin undergarment that did little to hide the pert breasts underneath. A woman so fierce that even sharks gave way to her, and apparently a soldier of some degree of importance, judging by how the Ithicanians did the same.

“God,” one of his soldiers muttered. “If I’d knownthatwas what the Ithicanians were hiding underneath those masks they wore, I’d have worked harder to get them off.”

“Show some respect,” James growled. “She saved my life.”

Both men straightened in surprise, but he barely noticed, his eyes all for the woman before him.

“Have you come to declare war, or are we still friends?” she asked, her voice light despite the fact that blood dripped from a small cut at her temple. There were other marks of violence on her body. Faded scars on her suntanned arms, the knuckles on her right hand looking like they’d been broken more than once. Nothing like the ladies at court, for while they dueled with words, this was a woman who left blood in her wake.

Realizing he was staring at her, James said, “I’ve made it clear this was the Amaridians’ doing.” His cheeks warmed as she crossed her arms beneath her breasts, the darker hue of her nipples visible through the wet fabric, though she seemed to either not notice or not care. “Once King Edward learns of today’s events, Harendell will retaliate. It would be in Ithicana’s best interest to reconsider allowing Amaridian merchants to trade at Northwatch, given that this act of violence was as much against Ithicana as Harendell.”

She only lifted one shoulder and then let it drop, seemingly unconcerned by the carnage around her. “If Ithicana refused trade with everyone it crossed swords with, the bridge would be empty.”

Irritation bit at James’s guts. His father argued that it was this sort of pragmatism that made Ithicana ideal for managing trade through the bridge, but her lack of concern for Amarid’s actions today rubbed James the wrong way. “I expect that’s not your decision to make.”

Her jaw tightened, and she opened her mouth with the obvious intent to retort, but he was spared an argument by the arrival of two Ithicanian men.

The tallest, a man near in age to James, stepped to the fore and said, “Rather an exciting morning, wouldn’t you say, Your Highness? I was expecting to drink the contents of those barrels, not fight them.”

God, but these people were blasé. And informal. “Indeed. I’d like to speak with the individual in command to make my apologies for Harendell’s failure to prevent this situation.”

The tall man looked over the edge of the pier at the sunken ship and frowned. “Apologies aren’t going to move that mess. That’s weeks’ worth of work.”

Grinding his teeth, James said, “I’ll discuss recompense with the commander of Northwatch.” That was who he’d been told would deliver the princess into his care.

“Commander Mara’s occupied, so you’ll have to content yourself with me.”

The last thing James had any intention of doing was bargaining with a midlevel officer with grand opinions of himself. “That’s unacceptable, I’m afraid. This conversation requires an individual possessing a certain degree of authority.”

The older Ithicanian man who’d been silent abruptly laughed, slapping a hand against his thigh. “A certain degree of authority.Someone should write it down for posterity.”

James’s escort stiffened, not at all happy about the mockery, but it wasn’t the older man’s disrespect that made James’s spineprickle. It was the pregnant woman who approached. Her honey-blond hair was a mess of tangles, her face smeared with dirt and blood, but her ruined gown was of the finest silk. Even that he might have disregarded, but the eyes glaring at the tall Ithicanian were averydistinct shade of blue.

Shit.

Understanding of exactly whom he was speaking to struck James right as the pregnant woman said, “Aren, this was a blow to Harendell. Do not make light of it.” She turned her glower on the older man. “That goes for you as well, Jor.”

This was Ithicana’s goddamned king.

James had insulted ArenfuckingKertell.

Bowing low, James spent a heartbeat silently cursing the Ithicanian penchant for avoiding any markers of rank in their attire, then straightened. “My apologies, Your Majesty. I…”

“Thought I’d be taller?”

The older Ithicanian burst into laughter, and the king joined in before clutching at his side.

“Bloody hell, that hurts. I think I broke a rib when your ship blew up next to me.”

Casting her eyes skyward, the blond woman—the queen of Ithicana—rounded on James and extended her hand. “It is the greatest of pleasures to meet you, Your Highness. I only wish it could have been under better circumstances.”

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