Rogert ducks an attack, grinning. She lunges, and—the idiot—he purposely puts himself in the way. He stumbles and falls, but it’s painfully obvious to me he’s let her win.
Grace and I exchange goodbyes, and I shoulder through the crowd, ignoring several surprised proclamations of “Oh, Princess, good evening” and “Your Highness, you don’t want to get too close…” until I find Keven. My golden knight stands nearby, his arms crossed, a somewhat disgusted look on his face. It makes me like him all the more.
“I see Rogert’s making a spectacle of himself,” I say.
Keven looks down and gives me a wry smile. “He held out for several rounds, but, eventually, he couldn’t help himself. He scampered out there like an eager puppy.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Is she any good?”
Obviously, she’s not against our knights, but that’s to be expected.
“She’s clever with the art of distraction,” Keven answers. “It’s working in her favor.”
Rogert stands and pretends to limp away, hamming it up for the crowd. Giselle laughs. With her hands on her hips and her legs spread in a strong pose, she scans the crowd. “Who’s next?”
Across from us, the crowd shifts. Curious to see what’s causing the commotion, Irving wanders to the inner circle. Then, looking wary as soon as he spots Giselle, he immediately turns away. He’s not fast enough, though.
As he retreats, Giselle turns. “Prince Irving!”
He freezes, and his shoulders go tense.
“Oh, come now,” she coos. “A strong, capable man like you isn’t afraid to fight me.” She swirls her sword’s point in the dirt as she says it, playing innocent and coy.
Trapped, Irving turns and dons a fake smile. “I don’t spar with ladies.”
She saunters toward him, her hips swaying. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”
And that’s all it takes for the once-dormant, jealous beast to rear its head yet again. I clench my hands around the books in my arms.
Giselle trails the tip of her sword down Irving’s chest, playful. He looks irritated, not in the mood, but the crowd already cheers him on.
“Hold these.” I shove my armful of books against Keven’s chest.
With a free hand, Keven pulls me back. “Oh no you don’t.”
I turn back, glaring. “You don’t think I can beat her?”
My knight leans close, nearly whispering in my ear. “One, you’re in a gown. Two, you don’t have your sword. Three, the knights of the Ptarmish court don’t need to know that the princess of Brookraven fights with the ease of an assassin.”
He’s right.
I cross my arms, letting this play out as it will. Irving continues to shake his head, refusing in his good-natured way. And then the knights begin to boo him. He glances around, visibly wavering.
Without asking for permission, I yank a sword from the sheath belonging to the man on my right and stride into the circle, ignoring Keven’s hissed demands ordering me to stay put.
“I’ll fight you, Giselle.” I swing the sword back and forth. “It looks like fun. How hard can it be?”
Giselle turns slowly and laughs. “Oh, Princess, you don’t want to fight me.”
“I do.” I nod as that anger in my chest grows. “I really do.”
Irving’s eyes transfer to me, and he begins to shake his head, asking me to back down.
“All right.” Giselle laughs and nods to the blade in my hand. “Be careful not to hurt yourself with that.”
The princess prepares herself and nods me forward. I circle her, sinking into my familiar stance.
She narrows her eyes. “Watched your knights a few times, have you?”
“A few times.”
She lunges, but I avoid her, keeping my movements purposely slow and unpracticed. She swings again, and I block her—something I don’t dare try against our knights. Far stronger than Giselle is, I push her back, and she stumbles to regain her balance. Her eyes widen with surprise but then narrow in determination.
No longer playing nice, she attacks, her sword much too high.
“That’s not a smart move,” I say as I evade her. “If we were in an actual battle, I could easily stab your unprotected stomach.”
She growls, and I circle behind her. Unlike with Rogert, I won’t go as far as to kick her in the back of the knees. For once, I’m in a fight against a fair opponent. Well, fair-sized.
Without distraction working in her favor, she takes sloppy, poorly planned attacks. I continue to block her, letting her tire herself out. After a few minutes, she begins to pant. Sweat glistens on her forehead.
