Page 20 of The Shrouded Queen
I fixed my arms at my sides, refusing to scratch and risk knocking my wig off.
Jasim mistook my muscles locking up and said, “Going to punch me this time?”
“Maybe.”
His brows lowered even farther. “Do it if you want, but we’ve only forty-seven crowns in our possession. Pay five for a stupid pear and we’ll run out before we’re even close to Reeda.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I’ll find a place for us to sleep.”
“Keep your—”
“Head down, I know.” I stepped out from under the awning, cringing against the blaze of the sun. Sweat had already made the ends of my wig stick to the irritated skin at my nape, but now beads of it rolled freely down my face. I gritted my teeth against the discomfort and headed toward a clay building at the end of the street.
It was the only one large enough to be an inn. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if this place didn’t know the meaning of the word. The village was hardly more than five dirt roads and a dozen structures that vaguely resembled homes. Squashed, as if a giant had stepped on them when the clay was still setting. I peeked through the door of one to see that the floor was cushioned with straw. If I had to sleep on a flea-infested clump of straw, I was going to scream.
I glanced up at the please-gods-let-that-be-an-inn. Even from here it looked to be covered in a layer or two of dirt. A door made of wooden slats blocked me from seeing any potential straw on the ground, but there—
A hand covered my mouth, and I was yanked back against a hard body. Something sharp scraped against my throat. A knife.
My eyes widened, fear sizzling through my veins. I didn’t even think before stomping down on the person’s foot.
A strangled curse huffed in my ear, but it gave me just enoughroom to jab my elbow back. The person grunted, their grip on me loosening, and I lunged to the side, ready to sprint back the way I’d come. Toward the open market, toward Jasim and his scimitars.
But the person’s weight slammed into me. With a cry, I crashed onto my stomach, wig flying off and teeth clacking together, catching my tongue between them. Pain ricocheted through me as the taste of copper filled my mouth. “Just—hold still!” the person grunted, a man’s voice.
I threw my head back, smashing into his nose. He swore again and fell off me. I flipped over, hood falling back, and scrambled away.
A man with a thick beard crouched a foot away from me, a hand to his bleeding nose. “Stubborn bitch. It was supposed to be quick.”
“Who are you?” I demanded.
The man spat out a clump of blood and gripped his knife tighter. “Prince Anwar sends his regards.”
Shit.
He launched himself at me again.
I rolled out of the way just as his knife caught me in the side, slashing through my cloak and skin like they were nothing at all. Pain sliced through me, but I ground my teeth together, choking back my scream. Before he could make another grab for me, I swung my hand up, heel of my palm slamming into his already injured nose.
There was a distinctcrack. He screamed and grabbed at his nose as blood gushed.
In the next breath, I regained my feet, snatched my wig, and bolted, razors of pain cutting through my abdomen with every step. I pressed my hand to the wound, the warmth of blood coating my fingers, and kept going.
I burst into the market center, scanning quickly before remembering my wig. With shaky hands, I fitted it back over my head, sparing a precious second to straighten it. My eyes landed on Jasim’sfamiliar, broad back. He was standing in front of another vendor’s stall. I beelined toward him and grabbed his arm.
He turned with furrowed brows. “Your Majesty, I’m—”
“A man just tried to kill me.”
“What?” He glanced down at where I gripped my side, spotting the blooming crimson stain. His stunned expression vanished, replaced by cool, calculated fury. He angled his body to block me from the vendor and any other prying eyes as he scanned our surroundings. “Where?”
“Right behi—” But when I looked over my shoulder, there was no sign of him.
Jasim didn’t care. “We’re leaving. Now.”
The sun would be setting in a few hours, and we hadn’t eaten or slept. But for once, I didn’t argue. Jasim wrapped his arm around my waist in a move that would seem like a casual display of affection to anyone looking but allowed him to press his hand to the wound in my side. Then he was guiding us back to our camels. “Can you ride on your own?”
I winced but nodded. I didn’t reject his help climbing into the high saddle. Once I was situated, he swung up into his, and then we were galloping out of the village. Wave after wave of fire shot through me as we ran. I thought the muscle in my jaw would burst from how hard I clenched it, nails digging into my skin on either side of the wound as I clutched tightly at it. Blood leaked all over my fingers. Too much. I was losing too much. “Jasim…”
