Page 16 of Blood & Roses

“My parents are gone,” I reminded him, trying to gesture to their former bedroom and realizing he still pinned my arms to the bed. “I’m all they have. Six younger sisters, and they all need me. Thevillage needs me. Those girls with that horrible father need me. Your brother needs me.”

Understanding lit his expression, and Rowan loosened his grip. I was about to struggle my way up when he sat on the bed, pressing his forehead to mine and stopping me in my tracks.

He smoothed the blanket over me, wiped away the lone tear I’d been unable to prevent escaping, and blew out the candle.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, stiffening as he climbed over me and wrapped me tightly in his arms.

Rowan groaned behind me, clearly also exhausted by the day as he settled himself around me, holding me firmly but not painfully. “Holding you.”

“Why?” I said, the feel of his warm body and strong arms around me oddly soothing. This male was a stranger. Well, basically a stranger. Sort of. And I definitely should not be allowing this. I should knock him unconscious with my bloodweaving. Possibly poison him.

But I was so tired, and he was so warm, and it had been so long since I had been held. Comforted. My eyes closed against my will, and I was unable to resist the wave of exhaustion that pulled me under in the warmth and safety of another’s embrace.

Rowan murmured in my ear, the brush of his lips sending a shiver down my spine. “Because sometimes, Isolde, you need to let someone else take care of you.”

Chapter 8

Iawoke warm and rested. And alone.

Rowan must have left after I fell asleep. Gods. I groaned, pressing my palms to my face in embarrassment. I had let him hold me. He hadn’t given me much time to protest, but truthfully, I welcomed the comfort. Some kind of fearsome assassin I was.

Light was streaming through the little window, but there were no sounds of breakfast or bickering sisters coming from downstairs, so it was clearlystill early.

Tea. I needed tea and to check on the prince and to fret over my life choices in the familiar comfort of the kitchen, surrounded by my poisons.

I was still in the robe I’d been bundled in the previous day, and I toed on my worn slippers to creep downstairs, skipping the creaky step so I wouldn’t wake the house.

Tristan was still asleep on the sofa, his golden head bathed in light from the window, Rowan asleep in an armchair next to him. His head was tipped back against the chair, his throat bared as his chest rose and fell with steady breaths.

I briefly contemplated hurling a pillow at him in revenge for his high-handedness with me, but he looked too peaceful to wake. Boyish even, with his scarred eyebrow relaxed in sleep.

Curse my soft heart. I grumbled quietly to myself as I shuffled into the kitchen, filling the kettle with water and thanking the gods that the heating spell we had purchased for the pipes was still working, despite the frozen winter outside. I threw a few logs on the fire then began pulling out measuring cups and bowls and ingredients to make breakfast.

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” Rowan’s voice drawled from the door frame. Gruff with the edge of sleep, his voice seemed to shiver down my spine as I looked up to find him with his arms crossed over his broad chest, watching me.

“Unless you have some magic I don’t know about yet,” I snapped, returning my attention to the bowls as I set them out for pancakes, “breakfast won’t make itself.”

“Your sisters are grown,” Rowan pointed out, moving into the kitchen and stretching his arms and neck. He was probably cramped from sleeping in an armchair. Served him right. “They could make their own breakfast.”

“Believe it or not, I like taking care of my family,” I said, feeling annoyed that I had to explain myself to this male. This was my job, my purpose. Being the eldest sister, taking care of problems. It had been my job since the day Mother and Father disappeared.

A hand came to rest lightly on my wrist just as I was giving the flour a more vigorous shake than it really needed. “Izzy—”

Whatever Rowan was planning to say was cut off in a muffled shout as he pushed me forcefully against the wall out of the path of the arrow that buried itself in the pantry doors.

“What the—”

I looked bewilderedly at the window, only open a crack to let the fire vent, as Rowan shouted, “Down!”

A second arrow came whistling through the open hole, and I found myself covered in Rowan’s hard, warm body as he took us to the ground, the arrow sinking into the table where I had been preparing breakfast.

“Fuck,” Rowan shouted, rolling off me and pulling me from the kitchen and the offending window. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head once as I took in his wide, panicked green eyes. “The hunters are here.”

In confirmation, a barrage of thunks sounded at the front door, as if several archers were trying to force it open from a distance. Glass shattered in the living room and shrieks from upstairs told me more arrows must have come through my sisters’ windows.

Rowan cursed, running to his brother and rolling him to the ground to take cover from the glass and arrows.