The Girl King (The Girl King #1)(71)

“Nokhai!”

He jolted awake. Coppery eyes gleamed in the faint dawn light. The princess. His body flooded with relief, followed by an odd tenderness, misplaced across time.

“They stopped bleeding,” he stammered, throwing up his hands. “I’m fine.”

She narrowed her gaze at the puckered scars crisscrossing his palms, and he remembered where he was.

The princess shook his shoulder again, insistent. “Wake up!”

The dream slipped away, taking his tenderness with it.

“I’m awake!” he snapped, sitting up. “Clearly.”

“Shh! Keep your voice down. Someone’s watching us.”

He was on his feet. “Where? Soldiers? How many?”

“Not soldiers,” she said. “I went to make water, and when I was coming back I saw someone following me through the trees. They disappeared, but I took a roundabout way back here in case they were still tracking me.”

Nok frowned. “It’s pretty dark; are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

He licked his lips before glancing into the shadows around them. “It could’ve been a deer or something.”

“I know what I saw,” she snapped. “It was a person. A girl, I think. And she was definitely following me. Doing a good job of it, too. Stealthy. I think it was a bandit.”

“A bandit?” he repeated incredulously.

“The northern foothills are rife with them,” she continued, ignoring his tone. “We keep getting reports of them in the capital—some of them even infiltrated a labor camp. Caused a riot. They’re said to be migrating farther south. We’re probably right in their path.”

Nok shrugged doubtfully. “Well, whoever it was, either you lost them or they decided we weren’t worth robbing.”

She shook her head. “Whoever it was, they gave me a bad feeling. Omair’s map says there’s a town not too far up the road. We should stop there, stay at an inn tonight.”

“Absolutely not,” Nok countered. “We don’t know the area. If the town’s too little, we’ll draw attention.”

“We need to stop soon anyway,” she argued. “We’re almost out of food. We may as well see what’s around, and if the town feels big enough for us to pass unnoticed, we can look for an inn.”

“If it’s big enough for us to pass unnoticed, I guarantee you it’ll have just as many thieves as are in these woods. More, probably,” he said stubbornly. “And soldiers, to boot.”

“Well, what’re we to do?” she retorted. “Ride until the horse gives out, then eat it? Walk the rest of the way to Yunis and arrive shortly before the birth of my cousin’s third son?”

“Fine!” He sighed. “We can load up on some basics.”

“We need warmer clothes, too,” she pointed out, seizing on her victory. “The air’s getting cold and the mountains will be colder. And if by chance Omair’s map is wrong about where the gates are, we don’t know how long we’ll be wandering before we get to Yunis.”

“If it even still exists,” he muttered.

“It exists,” she said firmly. “And stop trying to change the subject.”

“Fine. Warmer clothes,” he allowed.

“And a blanket for you, since your modesty would sooner have you freeze to death than share bedding with me.”

“Modest . . . ,” he said incredulously. “I’m trying to be polite, Princess.”

“Polite is declining once, then acquiescing to common sense,” she snorted. “You act like you’re the princess.”

He just glared. “Fine. A second blanket. Woolens. Oats for the horse and some grains for us. Anything else you want? Embroidered silk capes? Furs? Steel pots and pans? Rugs? Maybe we should just build a house here and stay forever while we’re at it.”

“Don’t be sore just because I was in the right,” she said primly, taking the horse’s reins and turning her back to him.

“Wait!” He grabbed for the reins. She turned and met his eyes just as their fingers brushed. He jerked his hand away.

She watched him do it, but only said, “What?”

“You look too . . .” He gestured in her direction and wrinkled his nose. “Too rich. People will definitely notice you.”

She looked down. She was wearing her own black leather breeches, but she had one of his own rough-hewn knee-length gray tunics thrown over a cotton shirt, belted with a rope.

“Right,” she scoffed. “I had forgotten how coveted rotting wool is these days.”

“No, not your clothes . . . although I think we ought to dirty up the leathers a bit. It’s more . . .” He paused. “Your hair. And your teeth. And your face.”

“What’s wrong with my face?” she demanded, her tone growing dangerous.

“Nothing’s wrong, you look . . .” He shook his head. “It’s just, no one besides a royal or maybe a First Ring lady would have hair that long. It’s impractical. And you stick your chin up too high; try to look more . . . tired. And like you don’t want to be seen. Yes, no, that’s better.”

She gave an exaggerated frown and lowered her face toward the ground.