Untouchable by Linda Winstead Jones

the horse, but the sheaths built for his long, narrow swords would not accommodate the broader bladed and curved weapons he had taken from Paki and Kontar. After he had the sentinel’s surrendered sword and his own dagger, a dagger still stained with the princess’s blood, in his possession, he threw the Claennis swords. They flew end over end and then landed as he’d intended, their blades buried deep in the ground. That done, he offered his hand to Sanura. No one ever touched her, no one assisted her this way, but it was already too late. He was stained with blue, and her face burned with the memory of his rough morning beard. She took his hand, and he gripped hers tightly.
    “Did you kill her, m’lord?” the young sentinel who had delivered the horse and surrendered his sword asked as Trystan lifted Sanura and deposited her in front of him. “Did you murder the princess?” It was evident in the young man’s voice, and in his heart, that he did not want to believe that his prince was capable of cold-blooded murder, even though he himself had no affection for the dead woman.
    “No, I did not,” Trystan answered crisply. Again, he grinned. “But I thank whoever did. The Princess Edlyn was a royal pain in the ass, and I’m not sorry to see her dead.” He spared a precious moment to bend forward and rake his nose against Sanura’s neck, to further mark himself, and then he turned the horse about and they made their escape.
    The others would come after them, Sanura knew, and she wondered how long it would be before they were caught. Vigilant and capable of anything, Trystan could protect her, but she suspected he could not remain in this state for very long—and no matter which part of him ruled, he would have to rest and sleep on occasion. Would Prince Alixandyr be as diligent when he emerged once more? He was likely to present them both to their accusers, certain that the truth and logic would be enough to save them, certain that justice would be served.
    “It was Vyrn and Tari,” she called as the wind whipped her hair and her skirt about wildly. “I’m certain they killed the princess and set the scene to place the blame on us.”
    “I don’t care,” Trystan responded. “I don’t care who killed her or why. I care only for your promise, love. I killed no one, just as you asked. I could’ve killed them all, if not for the promise of that which I desire more than blood.”
    She shuddered. She’d done what she had to do in order to save her own life and his, and to protect innocent lives. She would not break her word. Still, she wished it had been Prince Alixandyr who’d saved them—Alixandyr, who could not believe that his men would turn against him; Alixandyr, who was sure the truth would be enough for the others, because the truth was enough for him.
    “I do care!” she shouted. “We must prove that Vyrn and Tari are guilty in order to prove our innocence.”
    “We are hardly innocent, love.” At that, Trystan laughed harshly. The discordant sound rang in her ear.
    IT could not have gone more smoothly. Vyrn suppressed a smile as the other men around him gathered their weapons and readied their horses. Two Tryfynian soldiers, includingthe one who had been slightly wounded, would escort the princess’s body and her weeping maids back to King Bhaltair. The rest, four sentinels and four soldiers, would pursue the murderous couple.
    Vyrn had not expected the prince’s reaction to be so bizarre, but he could not be sorry for the strange outburst and the flight from the accusers. Prince Alixandyr now looked very, very guilty. Even if they did find his sword, which was hidden so deep in the woods it would likely never surface, they would not believe him innocent.
    His primary goal had been the death of the princess, but there was a bonus to be had if the prince did not survive this journey. Vyrn was quite fond of bonuses.
    Before he could mount his own horse, Tari approached at a run. Foolish girl.