Kiva swatted at his arm, but he’d already moved it back to his side, his body tensing as he brought them to a quick halt. His gaze narrowed in the direction of the door at the far end of the kitchen, his attention on something beyond Kiva’s senses.
“What —”
Caldon shoved a hand over her mouth and pushed her behind a freestanding bench in the middle of the run-down room.
“Quiet,” he hissed, tugging her into a crouch. “We’ve got company.”
Zuleeka had said she was leaving a handful of people behind, but Kiva had assumed Caldon had already seen to those. Just how many more would have to fight — and die — to make this ruse believable?
“Seems our luck has run out,” Caldon said, unsheathing a second sword for himself along with a sharp dagger, which he held out to Kiva. “Do you know how to use this?”
Kiva grasped the pommel awkwardly between her thumb and forefinger. “I, um . . . maybe?”
Caldon muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like, “Gods spare me.”
“Believe it or not,” Kiva said defensively, “they didn’t teach us how to handle weapons in prison.”
The prince huffed with amusement before a noise in the next room caused a rare seriousness to overtake his features.
Grabbing her hand, he repositioned her fingers around the hilt, closed them tightly, and whispered, “If things get heated, run and hide, and I’ll find you afterward. Only use this” — he indicated the blade — “if absolutely necessary. But whatever you do, don’t stab yourself. Jaren will kill me.” As an afterthought, he added, “Don’t stab me either, obviously.”
Kiva sent him a bland look and didn’t bother to confirm that she had no intention of stabbing anyone.
“By the sounds of it, there’s half a dozen of them waiting for us, maybe a few more,” he said, listening for something only he could hear.
“Can’t we go another way?” Kiva asked.
“They’ll have more people watching the back,” Caldon said. “The front door is right through this next room, which makes it our easiest path out.” He ruffled her hair. “Don’t worry, Sunshine. Half a dozen is nothing. I’ll keep you safe.”
Caldon might have been an incorrigible flirt, but something Kiva had learned in the last six weeks was that he wasn’t a spoiled prince who sat around playing courtier all day — even if, for reasons she’d yet to uncover, he made it so people believed that was true. His weapons weren’t for decoration; she’d seen him training with Jaren at the winter palace, the two of them sparring with lightning-fast speed, strength, and skill. Kiva believed Caldon when he said he would keep her safe, but it wasn’t her life she was worried about. Those were rebels he was about to fight a path through, all so she could keep up her ruse.
“Do me a favor and try not to puke again,” Caldon said, gripping his swords and rising from his crouch. “With you behind me, I’ll be right in your trajectory. You’ll ruin my outfit.”
His fitted green jacket was already speckled with blood, the silver embroidery now a rusty red, so she knew he was only speaking in an effort to keep her calm.
Bracing herself for what was about to happen, Kiva hurried forward with Caldon, but they barely made it halfway to the next room before the rebel group flew into the kitchen with raucous yells, their weapons held high.
Caldon cursed and shoved Kiva back, swinging his two swords to meet their attackers strike for strike. It wasn’t like when she’d watched him practicing with Jaren. That had been almost beautiful, with calculated, nimble steps. This was different; it was messy and chaotic, with an underlying fury coming from the rebels, and a cold calmness emanating from the warrior prince.
The first rebel fell before Kiva had even regained her balance, the second was down before she’d raised her dagger uselessly in the air. She was a healer, her sole mission in life to help people, not hurt them. But she didn’t know how much Zuleeka had told these rebels — whether they knew she was one of them, or if they believed she was the enemy.
Caldon dispatched the third and fourth attackers with ease, his blades blurring as he ducked and parried in quick succession. Five more rebels ran through the doorway, three of whom went straight for the prince, but the last two burly men bypassed the skirmish, their eyes locked on Kiva.
She backed away, clutching her dagger tight enough to make her fingers hurt. The men prowled toward her, licking their lips and sharing meaningful glances, dark anticipation spreading across their faces.