Josephine's voice kills any man who hears it-except for the assassin sent to capture her for the king that's been chasing her all her life...but what happens when he decides he doesn't want to hand her over and keep her for himself instead?
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There was at least one bird's nest in my hair from my vantage point in the tree.
Crouched in the branches nestled a few spaces up in the air, I kept my dagger raised and waited for Oren to appear, continuously turning my head to get a better perspective.
Would he arrive from the north, the south?
Would he come in the direction of the Carti river to my west, the Ness Mountains to the east?
I would get the jump on him, take him down and possibly tie him up and demand answers.
Answers to who he was, if he sent those men into the markets, and just how much the king was paying him to track and capture me.
I only hoped I was as good with my surprise drop as I had planned, not having had enough time to practice the move before having to get into position and lie in wait.
My eyes grew droopy as the sunlight slowly leached itself from the sky after a few hours rolled on, the energy that had been expelled with my curse not long before having tired me out more than I accounted for, but still I held myself as if I were a statue, not daring to move a muscle in case he returned and I was unprepared.
Just because this man had claimed that he wanted to help me and teach me control and all other kinds of nonsense didn't mean that I believed—or trusted—him one bit.
No, trust did not come easily to me, not after my mother decided to throw her daughters out as if we were nothing but the trash under her shoes.
Owls sang a hooting call in the distance as the dusky sky broke in a twilight of pigments dancing across once cerulean skies.
Pale tufts of clouds roiled, the murkiness in their depths bringing with them the scent of fog and the promise of rain.
A branch behind me cracked, but before I could whip my head behind me to find the culprit of the noise, my hands were grappling for the thin handhold of wood I'd perched myself upon, searching frantically for purchase against gritty oak sticky with sap.
I lost my footing as something slammed into me, and balance was the last thing on my mind as I careened toward the forest floor, the air rushing by me in a waterfall of dizzying colors flashing before me.
I barely had time to scream as the brown and orange leaves came closer into focus and it was all I could do to tuck my limbs into my body and protect my head before the impact. Teeth clenched, I tensed as I awaited the pain, but none came.
Instead, I was wrapped in a cocoon of strong arms and a lush scent that coated me from head to toe, something lavish that I wanted to bathe in which rendered me speechless, the aroma something warm and familiar like cinnamon.
I could barely conjure up the courage to crack open one eye, and yet when I did, I knew who I would find. It was still a shock to be so close to the stranger, a man I'd hardly spoken an entire conversation with, and still he affected me more than most did. He had me—quite literally—in the palms of his hands, but I was not scared.
