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Chapter 10

If Rhosyn could say one thing for the performers of Archer's Circus, it was that they didn't ask unnecessary questions. She and Ansel crept into the side of the circle of tents in the early hours of the morning, the sun just peaking above the horizon and casting the towering green and white striped structures in long shadows. The straw-strewn paths were nearly empty and quiet, absent of the exaggerated darkness and flickering lamp light that lent the feel of the fantastical at night, giving the whole place a sense of liminal space.

An early riser caught sight of them as they stumbled towards a tent and rushed over.

"We're going to need some bandages and something to wash up with. See if you can dig us up a change of clothes too," Ansel ordered. He had the same tone that Nate did when directing Lions or the King's Guard: with frank honesty and the insinuation that he respected his followers too much to waste their time with pleasantries. It had made people trust Nate with their lives, and now it had the same results.

Within minutes of collapsing in the tent where the Merry Men had performed before, the man reappeared with the necessary supplies.

Ansel thanked him and instructed. "Send a message to Little John. Tell him we're here and that I need to talk to him."

The man spared Rhosyn one long glance, tinged with curiosity, before backing out the entrance, letting the flap that would be tied open during the Circus's performing hours fall shut behind him.

With a sigh, Ansel sat down heavily on the edge of the stage. Now that they were alone, some of the persona that reminded her of Nate slipped away, revealing a man as tired as Rhosyn so often felt.

She sat down more gingerly next to him, extending her injured leg so as not to jostle it too much and dig the glass in farther. As it was, the shard didn't seem to be too deep. She let it be for just a second, limbs turning leaden as she finally relieved them of the burden of her weight. Her eyes fluttered shut, the sensations in her body—from the stinging in her calf to the throbbing on the back of her head that was sure to form a knot where it had collided with the wall—washed over her and carried her thoughts away in their current.

"Let me get this soot off myself, and then I'll help you with your leg." Ansel's voice interrupted her after a moment of quiet.

Rhosyn nodded, keeping her eyes shut. The air stirred, signaling that Ansel had stood, and his footsteps retreated towards the curtain separating the performing area from the backstage. After a minute, muffled splashing signaled to Rhosyn he was using the basin of water, supplied by his man, to wash up.

Finally, her eyes drifted open and she returned her awareness to what needed to be done. She crossed her injured leg over her knee, letting her see the back of her calf. Thankfully, the piece of glass that pierced the meat of the muscle still had a significant piece sticking out she could use to remove it. No need for tweezers.

She gritted her teeth, knowing there was nothing for it. Pinching the shard between her thumb and forefinger, she yanked. Her hiss of pain nearly drowned out the quiet squelch as it pulled free of her skin. She let it fall on the stage next to her, glad to be free of the twinge of sharp edges every time she moved.

Now that her pants were no longer pinned to her leg, she rolled them up to better inspect and clean the wound, shoving the cuffs all the way up to her knee. As she suspected, the wound was shallow, and most of the pain had come from having the glass still embedded in her leg.

She reached for the bandages and small glass jar the man had provided, but her hand was knocked away as familiar callused fingers beat her to it.

"Let me help you with that."

Rhosyn had been too distracted with removing the glass to hear Ansel reemerge from behind the curtains. He knelt down before her and held out a hand expectantly.

The sight made Rhosyn's heart flutter. He had changed out of his soiled shirt, the new one slightly too big and threatening to slip off his shoulder, revealing the inviting chest Rhosyn had burrowed into the morning before—how had so much happened in twenty-four hours? His hair was slightly damp around the edges, as if he had dunked his face in the basin to try to get the soot off, and now a longer strand clung to his high cheekbone.

He raised a single brow in question at Rhosyn's hesitation. The action drew attention to a black smudge he had missed on his forehead. Her fingers itched to rub it away.

Instead, she leaned back on her elbows and placed her ankle in his outstretched hand. He set to dabbing the skin around the cut, and as he did, the fingers holding her ankle rubbed back and forth soothingly. Rhosyn wasn't sure if he even knew he was doing it, but she could scarcely think of anything else as he moved on to cleaning any debris from inside the wound.

She shifted, the movement causing the papers in her shirt to crinkle. The sound provided a welcome distraction from the warmth seeping up her chest to her face. Pulling them out, Rhosyn waved them at Ansel.

"These are yours, as promised."

His eyes flicked up from his task, and the concentrated furrow between his brow deepened into a true frown.

"What do you think about what we found in those contracts?" he asked.

"It…doesn't look good," Rhosyn admitted, wrinkling her nose.