Just as I’m about to knock her to the ground and call it an evening, I glance at Irving. He watches us, his mouth open in shock, clearly impressed. Our eyes meet, and something passes between us, something smoldering.
With my attention on the prince, Giselle again attacks. As I’m ducking out of the way, half-distracted but not terribly concerned about it, the princess grasps a handful of my hair and yanks down.
Shrieking in pain and shock, I fall to my knees in front of her. Around us, the crowd groans and laughs. As Giselle gloats over her victory, she makes the mistake of letting go of my hair.
Livid, not caring if the world knows I’ve trained since I was old enough to walk, I thrust my head as hard as I can into her stomach and send her backward. As she falls, I twist the sword from her grasp. Circling low and leaping to my feet—which is no easy task with my skirts tangling around my legs—I step over her and hold the point of the sword at her rapidly rising and falling chest.
The courtyard goes silent. I glance at Keven. His face is hard, and I know I’m about to get a lecture, but when I glance Rogert’s way, he grins and silently claps his hands.
Giselle blinks at me. I remove the sword and offer my hand, smiling brightly like this was a fun, friendly match—one where the princess didn’t pull my hair and I didn’t knock her on her scantily clad hind-end.
Once Giselle’s on her feet, she brushes herself off. “You’re good, Princess.”
Feeling dozens of eyes on me, I shrug, trying to look nonchalant. “You too.”
Since I’m on display anyway, I might as well make an exit to remember. I stride back to the knight I borrowed the sword from and toss the blade to him. “Thanks.”
He catches it at the hilt, a smile spreading across his face. Knowing Keven and Rogert will follow, I stride through the parting crowd, not bothering to look back.
Once I’m to the stables and momentarily alone, I let out a low groan and rub my scalp. Having your hair pulled hurts.
“That was the single most attractive thing I’ve seen in my life.”
I jump and then turn toward Irving, giving him a wry smile. He must have slipped away right after I finished the match, and now he’s leaning against a beam, smirking.
Remembering the look we shared during the match, I grow warm. “You’ve never seen a girl use a sword?”
With that smile fixed on his face, he pushes away from the beam and strides toward me. He steps too close, infringing on more than a little of my personal space. Teasing, he says, “Yes, but I’ve never had two physically fight over me before.”
Laughing, now feeling foolish, I shove him away. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just wanted to wipe that smug look off Giselle’s face.”
Hoping he’ll follow—but trying to appear as if I’m not hoping he’ll follow, I stride down the aisles, looking for my horse.
“And you succeeded, darling.” Irving steps in front of me, blocking my path. “Now make my evening and tell me you have a set of armor just like hers. The match would have been far more interesting if you’d worn some.”
Rolling my eyes, I push past him. “You’re a pig.”
He catches me by the arm and swings me to his chest. “You know I’m teasing.” He tilts his head and scrunches his nose. “Mostly.”
Not moving away, but pretending to ignore him, I brush dirt from my sleeve.
&nb
sp; The prince’s hands find my waist, and he draws me closer. I sink into him but drop my hands to my sides, hoping that not touching him will drive him mad.
“Where were you all day?” he asks.
A mare whinnies and sticks her muzzle over her stall door.
Irving somehow frowns and smiles at her at the same time. “Do you mind?” he says to the horse. “A little privacy?”
Laughing, I say, “I was with Grace in the library.”
“All day? I didn’t know you were so scholarly.” He rubs circles at my side with his thumb, and it’s very distracting. “I rather missed you sending barbed compliments at me all day.”
“If Barowalt agrees, we’re going to Bracken tomorrow to investigate the latest attack, and then we’ll stay at an inn in Constelita.”
He trails a finger up my spine, making me shiver. “Is that an invitation?”
“Of course not.” Giving in, I set my fingertips on his chest. “But if you, for some reason, decide to take a sightseeing tour to southern Ptarma tomorrow and we happen to bump into each other…I wouldn’t mind that much.”
