Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)

Hesitantly, I touch the dress’s fine cloth and groan to myself. I cannot walk out wearing this. If the cinched waist weren’t off-putting, the skirts alone pose too much of a tripping threat. It’ll fit strangely, and surely the fabric, all soft and shiny, will irritate. In Malam, only a person of nobility would dress in something so finely stitched.

I scan the room, hoping for another option. Unfortunately, besides the towel, there’s nothing else to wear. The horrible, badly blue, trimmed and trilled dress that’s staring me down like an animal on the hunt is my only option. Resigned, I grab the garment and shove my arms through the sleeves that smell faintly of lilacs. My nose itches. The collar rubs against my skin, and the thin shift beneath the floor-length skirt scratches my legs.

When I finally leave the room, I’m afraid to meet Cohen’s gaze. Afraid he’ll think me silly and laugh at my appearance.

“Ah, I knew it would fit.” Enat stops chopping carrots and smiles. “You’re just about my daughter’s size. You look lovely.”

Cohen turns from where he is sharpening his knife beside the fireplace. His eyes sweep over the length of my damp hair lying across my shoulders and darkening the ocean-blue dress with each drop.

“Dove.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows.

I shift my weight, forcing myself not to tug at the ridiculous dress. My hands go to my waist, where the dress clings to my form, only Cohen’s eyes track the movement, making me cringe inwardly when his attention lingers. I fold my arms, and his gaze jumps to meet mine.

“When did your hair get so long?” His voice is tree-bark rough.

My fingers run through the tangled ends. I’m overcome with the oddest conflicting desires—?that he would quit looking at me and that he would never stop.

“I, uh, don’t know . . . I didn’t have a brush and haven’t cut it in a while. It’s so long.” I huff my annoyance when my hand catches in a snag. “I should just cut it. It’d be easier to travel as a boy.”

“No.” His sharp response startles me. I drop my hands, leaving my locks to look wild and untamed.

“We won’t be traveling much longer. And you won’t always be pretending to be a boy. You should keep it long.”

I know, without a mirror, my clean skin is pink, and not just from the scrubbing. The clatter of pots and pans is a reminder that Cohen isn’t the only person in the room. I turn to see Enat tossing cut vegetables into a pot.

“Do you need water for supper?” I ask. “I can run to the well.”

She wipes her hands on a well-worn apron. “If you’re willing to go out in the storm, I won’t stop you.”

I’ve taken a half-dozen steps outside when the door opens behind me.

“I’d ask if you need help, but I know better than that.” The delight in Cohen’s gold and brown earth-toned eyes is barely visible in the thin moonlight that breaks past the storm clouds and treetops. “Mind some company?”

I’m a fool because all I can think about is touching his jaw. Is it as smooth as it looks?

“I suppose I could tolerate it,” I choke out.

Cohen’s mouth lifts on the left side, and my knees weaken. I miss him. I miss how he always made me laugh. I miss how I could be myself when we were together. I miss that crooked smile.

“So, what do you think of Enat?” I ask as we walk. The rain patters gently around us, catching my shoulder, my nose.

He shrugs and pulls the bucket from my hands before taking a seat at the well’s edge. “She knows more than I expected.”

“And?”

“And she’s going to get us in to talk to Millner Barret. That’s more than we had before. In the end, Saul gave his life for the king. I’m . . . well, I’m honored I was able to work with him, learn from him.”

The pride that fills me is followed by warmth from the truth in his words.

“Do you think we can trust Enat?” I push the length of wet hair over my shoulder.

He glances up at me from where he has sat to lower the bucket into the well. A few raindrops hit his cheek before he wipes them away. “We’ve had our fair share of bad luck on this trip, but she’s different. I think we can trust her.”

“You sound so sure.”

“You never trust anyone, Britt. And I understand why. It’s not like you’ve had many opportunities to exercise your trust in others. But I have a gut feeling about Enat.”

I consider asking him what his gut was telling him when we pulled into the inn at Padrin, but decide to keep the question to myself.

“I’m not sure what I think of Enat. There’s something different about her,” I say. Some water sloshes from the bucket as he pulls it to the top of the well, plinking against the depths below.

“Besides her hiding in the woods and shooting arrows at anything headed in her direction?” He huffs out a short laugh.

I roll my eyes.

“Tell me.” He reaches out and grabs my hand. His touch makes any reservations roll belly-up. “What’s different about her?”

“You know how I know when someone’s being honest?”

“Yes.” His hand squeezes. “What happened?”

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