"With that number of Talented at his beck and call, with those abilities, he could do some serious damage," Ansel agreed.

Rhosyn's stomach churned. While Mr. Gower had more polish to him than the powerful gangsters who lorded over the underworld, something about this setup smelled the same as when the Wolves collected Talented for their illegal fighting rings. Mr. Gower was clearly reaching for power, but how he would go about getting it, Rhosyn couldn't be sure yet.

"What do you think we should do?" Ansel asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Rhosyn frowned. "And why would you want the opinion of an officer of the Royal Police—and your hostage at that?"

Ansel's fingers stopped moving on her ankle, tightening so the pads of his fingers dug into the soft flesh on the inner part of her foot. She suppressed a shiver.

"I thought we might have moved past that, after the night we've just shared." Ansel bit the words out, as if saying them frustrated him.

The words hit Rhosyn in the chest, and she slumped. It was a hope she had indulged in too, although guiltily. But the fact that they had each saved each other tonight—even made a good team—didn't change the truth of their situation.

"I may be a police officer, and you might be a gangster I'm trying to arrest," Rhosyn started slowly, and Ansel's frown deepened. "But maybe we don't have to be enemies. Maybe we can just be…professional rivals."

"No, I don't think so." Ansel's dismissal came so quickly that it stung as tangibly as a slap across the face.

"Why not?"

Ansel lifted his gaze from where it had been fixed on her leg, and it pinned Rhosyn with its surprising intensity. "Professional rivals don't think about each other the way I think about you."

Rhosyn's breath caught in her throat, but Ansel didn't seem to want her to speak anyways.

"Professional rivals don't spend a whole day so distracted they can barely function, just from waking up to the smell of your hair. They don't admire the snarl on your face when you throw a punch or the way your smile is slightly crooked. They certainly don't spend hours agonizing over what it would be like to touch you everywhere—how warm you would be, if you would snap at me like you do in a fight or if I could make you into a mewling mess. How you would taste."

Ansel didn't break eye contact as he slowly deconstructed Rhosyn, piece by piece, with his words. All the barriers she had put up in her mind against him, the justifications that she couldn't want him, caught fire as the warmth under her skin burst into flames.

Rhosyn wet her lips, reaching for the right words. This wasn't their flirty teasing, hidden in the guise of adversaries, or even during a dance at a fancy party. This was something deeper. Heavier.

"I guess we aren't professional rivals then," she said, her voice hoarse.

Ansel let out a shuddering breath, mirroring the shiver that ran up her spine when the breath tickled the inside of her ankle, still held close to his face. His gaze tracked her movement, and slowly he lowered his head. His lips were a hairsbreadth away from her skin when he paused, eyes boring into her.

It was a bid for permission—a chance for her to recognize that this would change things for them, more than sleep-addled touches, that could be blamed on circumstances. Rhosyn still grappled with what she had done in robbing the palace, knowing it was a step she couldn't take back. But this…this decision was already made.

She nodded infinitesimally, and Ansel lowered his lips to her skin. At first, it was feather light, barely a kiss as he dragged his mouth up from her foot towards her knee. Rhosyn choked down a quiet, desperate sound at the contact, surprised how affected she was by the one simple action.

Something dark flickered in Ansel's eyes at the truncated noise. He nipped at the inside of her knee, startling a squeak out of her. That pulled a chuckle out of him, the sound lower and rougher than his usual laugh. She wanted to hear it again. She wanted to muffle it with her own lips.

At that thought, Rhosyn's body moved with all the speed of a trained fighter, acting on pure instinct. She lunged forward, grasping at the front of Ansel's shirt and crashing her lips to his.

He caught her, despite the suddenness of her actions, rocking back on his knees and arms wrapping around her easily. Rhosyn was distracted from the way he crushed her to his chest by the movement of his lips and the intoxicating taste of his tongue tracing the seam of her mouth.

Rhosyn pushed back against him, catching his bottom lip between her teeth. As she tugged on it, Ansel brought a hand up to her hair and grasped it firmly at the roots. It pinned her in place, letting him take control of the kiss.

Held like that, something heady washed over Rhosyn, the racing in her mind—the constant instincts to punch, run, do—quieted. All she could think about was Ansel single-mindedly devouring her mouth, as if he had thought about nothing else since she first chased him across rooftops.

So loud were the sensations of Ansel pressed against her in Rhosyn's mind that she at first didn't notice the shift in light that came from the tent flap swinging open. She only came back to herself when there came a commotion, jerking back as a familiar shout broke through the haze.

