Page 18 of The Queen's Crown
She kicked the man’s chin, knocking his head back.
He snarled and glared at her, hatred gleaming in his eyes. “I’ll just kill you here. The sooner you’re dead, the better.” He withdrew a knife from his belt.
Sabine tried kicking his face again; however, he twisted her leg so her body was now on its side and she could no longer reach him. Still holding her dagger, she angled the blade toward her feet. When the man pulled her closer to him, she aimed for his stomach and tried impaling it into him. She missed, striking his arm instead. She managed to catch him off-guard long enough to ram her dagger into his shoulder though she’d been aiming for his neck.
He released her, and she immediately scooted away from him.
“Zounds!” The man stood there, his eyes narrowing and his face contorting with rage. Not even bothering to pull her dagger free, he lifted his own knife, about to hurl it at her, when his body flew forward, his head smacking the floor of the carriage a mere foot from Sabine, a sword protruding from his back.
Markis stood behind the man, heaving deep breaths. He yanked his sword free, grabbed the back of the man’s tunic, and hauled the body out of the carriage.
“Are you okay?” Markis asked, his left cheek splattered with blood.
She nodded, unable to speak. Everything had happened so quickly. She thought she might be sick.
“Let’s go.” He waved her toward him.
Sabine grabbed her boots, shoving her feet into them before climbing out of the carriage. Outside, bodies littered the ground. Sabine bent over and gagged. There were a dozen dead men. Nine wore plain clothing; the other three were Bakley soldiers. She’d lost three of her men.
“Why is there blood on your hands?” Markis demanded, grabbing her wrists to inspect her, and forcing her attention away from the bodies.
She looked at him and blinked, trying to comprehend what he’d just asked.
“Princess Sabine,” Markis said, his voice softer. “Are you injured?”
“No.” She pulled her hands free, looking at the blood on them. “I…” She pointed at the man on the ground.
Markis rolled him over, revealing her dagger embedded in the man’s shoulder. Markis yanked the weapon free, wiping the blood on the dead man’s pants before handing it back to her. “We need to get moving.” He scanned the surrounding area.
Sabine clutched her dagger, not wanting to be without it.
“These men are dressed like Nisk mercenaries,” one of her soldiers said. “But it seems too convenient since we’re traveling through Nisk.”
“I agree,” Markis said.
“The man I encountered used the word zounds,” Sabine said.“Isn’t that a slang word used in Carlon?” She recalled when a group of courtiers from Carlon visited her castle. She’d danced with one of the young men before having a drink with him in a dark corner. She remembered him using that word when her brother found the two of them alone and threatened to kill him.
“It is,” Markis murmured. He scratched the side of his chin, looking at the men sprawled on the ground. “Their skin is a bit light for them to be from Nisk.”
“What are your orders?” one of the soldiers asked Markis.
Markis sheathed his sword. “Princess Sabine,” he turned to face her, “please clean the blood from your hands.”
She nodded and reached inside the carriage, grabbing the blanket from the bench seat and her pouch of drinking water.
Markis started barking out orders, but Sabine didn’t pay any attention. Her focus went to trying to scrub away all traces of the man’s blood that was on her skin. Her hands shook. She’d stabbed a man with her dagger. That man would’ve killed her if Markis hadn’t gotten there in time.
“Your hands are clean,” Markis said, taking the water and blanket from her. “Now I need you to change.”
Another soldier handed her a bundle of clothes. She nodded and took them. Going into the carriage, she quickly removed her dress and put on the navy-blue pants and tunic. Once dressed as a soldier, she exited the carriage.
Markis handed her a cap. “Put all your hair up under this so it’s hidden.”
She did as he said, surprised by how informally he spoke to her.
“Let’s go.” Markis took hold of her elbow, steering her over to where a soldier stood with two skittish horses.
She took the reins of one, and Markis helped her mount.
