Chapter 19

We would be stopping at a village today.

I'd adopted a whiney tone, complaining long and hard to Arik about the conditions and how difficult it was to sleep outdoors. It wasn't entirely fiction. I had insect bites down my arms, marring the clear skin my mother had made me work so hard to preserve. That and the thought of a warm bath was so alluring I'd have done almost anything to get it. He'd tried to ignore me as he re-saddled his horse in terse little movements, but I had persisted beyond the point where his breath was coming in short, choppy inhalations. My continued pushing had success when he whirled around to face me.

"We're going to a settlement today, Princess." He used my title with such scorn, but I relished every moment of it. "I'm fairly sure it won't be up to your perilously high standards, but you'll have four walls to sleep within tonight."

"A private room?"

My tone was withering, in my best imitation of my grandmother, and he shook his head in irritation.

"I'll do what I can to make that happen because, gods know, none of us want to sleep next to you."

But they did. Mother and Grandmother's scheme had some merit to it. Men seemed terribly receptive to a gentlewoman's touch. Creed had brought me tea in bed when I first woke up and Roan had checked me over, far too closely, to ensure I was still unharmed. Then Silas had appeared at my side, wanting to further my education in knife play.

"It won't help you against a catamount," he said, "but there are other dangers you may face. It's a crime that they don't teach you basic self-defence in Stormare."

"We are taught to believe the men of the capital are all the protection we need," I said, linking my arm in his. "But if you think I need more tuition, perhaps you could pass the time with me in my carriage, rectifying this deficiency?"

The sound of Arik's growl of frustration was music to my ears as Silas escorted me to my carriage.

Which is how, some hours later, I came to be launching myself at the man, knife in hand.

"Nope, too far to the right. And your shoulder lifted, making clear what you intended to do," he drawled, catching my arm by the elbow before I even got close.

"Of course I lifted my shoulder!" I snapped, feeling hot, tired, and irritated with my lack of progress. I hadn't even gotten close to stabbing Silas, and I wanted to more with every second of this training. "You said to make an overhead strike. How do I do that without lifting my shoulder!"

"You have to lift your shoulder, but you need to force yourself to do that in the last moment. Come at me." I rose from the carriage seat, my eyes burning as I stared down at him. "Now, in this sort of environment, you could do several things. Shift with the sway of the carriage." I blinked, because currently my hand was pressed hard against the ceiling to keep myself upright. "Feel the rhythm, find your balance and stop fighting the way it sways and move your body with it."

I frowned, having no idea what he meant. Silas sat forward, elbows on his knees as he stared up at me.

"Stormarian girls are taught to dance, aren't they?"

"Of course."

"And when you dance, who leads?"

His green eyes burned into mine, seeming to will me to understand. I was no dunce, but I couldn't seem to work out what he could mean.

"The man, of course, but—"

"Imagine the rocking of the carriage is the man. He's got your hands clasped in his and is whisking you around the dance floor. Find the rhythm and then let go."

This was ridiculous. Silas just wanted to watch me fall, hopefully face first and right between his… I stopped that train of thought and tried to do as he said because, while each one of them might be infuriating, they were skilled at what they did. Roan's injuries were much less red and free of the characteristic weeping that heralded an infection. Creed had given me another draught of the calming tea, helping my stomach settle when we got underway. I frowned and then let my hand relax so that only my fingertips touched the ceiling.

Instantly I swayed wildly, stumbling forward until my hands slapped down to stop me falling. Silas watched me with brows creased slightly as I tried again. Feel the rhythm, he'd said? My dance master had always said the same when introducing a new piece of music. But a beat was far easier to detect than the random jostlings of a carriage travelling at full speed, and my eyes narrowed as I tried to find the impossible.

There.

Sway, sway, SWAY. It felt like there was a series of smaller movements, then one bigger one. Testing my hypothesis, I observed the pattern repeating itself, not perfectly, but near enough. I forgot Silas as my hands loosened their hold, allowing my body to anticipate and counter the violent shifts side to side, and I was already veering to the left when the carriage went to the right.

I was doing it.

When my eyes found his, they were sparkling with amusement, but there was more there. Pride? That seemed an odd emotion for him to experience right now, but I clung to it like I did the ceiling. A5r4s he watched, I let my hands relax till my fingers were flexing in time with the carriage, then I let them pull free altogether. I was standing, bloody standing there, completely unaided, my weight shifting in response to every movement. Silas nodded slowly.