Her eyes snapped open at the same time Ansel whipped around, both turning towards the disturbance. Standing at the tent entrance, pistols drawn was—

"Kristoff," she gasped, still on her knees. She staggered to her feet, unbalanced by several rapid changes in quick succession.

The barrels of his guns were trained on Ansel, but he quirked a brow, and a mischievous twinkle sparked in his eye. He ignored the handful of other circus performers hovering at the entrance, clearly unwilling to make a move that could cause him to shoot their leader.

"I came to rescue you, Rhosyn, but based on the sight that greeted me when I got here, there was no need." He bent his arms, directing his aim up and away from Ansel and resting his guns on his shoulder. "I just didn't realize what kind of kidnapping this was."

"It wasn't like that." Ansel found his voice. "Well, not at first, at least."

"It doesn't seem wise to admit to the man holding the guns that you did kidnap his sister for less than honorable purposes…or at least the less amusing kind of dishonorable." Kristoff looked at Rhosyn with a question on his face, as if asking if he should go ahead and shoot Ansel anyways.

At his words, something between a sob and a laugh bubbled up in Rhosyn's throat, and she ended up releasing a hiccuping snort. Everybody looked at her questioningly, but a smile spread across her face.

She had been navigating protecting London and her little Lions using her own moral compass and ending up hopelessly lost. But here was Kristoff, calling her his sister and risking his life to find her. Nothing could feel that dire when faced with the sharp-shooter's crooked smile.

She darted forward and threw herself at him in a bone crushing hug. To Kristoff's credit, he managed not to shoot anybody or bang her head with his guns as he hugged her back. After a tight squeeze, he took her by the shoulders and held her back, looking at her.

"You're alright?" His gaze darted over her rumpled clothes and her bandaged leg.

She nodded. "Somehow less banged up than usual."

"That is saying absolutely nothing." Reassured that Rhosyn hadn't been mistreated, Kristoff's attention turned to Ansel, and his gaze narrowed. "I do still require an explanation."

Ansel's gaze fixed over Kristoff's shoulder, and Rhosyn followed it to the audience of circus members who had followed the commotion and now hovered, many of them seemingly unsure what to do with their hands now that violence didn't seem eminent. With a wave, Ansel dismissed them. While a few lingered for a moment, obviously curious, they did as he asked.

Rhosyn extricated herself from Kristoff, standing between the two men, who sized each other up.

"I didn't know you had a brother," Ansel remarked.

Rhosyn snorted, as nobody could mistake Kristoff for her real brother. Where he was tan and muscular with hair that always looked effortlessly mussed, she was lanky and pale with an unruly nest on the top of her head.

"He's a chosen brother," she clarified.

"Another Lion, I presume." Ansel raised a brow.

"Not just any Lion either," Kristoff answered. "And you might not have been around these streets long enough to remember, but the Lions used to be the most feared name in London. If I don't find out what you're doing with Rhosyn here soon, you'll find out why." Kristoff's tone was as casual as ever, but Rhosyn had known the sharpshooter long enough to know he didn't deal in idle threats.

"This is Ansel. He has Olivia and Paul," she interjected, hurrying to explain.

At that, Kristoff's grip tightened around his pistols, fingers drifting to the trigger. Rhosyn raised her hands, palms out.

"They're safe," she assured. "He's helping them get out of the city."

Kristoff's brow furrowed. "I thought they were joining proper society. They never struck me as the type to run away and join the circus."

Rhosyn shook her head. "It's…complicated." She looked back and forth between the two men, still looking at each other with narrowed eyes. A cord of tension ran between them, with her held taught in the middle. The thread anchored under her ribs pulled her in both directions at once—toward a past life that would never return but could not be forgotten and toward an impossible future that Rhosyn had only barely dared to dream of.

Shoving his hands in his pockets and shrugging, Ansel broke the moment, tension unraveling. "I suppose I should give you two a chance to catch up."

A breath rushed out of Rhosyn's chest, and finally, Kristoff holstered his guns. Given how quick he was on the draw, it barely made him any less dangerous, but it was clear he accepted Ansel's olive branch. Rhosyn shot Ansel a look that she hoped conveyed her gratitude.

He gave her the smallest nod and started strolling past them towards the entrance. "I am going to try to hunt down some tea. I'll be outside when you're done talking."

Kristoff kept his gaze trained on Ansel's back until it disappeared behind the fluttering tent flap. Then he turned back to Rhosyn.

"Even if he's standing guard outside, I can get you out of here right now," Kristoff said, voice low enough to not be heard through the thick canvas walls. "We can be at Nate's house in time for breakfast. You could be eating a fresh batch of Gregor's scones within the hour."

