Page 45 of The King's Sword
She reached into his bag and pulled out a black shirt.
“I hate to ask this of you,” he said, his voice sounding unsure, “but can you help me put it on?” He kept his eyes focused on the floor. “I don’t want to tear a stitch.” A tinge of red spotted his cheeks.
He was embarrassed to ask for assistance. Sabine smiled. She loved when she had the upper hand. “Evander, the great and mighty assassin-pirate-prince needs my help?” She batted her eyelashes at him.
“Assassin-pirate-prince?”
“That’s my nickname for you.” She came and stood before him, the shirt clutched between her hands.
“That’s some nickname.” He finally looked her in the eyes.
Her breath caught at the sight of his mesmerizing eyes.
“Maybe start with the sleeves?” he suggested.
She cleared her throat. “Good idea.” She slid the shirt on his arms, then pulled it up to his shoulders. He lowered his head, and she put the shirt over it. Once his head was through, she carefully lowered the fabric, brushing her fingers against his skin as she did so. “Hopefully, the medicine will prevent the shirt from sticking to your wound.”
Evander pinched her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Thank you for everything.”
“My pleasure.” Her chin felt as if it were on fire.
He smiled. “Let’s be on our way.”
She grabbed both their bags, hoisting them over her shoulder, her stomach growling as she did so. They hadn’t eaten in over a day. She’d have to make sure they got something on their way to the canal.
Evander opened the door. “I can carry my bag.”
Sabine refused to hand it over. “I got it.”
“Honestly, it’s not that bad. I feel fine.”
She shrugged. “Regardless, I’m perfectly capable of carrying two bags.” She stepped around him and hurried down the steps. He followed at a much slower pace.
At the bottom of the staircase she turned to face him. “Are you sure you’re ready to go out there?” If someone attacked them, she wasn’t sure he could hold his own in a fight.
“We can’t stay here,” he said as he joined her.
“Can you defend yourself?” she asked as politely as she could.
He nodded. “I can even defend you.” He poked her in the ribs.
She folded her arms, not convinced.
“I’ve trained to fight while injured. I can do it if I have to. The worst that can happen is I rip my stitches open and you have to tend to me again.” He smiled, holding her gaze.
“Fine.” There was no use arguing with him. Sabine turned and grabbed the door, swinging it open. Stepping outside, she stumbled to a halt. She stood there, frozen, not knowing what to do.
Dozens of men dressed in black surrounded the inn effectively blocking any chance Sabine and Evander had of escaping. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mumbled, trying to think of how to get them out of this. They didn’t have enough weapons to fight their way through and, quite frankly, as talented as Evander was, even he couldn’t take on this many people at once.
She took a step back, bumping into him. Maybe she could just lock herself in the inn and remain in there forever. Eventually she’d starve and die, but it seemed she was going to die regardless. Right now, that seemed a better option than being taken by these assassins and murdered.
Evander put a steady hand on her shoulder, holding her in place.
She was about to tell him they should take their chances inside rather than fight all of these people when Evander said, “It’s about time you show up.”
Confusion filled her. There was no need for Evander to goad these men into attacking them.
“Glad to see you’re still alive, brother,” the one front and center said, coming forward and pushing her hood back, revealing a rather pretty, womanly face—not a man.