"The problem with broadcasting your strikes," he explained, lifting his shoulder for emphasis, "is you declare to your enemy what you're about to do. If you're strong enough to take them down anyway, it doesn't matter, but if you're not…"

I wasn't, that was clear. While I was small in stature, my family had compounded that by ensuring I was brought up weak and dependent. The only knives I'd handled had been those at dinner, so I took the blade he offered me and listened carefully.

"Then you need the element of surprise. Your size, your sex will help with that. People won't anticipate you being a threat." His eyes seemed to take in all too thoroughly just how small I was and all my feminine attributes. "But if you make clear you're going to strike at me with your right shoulder, I'll be able to predict that and deflect your blow."

He nodded at me to try again, and I hefted the blade in my hand. I saw in my mind what I needed to do, but instead I pitched forward. Keeping to the rhythm of the carriage felt like a full-time job, one I couldn't defer to attack him. So the moment my weight shifted onto my front foot, the rest of me came with it, propelled by a particularly violent shift of the carriage. I let out a little shriek, for I was no longer trying to strike at Silas, rather, I was afraid I'd succeed. The knife buried itself into the cushions right by his thigh and I came tumbling with it.

"Gods…" I gasped into a very hard, very masculine chest. I slapped at it disgracefully in my haste to pull away to assess the damage. "Tell me I didn't hurt you. Tell me I didn't…" But as I yanked my hand free, I froze when I saw a neat tear in his leather breeches and… I swallowed hard… blood.

Only a scratch, but it seemed so very bright against his pale skin. Then the thin line welled with blood and that had me moving. I grabbed a woollen blanket that had been left inside for my comfort, pressing it down on the cut to the sound of his hiss.

"I'm so, so sorry. I wasn't ready," I babbled. "I didn't mean to cut you, though what were we thinking, giving me an actual knife to practise with in a bloody carriage? Will it need stitches? Surely Master Creed—"

"Shh…" His hand was cool to the touch as it covered mine before he squeezed my fingers. "It's fine, honestly."

But it wasn't. I could hear the pain in his voice, turning it ragged and rough, as my focus jerked up. He was hurt…

Well, that much was obvious, but his response? He looked deathly pale in that moment, except for two bright red spots forming in his cheeks. His chest heaved as he sucked in breaths, then his tongue flicked out to moisten his bottom lip.

Why did I follow its passage so closely? Why did I openly gape? Because while I'd not had a lot of experience with this, I was starting to become a keen observer of male desire. It was my means of power, of influence, giving me an ability to cut a man's knees out from under him just as men used knives or swords. Silas was staring at me like I was the most precious thing in the world and that didn't make sense.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," I whispered.

"No, I don't suppose you did," he rasped.

"Nor ruin your pants. My needlework is exemplary. I'm sure I'll be able to repair them for you."

"That's not really a concern right now, lass."

He reached up with a shaking hand, then traced the line of my jaw. Both of us were caught up in some strange spell as it trailed down, his thumb brushing my bottom lip.

"But you're bleeding…"

"Yes, I am."

His head tilted sideways, and those green eyes suddenly became as hypnotic as a snake's, as it reared above its prey. I went to pull my hand away from his injured leg, but he grabbed it, cruelly pushing it down harder, as if to staunch the blood flow. The slight trickle didn't warrant that kind of behaviour, nor did it logically lead to his hips jerking upwards as something long and hard twitched inside his breeches.

"Is that why you…?" My eyes traced the line of his member within his pants before I forced them up again. "Is that why you showed me how to use a knife?"

"No…" The word came out as a long purr. "You're going to need all means possible to survive in Khean. This…" I was thrust forward by the rock of the carriage and my hand shoved harder against the cut. "Is just a quite lovely side benefit."

"A cut is…" I was about to snatch my hand back, to fall onto the cushions on my side of the carriage, to respond with all the habitual horror my upbringing had instilled in me.

But where had that gotten me?

The ladies of court would have fallen to the floor in a dead faint if one of my father's knights offered to teach them how to wield a weapon. We were like soft, plump chickens, clucking away in our coops, completely oblivious to the foxes that lurked outside.

And right now, I had a fox pinned to the carriage seat, staring at me with hungry green eyes.

Silas let out a sigh when I dropped the blanket to the floor, his breath coming in fast pants. He tensed when my bare finger tested the ragged line of the cut. His eyes widened, unable to look away from mine as I mapped its length. Blood smeared across my fingertip, just a little, making me wonder.

Had the tip of his finger felt as slick as he slid it along my seam? It felt like this was much the same thing, but I had yet to find the sensitive spot that would make him writhe as his comrades had done to me. There. A little hiss of pain as I found the point where the tip had buried deepest. Still only a shallow cut, but you'd never know it from the look of him. His teeth sank into his pillowy bottom lip, a moan was stifled as his hips twitched under my ministrations.