The watering of Rhosyn's mouth at the mention of Gregor's cooking did nothing to distract from the feeling of being punched in the chest. The rift inside her ached, having slowly been deepening inside her over the past days. In her subconscious, she knew she would be faced with the task of escaping from the Foxes, but that had been a problem for three days from now, when Olivia and Paul were safely out of London. Somehow, having an excuse to put it off allowed her to pretend that it was inevitable, but not immediate—not a decision she had to make, for it was not yet a reality.

But now, faced with Kristoff, who so earnestly offered to shoot his way out of this camp with her if he had to, her resolve shuddered.

"I'm not sure I can leave," she admitted, her voice smaller than she was used to.

"Is that man blackmailing you? If I need to—"

Rhosyn shook her head before Kristoff got any heroic ideas about setting things on fire, which was too often his first solution to any problem. "Ansel—all of the Foxes really—are trying to help the Talented who have been sponsored in the upper city. Something is wrong and…and I think I need to stay to help figure out what it is."

She didn't know it was true until she said it. Once the words were out of her, though, it felt like the wedge being used to crack open her chest was gone, allowing her to be a single person once more. As quickly as she could, she filled Kristoff in on what had happened since Ansel had kidnapped her at the circus, although she strategically left out the parts where she slept tied to his bed with him.

Kristoff's clear blue gaze pinned her as he cocked his head, surprisingly perceptive given how rarely he seemed to take anything seriously. "I take it you took my advice on investigating Mr. Gower, despite what the police said?"

"I think this might be another case where I need to let my instincts guide me, and those are hard to write up in a police report," Rhosyn admitted. "If I'm ‘missing', then I can do these investigations off the record. I—" Rhosyn choked around the words she said next, "I'd appreciate if you didn't tell Chief Thorne you'd found me."

To his credit, Kristoff's face held no judgment. If anybody knew how to flirt with the line of what was legal and what was right, it was Kristoff.

"I have to tell Nate though," he said. "He's been going half mad since you went missing."

Rhosyn blinked, the back of her eyes suddenly stinging. "He has?"

"He nearly yelled at Joseph for not spending more resources on finding you, even though he knows the Royal Police are spread thin as it is and Joseph was doing everything he could," Kristoff said. "I've been searching for you ever since Joseph told us you didn't show up for your patrol, and Nate has joined me whenever he's not with the King. Even Contessa's had her ear to the ground, all her connections keeping an eye out."

Rhosyn's throat went tight. When the Lions had officially dissolved, it had felt oddly like losing a family, despite seeing all her friends constantly. She had felt the loss of the camaraderie that came from shared danger like a death in her heart. It was something she had never quite found in the police force, as much as she liked her new colleagues. Knowing the lengths Nate would go to filled her with the warmth of belonging once more.

"Then tell Nate and Contessa not to worry. I'll apologize for making them anxious later but for now…for now I have to figure out what the Gowers are up to."

"Is that the only reason you're staying? You and that Ansel chap seem…friendly." Kristoff's tone was playful, but she could tell his question was serious. Despite her relentless teasing of Kristoff over his affection for Gregor, he had never gotten to return the favor. There had never been any romantic liaisons in her life, and the physical relationships she allowed herself were brief and always beneath her friends' notice.

"That's new," Rhosyn admitted, kicking one foot against the ground.

"Seducing your would-be kidnapper…I must say I'm impressed." Kristoff elbowed Rhosyn playfully in the ribs.

She blushed and shoved him away. "That's hardly new for us. Didn't Contessa do the same thing?"

"Nate did not kidnap her. He married her."

"That's not how she saw it at the time," Rhosyn pointed out.

Kristoff chuckled. "Well, you don't seem to need my help getting Ansel on your side. But if you need my help with the other part, you know where to find me. You know I never like to miss out on a party."

"And by party, you mean all out brawl." Rhosyn's tone was dry.

"You know me too well." Kristoff smiled, but then his face smoothed into a rare serious expression. "Be careful, alright?"

"I will," Rhosyn promised. "And you be careful too."

"Never am," Kristoff quipped, making for the exit. With a jaunty wave, he stepped back out into the now bright sun of the spring morning.

Before the flap could flutter closed, Ansel ducked his head inside, eyes darting around the space before landing on her. He paused, his expression equal parts relieved and surprised.

"You stayed," he said, his tone unreadable.

A smile toyed at the edge of Rhosyn's lips. "Yeah, I guess I did."

"Well…" He seemed at a loss, but he smiled back at her, nonetheless. "I guess we better find you some breakfast."

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