He makes a low sound in the back of his throat, and my knees soften. He leans forward, almost brushing his lips over the corner of my mouth, toying with me again.
I tilt my head to look up at him. “My knights were right on my heels.”
“A shame,” he murmurs. “I was hoping to finish what we started yesterday. Perhaps we’ll hide from them? Find a dark corner? I’m sure the horses wouldn’t mind.”
“So romantic.”
“I could be.” His voice drops the playful tone, and he looks at me with such intensity, the butterflies in my stomach riot. “I’ll be whatever you want.”
My heart hammers, and I’m stabbed with fear, remembering again what Milly said about love.
Ignoring the way he’s looking at me, ignoring the way he makes me feel, I stand on my toes and press a fast kiss to his nose.
“I’m glad we had this talk.” Like a coward, I twist out of his arms. “But now I have things to attend to.”
He gives me a knowing smile, seeing my retreat for what it is. “Until tomorrow.”
I glance over my shoulder, running off to who-knows-where. “If you happen to go south, and if we happen to bump into you.”
Leaning against a stable door, his eyes locked on mine, he says, “You will.”
***
I meet Keven and Rogert on my way out of the stable.
Immediately, Rogert pulls me into an embrace. “The classic backward head-butt.” His face is buried in my hair, and his voice is muffled. “I couldn’t be prouder.”
A smile tugs at my lips, but I try to tone it down before I turn to Keven.
“Thank you for holding the books,” I say to the blond knight after I step away from Rogert.
Ever the gentleman, Keven doesn’t shove them back into my arms. “And now you know why Barowalt insists you pin your hair up when you fight.”
“You don’t.” I gently tug a strand of his blond locks.
Cracking a smile, he says, “Men don’t usually resort to pulling each other’s hair.”
Rogert nods, solemn. “Girls are vicious.”
“Do you think Barowalt will be too upset with me?” I ask.
“No,” Keven says, and then a rare grin lights his face. “But he would have been if you hadn’t won.”
***
When we arrive back at the villa, Milly is waiting, just as I suspected she would be. She corners me the moment I walk through the front. “Audette! We had the most amazing—” She stops, aghast. “What happened to you?”
My gown is filthy, covered in dirt from when I fell to the ground. I frown at it. “The Princess de Bellany and I had a duel.”
Milly blinks at me, perplexed. “I’m sorry?”
I motion for her to follow me to my chambers. “Apparently Kent has yet to return from his hunting trip, and Giselle was bored. She was fighting with the knights, and I challenged her.”
With a hand over her eyes in an attempt to block the image out, Milly groans. “In front of how many people?”
A maid passes us in the halls, and I stop her. “Would you have a bath brought up for me?”
“Of course, Your Highness.” She curtsies and hurries off.
I turn back to Milly. “Most of Edlund’s knights.”
“Audette!” Horrified, Milly sinks onto a settee in my room as soon as we walk through the doors.
As I wait for my bath to be brought up, I peer at my reflection in the mirror. Tilting my head, I gently lift my hair to examine the tender spot on my skull.
“What are you doing?” Milly demands.
“Giselle nearly ripped half of my hair from my head.”
Milly gasps. “Is it all still there?”
“Yes.” I frown. “It seems to be.”
Not too much later, there’s a knock at the door. I usher the servants in. One by one, they pour steaming water into the metal tub behind the folding room separator. Once they’re gone, I strip out of my gown and sink into the almost scalding water.
I sigh loud enough that Milly hears me.
“Better?” she calls from the other side of the partition, her voice edgy and prim.
“Much.” I lie back and listen to a night bird singing from the ledge of my balcony. “You never know, Milly. You mock me now, but someday, I just might save your life.”
“More like you’ll be the death of me.”
I grin and decide it’s time to change the subject. “We’re going on a holiday tomorrow.”
“We are?” Though I can’t see her, I can tell by her voice that her face lights up. “Where are we going?”
