Page 72 of The Princesses of Ruin
Emillia
It’s bad form to kill a female. My father’s voice rings clear in my mind, so the emotions running through me are, thusly, contradictory. If a female of this state was out hunting, it’s likely that her mate has died, or left her. The pups will be unattended or attended by a much weaker male.
We have a second chance, and the risk is low.
But I killed a mother…
“Can you find her den?” Adrik asks.
I nod. “I’ll need to rest. Magic is low and guns need cleaning.”
“Of course,” he says. “Tomorrow, when the sun breaks for however long it dares, we’ll go.”
I think I hum, maybe nod again, or some noncommittal grunt perhaps to let him know I know he’s talking as I stare at the blackened beast. She’s quite a specimen. Under different circumstances, Father would’ve been proud.
Adrik grabs my face, turning my goggle-covered gaze to meet his. “You did not know.”
How can he read me? Strange…
“It’s fine. Better, even.”
I shrug out of his grasp and flick my arm as if to shuck off the pain. The fracture is mended, but it still aches like a lusty cunt. One wrong move could break it again.
He follows me as I retrace our steps back to the tent.
“Why do you say that?”
“Pups will be easy, like snipping the pigtails off a toddler.”
“That’s a rather specific metaphor,” he says.
I smirk. “I have a younger cousin who loved to do her hair in pigtails. Her older brother’s favorite torture was cutting just one off, leaving her lopsided. She’d have to choose between removing the other herself or staying uneven.”
“That’s…” Adrik’s voice trails off and I look over my shoulder.
He’s stopped in our tracks, his head down. I can almost feel what he’s feeling. The memory of Sienna’s tears washing down her chubby cheeks as she begged me to fix it makes my stomach turn.
“It’s what?” I say, my voice not betraying the emotion swirling in my gut.
“Cruel.” There’s pain and disgust in the lines of his mouth. “More than cruel, it’s psychotic.”
Relief floods me, and I shrug a shoulder. “The prince was never fit for much other than cruelty.”
Understanding dawns on his features. “The Wol prince, Alyse’s former betrothed?”
“I hear he sniffed himself to death in their wedding bed,” I say, turning back toward the tent. It’s colder than the ass-end of an anchor out here, and I want to get back to the warmth of our camp.
“Eh, right,” he stammers. “Yes. Drugs are dangerous.”
I laugh. “I’m aware that you helped see to his end, Adrik.”
He sucks in a sharp breath. “He was hurting her, he would’ve hurt thekingdom—”
“I know.” I turn around and grab his shoulders.
Ouch. Fuck, my right arm.
“You did a terrible good thing,” I say. “My cousin deserved worse than the swift departure he got.”
