The princess’s stomach growled, empty as the howling wind. If she was this hungry, Luca was likely the same, and he needed the rest—that snakebite would take more than the recovery they’d given it. He needed off that horse and a bellyful of good food and hydration.
“I demand full meals for both Luca and myself,” the princess said without preamble. “And water. As much as we like.”
“Of course, my love, you are not my prisoner. You are here on your own accord.”
Ha. “In that case, I request dinner in my tent.”
“A lovers’ meal. Just as delightful as our first, I hope.”
This boy was insufferable. “My tent is not your tent. Nor are you to be within fifty feet of my tent if you want to keep your blood on the inside.”
Taillefer snickered and Renard shot him a look before lifting his chin at Amarande. “Very well. But I won’t allow you to sleep within fifty feet of your stableboy either. And you cannot sleep unguarded.”
Amarande smirked. “Right, because I’m here on my own accord.” Caught, Renard sighed. The princess continued. “I see two women in your party, and I know one is quite handy with a sword. I sleep with them or I don’t sleep at all.”
Renard’s eyes slid to the female pirate and then to the other girl—definitely Osana. Her cowl was still up, but the princess was now sure that Egia was strapped to the girl’s back. A thread of disappointment wound through Amarande at this, but she knew it was likely the girl wanted a job more than a place. Or maybe everything she’d told the princess was a lie. It didn’t matter, but it did sting just a little.
Amarande wasn’t convinced Renard thought of women as his equals, only as something he needed to succeed—for his crown, for his heir—but if he respected anything about Amarande, it was her ability to fight, and these two women were cut from the same cloth in that regard. In fact, the princess thought, they would likely protect her better than any men in the party simply because they wouldn’t underestimate her ability while overestimating their own.
“Ula, Osana, set up for the night with the princess. Nikola and Tremaine, you take point outside the women’s tent. Taillefer, choose two men to watch the stableboy with you. Everyone else, you’re with me.”
That smirk nearly deepened into an amused smile—seven people to guard both herself and Luca, seven more plus an entire army camp to keep Renard safe from what he thought they might do to him.
Still, as they separated, the entire camp shifted, men moving things around to surround them in the center. As requested, she wouldn’t be within fifty feet of Renard, but she would have a fifty-man layer pressing in on her, as thick as the walls of the Itspi.
Amarande’s smile dropped.
If this were how her life was to be—fenced in on all sides by military power—she’d be suffocated by her own dreams, agency, ideas. It could hardly be called a life to live. As if Renard knew what she was thinking, he drove his knife in further, smiling brightly as his brother hauled Luca away.
“Sleep well, my princess. By tomorrow night, the two of us, and our kingdoms, shall be wed.”
CHAPTER
39
AMARANDE hated that she couldn’t easily see Luca from her tent. True to his word, Renard had placed him completely on the other side of the encampment. He’d set up his own tent beside his brother’s, his cushion of seven men filling in the easement between. Through the dark and the glare of dozens of fires, Luca was somewhere in the shadows.
The princess felt his safety was an uncertain thing if she couldn’t see him, and so, though it was an impossibility, she kept reading the darkness as she ate a meal of salted cod reconstituted in an olive sauce—the soldiers had pulled out all the stops for royalty in their midst. It was hearty and savory, and she let the juices drip down her chin as she scanned the camp, her heart reaching through the distance to Luca.
The girls she’d chosen as her guards ate in silence, bracketing her. Though she admired both for the way they fought, they were clearly out for gold more than anything else. Osana—that was a disappointment, though the princess didn’t dignify the girl’s choice by begging her to confirm her betrayal. As for the pirate, Amarande wasn’t sure why she was here. Perhaps this was what she must do to receive payment, having bungled the job of delivering Luca to the man they’d met at the Hand.
For a moment, Amarande considered paying the women off in diamonds to whisk her and Luca away from the camp, but given all at play here, that seemed to be a gamble that didn’t guarantee much of a return.
Royals and the Warlord were brutal, yes, and their lack of benevolence sowed women and men like these.
Amarande was only half-confident she could close her eyes in the same space as these girls and not wake to her throat being slashed, but she trusted them more than any of the men in the party, and she had to sleep if she was going to figure out a way to survive what was to come tomorrow night. And every day after.
Dinner was finished without a cry of pain from Luca’s general direction, and Amarande allowed herself to be satisfied with that. It was the best she could hope for. A soldier came around and gathered their dishes, and then her guards drew the flaps of the tent closed.
“Princess, we must bind you for sleep,” Osana said. “The prince commands it.”
The girl held out a length of rope, her gaze not wavering. If she was embarrassed about switching sides, she didn’t show it. Amarande presented her hands without comment. At least within the castle, she wouldn’t be bound. A guard or two at her door, but not a rope every night—she hoped. Osana tied her arms. “Legs, too, Princess.”
Of course.
The princess presented her ankles, again without a word. She waited for Osana to steal the knife from her boot—she certainly knew about it after witnessing the beginnings of Amarande’s fight with the giant—but the girl didn’t take it. Maybe she liked the princess more than she could say in front of the pirate. Or not.
From across the tent, the other girl watched, loosening the handkerchief from her head. The pirate’s long hair spilled forward like a lion’s mane, and she pulled it back, braiding it, with the kerchief to tie the ends. In her lap was the saddlebag Amarande had stolen from her. She’d already cataloged everything that remained inside but hadn’t commented on the clothing of hers the princess currently wore, or on the fancy dress the princess had stuffed inside.
Braid finished, the pirate still watched. Amarande felt uneasy under her glare, as fierce as she imagined a Warlord-lit fire pit to be. The only woman who had a stare more intense was Koldo, and that was only because she had twenty years of practice on this girl.
Amarande lay back onto the furs the soldiers had given them. She shut her eyes, bound wrists propped behind her head. It was still another minute before the pirate spoke.
“You’re not going to marry him, are you?”
Amarande’s eyes popped open and shifted to the pirate’s brilliant gold ones. The princess said nothing. The pirate pressed on.
“You love Luca … don’t you?” Again, Amarande was silent. The pirate’s words became more forceful with each syllable. She was angry. “You came for Luca. You fought for Luca. You nearly slit my throat for Luca.” Osana was watching Amarande’s face now, too, their last conversation together running its course over her features. “Do you know how many times he told us you’d come for him? How much faith he had—has—in you? I could nearly pluck his love for you out of the air and slice it up for dinner, it was so solid. He loves you and you love him—true love, simple as that.”