I wandered there for the better part of the day, and as the sun crept toward the sea, the stone in my gut grew heavier. My heart longed for Sainte’s comforting presence, his silent solidarity of my identity. Heknewwho I was. Irritability tiptoed in, and sour thoughts darkened my mind. Did he care? Was he worried?Had he forgotten about me? Had he spent all those years feeding a child’s dream, only to bring it all down with a laugh at the expense of a trusting young girl?
I ripped through the slums, heading to the beach with a rush of curses under my breath. I, the princess without a castle, dreamt that my knight cared enough to visit me once a year. Wynterborne required weeks of travel. Apparently, I wasn’t worth the effort.
“Oi, wench!”
I grumbled and ignored the comment, thinking it was aimed at someone else. Clad in my ‘sibling’s’ trousers, I could pass for a boy at a glance, but closer inspection would reveal my budding femininity.
A hand landed on my shoulder and jerked me around. I slapped it off as my heart took off racing. I’d been in street fights before, but none with—I raced to count—eight boys behind the leader.
The one who touched me sneered. “Ha! Told you it was a girl!”
He bore the classic slum traits: clothes too big for his frame and teeth that seemed as if a bright new apple might rip half of them out. His disheveled, matted hair hadn’t been attended to in years, and a thick layer of sweat and dirt smudged the smelly scumbag’s skin from head to toe.
“What of it?” I lifted my chin with a taunting leer. A quick glance behind showed at least three more figures blocked any escape.
He retrieved a rusty knife with jagged chips along its blade and pretended to pick dirt out from under his fingernails. “If you’re down here, sweets, you must be looking for a good time.”
“Looking for the exit,” I grumbled, and shifted my feet to put my back against the brick wall.
“Well, I’m sure we could help with that, for a modest fee, of course.”
He cocked his head to admire his dirt-caked nails, then peered up with hooded eyes. The whites were yellow from malnutrition or the spirits he drank. Either way, dread slid down my spine. I shrugged, then pulled my coin purse out of my trousers and tossed it.
He caught it with quick, nimble hands—at odds with his sickly thin frame. “Oh, that will help too.” He waved the crusty knife back and forth in a mocking manner, as if daring me to challenge him. “Sweet lass, I won’t need this, right?”
My teeth ground together as he bent to secure his blade in his threadbare boot.
As soon as he lowered, a cascade of black armor plummeted from the rooftop and crashed onto his back. His frail figure crumpled under the weight of the newcomer, and my heart took off like a startled rabbit. A giddy smile lifted my cheeks as the men beyond shuffled with frantic nerves, drawing their feeble weapons.
Sainte straightened and adjusted his grip on his battle ax. “Killip Gheten.”
Happy Birthday.
I beamed like a fool, lounging against the wall as he made quick work of those who dared try his talent with a blade. After he dispatched two thugs with ease, the rest stampeded away.
“I knew you would find me,” I said.
My cheeks ached from the strength of my grin as he knelt to wipe his ax on a dirty cloak. The gore and loss of life were hardly worth considering. It came with existing in Landing’s End. I crossed my arms and propped against the grimy wall, trying to appear more confident than I was.
Sainte grunted as he rose to study me. “Always.”
My face warmed and tingled as his gaze tracked every inch, from my worn boots up to my orange hair. The strange hue came from attempting to lighten my sable locks with a potion I bought from a port witch. She warned me my heritage would not be hidden so easily. My head resembled a botched painting, an unnatural clash of bluish-black roots and carrot-colored strands that made it hard to look at without cringing.
“You’ve grown.” Always High Wynter—it never faltered. He understood Common Muik, but never used it. He was far too proper for that.
“I have.” I shoved off the wall and closed the gap between us in two swift strides.
As I gazed up at him, he pulled back to keep a distance between our faces, confusion swirling in his sky-colored eyes. With a sly grin and wink, I spun on my heel and started for the beach. I tried my best to saunter as I’d seen women in the lewd district do and heard him cough and clear his throat behind me. I held in my giggle and headed toward my favorite hideout.
He arrived a moment after I settled my bare toes in the tidepool. I stared out over the ocean, hood down, soaking up the sun’s hot rays. It was a secluded area, framed in by coarse gray rock, facing the sea. I came here to listen to the waves as I worked out my anger and hurt. The little creatures in the pool didn’t mind my curses as much as Kelsie did.
My eyes fluttered shut as my head fell back, embracing the heat warming my face. With no need to look, I heard him nudge my boots aside, then settle next to me. When he didn’t speak, I cracked open one eye. A scowl weighed his rugged features, his dark brows scrunched together in thought as he peered over the green-blue water. It was suspiciously calm today. I took in his broad crooked nose, his long, thick lashes that could make any tavern wench jealous, and his thin lips set above a cleft chin.
Something in me liked this perplexed version of my soldier—confused and uneasy. I held a fair amount of confidence that I was the only soul that could make him so unsure of himself. When his frown settled on me, I grinned, holding his gaze as it danced across my face.
“Must be hot in all that armor,” I teased.
Aside from the night he rescued me, he donned that same hard-boiled leather armor. I assumed it was lighter for the trek through nations to see me.