Now that I’ve sat in the tub for a few moments, the water is only pleasantly hot. I browse through oils a maid left on the small table next to me, lifting the bottle stoppers and sniffing each of them. The orange is nice, but the lavender is overwhelming. I pause after smelling a citrus and baymint blend and eventually pour a little into the tub. When mixed with the heat of the water, the oils infuse the air. I breathe them in and sink down a little more, letting the water rise to my chin.
“Constelita,” I say.
I leave out the part where we’ll check into Bracken to see if we can find clues on the shadowed dragon creature.
Milly will find that out soon enough.
“Have we been there before?” she asks.
“I have.” I swirl my hand at the surface of the water. “But it was years ago, before your parents allowed you to travel with us for extended lengths of time.”
Milly’s been my lady-in-waiting for over five years now, but even before that, we were nearly inseparable anyway. Though the title has fallen out of popularity in many of the kingdoms, our family still favors a princess choosing one good friend to keep close as a companion once she turns fifteen. And a friend is what Milly is—not a lady’s maid, not a servant. Her family ranks high in Brookraven’s nobility. Her father sits with my uncle right now, governing the kingdom in Barowalt’s absence. It’s a huge honor to be chosen, and someday the title alone could land her a very prestigious marriage.
If she doesn’t end up marrying my brother and becoming queen, that is.
“How was your afternoon with Barowalt?” I ask.
Milly launches into a story, one filled with longing glances and brushed hands, and I close my eyes, content to listen without adding much. Milly’s stories are more narrative than conversational.
When the water is too cold to linger any longer, I shoo Milly out of the room and crawl into bed. With memories of the conversation with Irving repeating over and over in my head, I find sleep.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A storm comes with the morning. The weather is cool and drizzly, not unpleasant but a vast difference from the sunshine we’ve grown accustomed to.
“It will rain on and off for months now.” Grace peers out the window of the carriage, and then she sits back, looking sullen.
Javid takes his
wife’s hand and teases, “If you grow too tired of it, we’ll sail to Waldren for the winter.”
Grace gives him an indulgent smile. “No matter how charming you think you are, there’s no captain you’ll convince to sail in the winter season.”
“We were able to find someone to sail us,” I say, her words making me nervous.
“Some will risk it in late autumn, but next week marks the beginning of winter.” She shakes her head. “The ships in the harbor won’t sail again until spring. With the squalls at sea this time of year, it’s too dangerous.”
I glance at Barowalt, who’s seated next to Javid. He, too, looks pensive, but when our eyes meet, he subtly shakes his head, telling me not to worry about it.
Milly, who sits beside me, smiles. “I quite like the idea of being trapped on the island.”
Rafe, the sixth member of our party, smiles back at her, obviously agreeing with the statement. Barowalt chose the handsome brown-haired knight to accompany us this morning, leaving Hallgrave to scour the countryside for more clues about the attack. Keven is in charge at the villa with Rogert acting as his second. Glad to be doing something productive, Rafe was happy to join us.
Keven, on the other hand, wasn’t so happy, even though he was left in charge. Knowing him as I do, he believes being left behind is a punishment for letting me fight with Giselle yesterday—knowing Barowalt, it might be.
My brother wasn’t impressed, more because the rumors of my prowess are sure to spread like wildfire.
I don’t see what the problem is, however. What’s so wrong with a princess who can fight? My cousin Pippa is renowned for her skill with a bow. What’s the difference?
The soft rain continues to patter on the roof of the carriage, stopping only once we grow near Bracken. I step from the carriage, grateful the storm let up for the time being. Above us, gray clouds continue to churn, reminding me the rain could begin again at any moment.
The village is rural and small. Farms lie on the outskirts. In the center, where we are now, there’s an assortment of quaint buildings. A stable stands next to a smithy, and there’s a tiny inn and tavern, a sundry, and butcher’s shop.
Audette of Brookraven (The Eldentimber Series Book 4) Page 9