“Here’s how it’s going to work, Your Highness. First, you're going to listen to me, now. I'm smarter than you, and this is my city. Second, you’renevergoing to mess with me again. Ever. You’re not going to make your court of assholes pick on me either. No more of this concubine nonsense. Understood?”
Now Zale is laughing so hard he bends in two, holding his stomach. I didn’t think him capable of such mirth until now. “By all the gods, Hel. You have me under your power.Me. And all you require is a little protection?” He tries to hold it in, bringing his hands to his mouth, but laughter roars out of him all the same. “And I called you a vixen.”
“Shut up." I glance around, but the streets seem deserted. So far. "Your theatrics are going to get us caught.”
With great visible effort, he manages to hold it in, though he’s still looking at me like I’m the best court jester he’s ever had.
It would be so easy. Ten inches at most. Just one move and I’d be rid of him forever.
Grinding my teeth, I bring the point of my blade closer to his skin, daring to graze it.
My dagger is sharp. A trickle of blue runs along the silver. Now I’m the one smiling.
“If I’m to help you, I’ll be left alone once you’re back on your stupid throne." No, left alone isn't good enough. "Safe.Protected.”
“Fine," he says easily. "No gold, no title, no position for you, for saving your king's neck. Only protection. If you insist on being short-sighted, who am I to deter you?”
“Swear it,” I demand.
I won’t let him use me and do as he pleases on the other side. If I’m really going to risk my skin taking care of his spoiled ass until things calm down, then by all hells, I’ll have his word.
I don’t like his smirk. I definitely don’t trust the way he’s looking at me now. Like he’s the one with the upper hand, when I hold a dagger, when I’m the one who can navigate the underbelly of the city he doesn’t truly know.
“You’ll have to do the same,” he says. “If you want my word, I want yours. You’ll do your best to get me out of the city and back to safety, yes?”
I narrow my eyes, trying to see his angle. He has one, I can sense it. In the end, I nod, because that’s fair. A simple bargain. My help now—his, later.
He lifts his hand to mine, entirely ignoring the blade I carry. “So long as you’re true to your word, I, Zale Devar, king of Ravelyn, will protect you, Helyn Stovrj-Rhodes, against harm. Your enemies will face my wrath. By my troth, I swear it.”
That sounds a little too formal, and it’s also more than what I asked, but I’ll take it.
“Your turn. My word won’t be binding until you return the vow, little fox.”
I hate him.
“I, Hel Stovrj, promise to…” I don’t know what to say. I have to be careful of the wording, as he ensured his word would only be valid if I keep mine, to the letter. “Do my best to keep you alive, and bring you to safety.” There, that should work. No more or less than what I intended. “By my troth, I swear it.”
He seems satisfied.
A little too satisfied.
Or he’s only trying to mess with me. It wouldn’t be the first time. I should have requested he stop doing that, too.
His free hand moves a little too fast, turning my wrist and grasping the hilt of the dagger.
“Come on, vixen. You know what a formal vow with a demi entails. Unless you’re scared of a little blood.”
I roll my eyes.
He was first to speak, so I have to be first to bleed. I let him take the dagger.
I expect him to cut deeper than necessary, somewhere that’ll hurt. It’s the last time he can hurt me. I’m surprised Zale chooses the back of my wrist, and barely even presses the blade as he slices. My blood lines the shallow wound, embarrassingly red.
I’m proud of being common. To him, to his kind, it’s but a weakness.
I return the courtesy, slicing him in the same spot—left wrist, a shallow wound that wells blue.
I press my wound to his, wincing as the now-familiar coat of magic envelops us, warm and foreign.