"You like that…?"

"More than you can possibly know, Princess, so you need to pull your hand away right now."

"And if I didn't?" I rubbed my finger back and forth, and his eyes rolled back in his head as his whole body jerked off the seat. I hadn't expected such an intense response, nor the low, carnal chuckle that came once he relaxed back down.

"Oh, I'd be putty in your hand, lass, but you've worked that out already. Gods…"

I tested a theory, pressing a nail to the cut and, sure enough, he responded as if it was an intimate and sensual caress, riding the sensation with small thrusts of his hips.

"This inspires a sexual response from you," I said in wonder, reaching one finger to trace the evidence of that. His hand slapped down over mine, forcing it to wrap around his hard length.

"So very much."

His grip was brutal, and so was his gaze as he stared at me. My hand was forced to move, to stroke him as I had his brothers the other night, and the leather of his pants slipped under my now sweaty palm. And my other hand? I stroked the scratch at the same pace, forcing him to writhe. Silas was big, powerful, adept with a blade, and allowed to ride free in the world and find his fortune. And yet, here he was. Writhing, helpless under my grip, his response rapidly escalating.

"And what would you give," I asked, "to spill in your pants, just like this?"

"Whatever you want, lass," he growled, his eyes turned to green fire. "I was teaching you how to use a knife to defend yourself, but I think you'll do just fine. What do you need? Because I need—"

He was about to tell me, we were about to broker some kind of deal, one that might allow me to slip free of his comrades' grip. Perhaps he might come with me, be my protector, for coin and for this. It seemed like nothing—no, more than nothing—to perform such an act. There was a pleasure to it, though I was willing to bet mine differed to his. I was the one doing the hurting rather than being hurt. I was in control in what felt like the first time since we'd left, with hope springing anew. I'd slice Silas from one end of his body to the other, then kiss the cuts better, if he'd just help me to be free…

But such traitorous thoughts always require an answer.

The carriage came to an abrupt stop, the only warning I got, so I was in the process of throwing myself against the other seat when Arik jerked open the door. He stared at the two of us, taking in Silas' dishevelled state, then my bloodied fingers. I waited for recriminations, for a torrent of abuse to fall upon my head, but instead he shook his head and stepped back.

"We're stopping for lunch. Come and eat, and be quick about it. If you want to sleep in a proper bed tonight, we won't have much time."

I twitched my skirts about me before climbing out of the carriage, straight-backed and ignoring Arik's sharp look. It wasn't for him to question what I did, and I swept past him to where Creed was assembling a midday meal from the saddlebags.

"How'd your knife practice go?" he asked me with a gentle smile, handing me my plate as I drew closer.

"Illuminating." My eyes flicked to the carriage as Silas clambered out, knocking aside Arik's shoulder when the other man tried to get in his way. When I looked back at Creed, I smiled up at him, and he mirrored my expression. "I feel like I learned a great deal."

"Well, that's good, lass. Silas is a tricky bastard, but he sure knows his way around a knife."

"Indeed." The man in question met my eyes across the clearing, the intent still burning there. "I look forward to seeing what else he can teach me on the second half of our journey today."

"Knife lessons are over for today." Arik strode over and took the food offered to him with a nod, but his focus was trained entirely on me. "I saw the state of the carriage, and I fear for your safety."

"Did you get cut?" Creed looked me up and down quickly, twisting his head to inspect me more closely. "I'll tear strips off him if he hurt you."

"Not her, him."

Roan pointed to the slash in Silas' pants, while the other man stood there, chewing slowly, not responding at all.

"Oh, well, that's…" Creed's face fell, his eyes somewhat haunted when they returned to stare at me. "That's… good then."

"If I'm not to help train the princess to defend herself," Silas asked, his voice as cold as ice as he looked at Arik, "what would you have me do then, Commander?"

I'd never heard any of them use rank when referring to each other. Although I'd assumed that Arik led the band, it had never been explicitly mentioned.

"You'll scout ahead," Arik told him. "Make sure we won't run into any trouble on our way to Summervale."

"Fine."

Silas tossed the last of his food into the bushes, then strode over to his horse, hauling himself into the saddle. His horse's hooves danced as he gained control, as if his mount was infected by his mood, and his eyes blazed as he took in the rest of us. A sharp nod was all I got in recognition before he wheeled the horse around and took off down the road.

"I'll ride with the princess," Arik announced, his smile making clear it would be anything other than a pleasure. "She and I have a lot to discuss."