Page 32 of The War Queen's Daughter

But there’s no one there, only the sound of echoing princess laughter reminding me I’m not wanted.

I scowl at the paper as I unfold it, scanning the message within. Wait, could it be from Atlas? No, it’s not the same beautiful script I remember from his invitation. This hand is rougher, square, and firm, unsigned.

The marketplace where the apple fell. Midnight.

He’s trying to be clever again. I grin at Zenthris’s invitation and toss it in the fireplace.

Is he planning to test me again, then? Finally. Challenge accepted if only to get the fuck out of this place and run free for a little while.

I wait until after the others are asleep to don my armor, to slip out into the garden, bypassing the hallway. I don’t have to sneak, but it’s excellent practice and a reminder of who I really am. How I love the weight of my sword on my hip, though no doubt Amber will be furious with me if she finds out.

So much for staying in the Citadel. It’s done me no good. An adventure might give me a new perspective, help me focus. At least, that’s the lie I tell myself as I leap up to the trunk of the tree near the wall and scale it, heading over the rooftops.

It’s exhilarating and reminds me of the soldier I’m trained to be, the warrior and hunter all in one. By the time I creep along the thick top of the outer battlement to the outer city, the moon is high, now full and bloated and offering lots of light. I love the challenge of hiding from it, skirting the guards who walk the path on top of the first line of the Citadel’s defenses before climbing down the elaborate face of the Overking carved there.

I find using his likeness this way hilarious.

No one spots me, though I barely try to hide in the end. Surely, someone will see me? There has to be someone here in this place who cares a damn about the things I do? But no, I’m on the ground and running silently into the city, shaking my head without a soul the wiser.

Is this why Zenthris has lured me out past the Citadel? To show me how lax their protections really are? I once feared that if the Overkingdom turned on us that Heald would fall to overwhelming numbers. I now know I could easily lead a small force into the heart of the headland and right to the Overking’s chambers with little resistance.

This could all be over with a simple, deadly campaign ending in a stab to the heart in the dark.

Pondering that possibility as a final resort, I slow my pace and arrive at the marketplace well within time, the sound of a bell chiming midnight loud as I crouch on a rooftop and wait for my rogue friends to arrive.

The night air is cool and crisp, carrying the scent of humanity and the city’s waste. There are no guards here, no watchful eyes. My perch seems unnecessary.

A form detaches itself from the deeper shadows of the next roof, a wave identifying him as much as the way he moves. Zenthris descends to the street, crossing casually, before disappearing into an alleyway. Moments later, I’m facing him in the darkness, faint light from the street below lighting his grin. He’s clothed in dark, soft clothes that allow him to blend with the night, eyeing my armor with an appreciative eyebrow raise.

Amber eyes gleam in the moonlight. “I hope that getup isn’t hard to take off,” he says.

“Planning to undress me?” I really hope he’s going to say yes and flash my teeth at him.

He laughs, low and deep, leaning in to breathe in my ear as he speaks. “You actually came. You’re even more reckless than I thought.” He shakes his head, leaning away again with a feigned sigh. “Or brave. Which is it?”

He mocks my recklessness, but there’s approval in his eyes, and hunger that matches mine.

“Are we here to spar,” I ask, “fight, or fuck?”

He snorts in surprise. “Language, princess.”

I reach out to grab him, but he evades me. And now I’m angry. “Where have you been, what are you up to, and why am I here?”

His smirk widens. “About,” he says, “and things. As for why, you tell me?”

I don’t know if I want to kiss him anymore or punch him in that gloriously handsome face.

He must see the shift in me because he holds up both hands as though to ward off my anger. “Just a bit of fun, Remalla. A little adventure to remind you that the world outside these gilded walls is still spinning.” He gestures with his hand, a playful invitation. “Care to have some fun? Or are you content to be a caged bird?”

He turns, and with a fluid movement, he’s off, disappearing into the shadows of the rooftops, moving with that delightful grace that promises things my body craves.

I follow, of course, I do. My blood is singing. This is what I need. This is what I came here for, why I answered his call. The rest can wait for later.

I don’t hesitate. I chase him and fully intend to catch him. When I do? I will have my way with him, though I doubt he’ll fight me.

My boots are light on the tiles and thatch, my armor barely creaking from its fresh round of oiling. The taste of freedom, of danger, of exhilarating uncertainty, fills me with a passion I will never tire of.

He is a shadow, weaving through the darkness, and I, the warrior, am hot on his heels.

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