Page 46 of The Silversmith

And then I went one step farther. In one swift movement, I spun to his front, straddled him, pressed the tip of the knife into the top of his shoulder, and let go of the handle to let it drop to the ground, showing I’d won.

“Shit,” Gavin hissed through his teeth, then laughed, carefully shifting me off him. “Tell me how you really feel, Your Highness.”

Disoriented, I looked down at the knife and saw it was gone from my hand as I’d intended.

Gone… because it was stuck in his body. I hadn’t dropped the knife. I’d never heard the clang of metal on rock.

I’d stabbed him.

I gasped, the sight of blood on his neck and shirt ripping the air right out of me. I had meant to secure it against his shoulder and pull away. I hadn’t planned on stabbing it into his flesh. His shirt was coated in dark crimson, wet on his skin beneath the tear of the cloth and under the place his fingers touched. I crawled to him, reached for him, threw myself onto him—

“No!” My hands on his hard chest were small and helpless. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to!”

“A good hit.” He used his good arm to raise himself off the ground. “I think that’s all I need to see for today, as far as training goes. For self-preservation, if anything,” he chuckled.

“I don’t know how I—” I panicked, the breath in my chest tight. “Oh gods, I could have killed—”

“This won’t kill me, Ella.” He gave me an amused, reassuring smile. “Though I won’t lie, seeing you so torn up about the thought of me dying is not good for my ego.”

“How did I—what did I—”

“Unconscious desire to end me, I imagine.” He winced as he shifted his left shoulder forward.

“No!” I insisted. “No, I would never—”

“Ella.” He grabbed my hand with his uninjured arm and squeezed. Comforting me—he was comforting me right after I had stabbed him. “You hit muscle. That’s all. If you wanted to kill me, you would have.”

“What do I do?” I pleaded, touching his face as gently as humanly possible. I had to make sure his skin didn’t grow cold or flushed or pale. Tears welled in my eyes. His gaze darted to my fingers so close to his mouth. “How can I help?”

“Well, for one.” His eyes scaled the length of my body, starting at my neck. A coy grin spread across his face. “As much as I already regret saying this, you’ll need to let me stand up.”

“Oh.” I looked down. In my worry, I’d straddled his left leg and my hand that wasn’t touching his face was pressed firmly against the center of his abdomen, essentially pinning him to the ground. My heart raced. “I’m sorry.”

I thought I heard him mumble “I’m not,” but it was too quiet to be sure.

His rumbling grunt, the squelching of bloody flesh as he pulled the knife out—it was all too much, but I made myself watch. Made myself suffer at the sight. It was only fair since I’d done it to him.

“Directly above the artery, but you missed.” His fingers brushed over the incision. Blood was trickling out, but not fast enough to do any lasting damage. He ripped the forearm of his shirt and used the back of his sleeve as a rag to wipe the blood from his skin. To be so nonchalantly amused by a knife in his shoulder was disturbing. Impressive, but most definitely and much more importantly, disturbing.

“Why are you acting like this happens all the time?” I demanded.

With his clean hand, he gently took my chin between his thumb and index finger and smiled. He lifted an eyebrow at me, like it was obvious. “This is hardly my first stab wound, Ella.”

“I don’t like that thought.”

He shrugged, wincing at the movement. “Then don’t think about it.”

“That sounds like a very male thing to say,” I mumbled, annoyed.

He chuckled. “I’m proud of you.”

“You’re proud of me?”

“Yes. It looked easy for you to put a knife to me, then through my flesh. You didn’t have to think about it. That instinct is what you need to survive.”

“I don’t even remember pushing it into your shoulder. It was instinct, and I don’t want to be someone who just kills without thinking. A monster.” I felt his index finger brush my chin. “Not that you… not that you’re a monster, I…” His eyes were soft, his fingers curled around my jaw. He smirked, and I leaned into his touch. “You’re proud of me for stabbing you a few inches above your heart, as if killing should come easy to me.”

“Yes, Ella, I am proud. You’re improving.” He cradled my face in his non-bloody hand. “And if killing came easy to you, you would have just stabbed me lower.” He dropped his fingers to his side. “You must only hate me a little.”