“That’s my demon side. All quasis have a power with one of the seven deadly sins. Mine’s wrath.”
“Have you any battle training?”
“Nope. I started fighting death matches in the Arena when I was twelve. I sorta learned on my feet.”
A low whine sounds from the stall behind me. Considering how quiet my little friend was before, some noise is a good thing.
Myla steps forward. “What’s in there?”
“The shadow dragon. He was too sick to haul back to the menagerie.” I open a white jar, sniff the contents, and wince. “This may smell bad, little man, but it’ll help.” Crouching down, I apply more of the ointment.
Myla steps closer. Her tail strokes along the dragon’s back. “This isn’t a shadow dragon,” she declares. “He’s Furor.”
“How do you know? It’s never changed into human form.”
She gives me the side eye. “One guess.” Her tail gives me a friendly wave.
I chuckle. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it.” I scan the little dragon once more. “Why do you think he hasn’t changed form?”
“I think he’s too frightened.” She gently examines the dragon’s back leg. “His first talons haven’t come in yet. He can’t be five years old. Poor little thing.”
“I’ll send a message to the Furor ambassador tonight.” I pat the dragon’s back with long strokes. “Are you absolutely certain?”
“Yes. By now, a shadow dragon would have tried to spear us with its tail. That’s how they consume your soul.” She smiles. “Or try to.”
I grin back. How is it that we’re here, having a normal conversation? Then I remember. I’ve given up on having any kind of wife and family. Plus, I’ll return to Antrum soon. I can chat with Myla one last time and not play the creep.
“You know a lot about demons,” I say.
“Arena fighters like me see all the matches they want. Last month, I saw a horde of cellula.”
“Really? I haven’t seen that breed in years.” Narrowing my eyes, I review all Myla’s battles in succession. “So that’s how you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“How to save Earl of Acca from the limus. He’s a pompous blowhard, but he is one of our most important Earls.” Our gazes meet again. That familiar buzz of connection moves between us. This time, I allow it. After all, this is our last conversation. How much can happen in a few minutes?
“Thanks again for saving his life,” I add.
Myla shifts her weight from foot to foot. “You’re, uh, welcome.” She looks back to the dragon. “Poor little guy.”
A flare of anger moves through my soul. “Shadow dragons are rare; the Master of Creatures wanted something to dazzle the crowd. But any creature this young, it’s not–” The dragon flinches, I pat his side. “Calm down, boy.”
Myla finishes my thought. “Honorable.”
“Yes.”
It happens again. Our connection, only deeper this time.
“It’s late,” says Myla. “I better head out.”
I nod. What a perfect way to end my acquaintance with Myla. I’ll never stop protecting her from afar, but face to face is simply too intense for both of us.
Myla reaches for Nightshade. My horse whinnies and prances away. Myla follows the mare down the stable’s main aisle. “Come on, girl.”
I scan Myla’s back. A jolt of surprise moves up my rib cage. “Myla, what did you do to your back?” A line of infected scratches wind down her spine. Those could be deadly.
Myla glances over her shoulder. “Oh, that was the arachnoid. I forgot it got one good lick in.”
I rise. “Come over here.”
“It’s fine, really.”
I march in for a closer look. “That looks bad. Arachnoids are poisonous. Wait one minute.” I rush over to the shelves on the far wall, pull down a white towel, and jog back to her side. “I’m going to pat the wound, all right?”
And with any luck, prove to you that this is serious.
“Okay.”
I gently press the towel against the wound, step before Myla, and show her the fabric. It’s covered with green and yellow pus. “See what I mean? Bad.”
“Hells bells! But I don’t feel anything.”
“It’s the neurotoxin.” I jog back to the shelf of ointments. “By the time you feel the pain, it’s too late.” I remove a yellow jar and check the label. Anti-Noxus Crème. “Don’t worry, this one’ll do it.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve hunted demons since I was six years old. I’ve seen every injury you can imagine. That’s an arachnoid cut, and this ointment’s the cure.” A green horse blanket hangs from a peg on a nearby wall. I pull it down with my free hand. “You’ll need to take your upper armor off. Cover up with this.”
I toss Myla the blanket; she catches it easily. “Give me a minute.” Myla steps into a nearby stall. When she walks out again, she holding the blanket to her chest. Her back is bare.
I move closer. “You better sit.”
Myla kneels; I crouch behind her. I lean forward and whisper. “This is going to hurt at first.” I open the jar, scoop out some ointment, and pat it onto her wounds.
“I don’t feel anything,” says Myla.
“Give it a few seconds.”
All of a sudden, Myla hisses in a pained breath. “Son of a bitch!” She jams the blanket into her mouth and bites down. On her back, the wounds lose their yellow color. Her skin begins to scab over.
“You’re doing great,” I say. “Just a bit longer.”
The cuts close completely. Some red lines are the only outward sign she was hurt. That said, some of the poison could have gotten into her bloodstream. The next hour will tell if that’s the case. Even so, Myla seems much better. A sense of pride swells in my chest.
I protected her again. It’s what I do.
Myla pulls the blanket from her mouth. “Okay, it’s better now.”
I lean in closer. “Good.” I rub more of the ointment onto the reddened lines of her wound. If any poison did enter her bloodstream, this will help fight the infection. I rub my palms across her shoulders, down her sides, and against the small of her back. Myla shivers.
She’s enjoying this.
I am, too.
Myla tries to stand. “I’m totally fine now.”
I grasp her waist, pulling her back to the floor. The barest moan escapes Myla’s lips. It’s the most erotic sound I’ve ever heard.
“You’re not fine. Stay still.”
“I think I can–” She tries to stand again, wobbles on her feet, and topples onto her back. The blanket lays askew across her chest. Her eyes are closed. She breathes in a slow rhythm.
Kneeling beside her, I scoop my girl onto my arms. In all my life, nothing has felt better than holding Myla Lewis. I’m completely unprepared for the rush of protection, desire and affection. Deep within me, something snaps. A truth ricochets through every cell in my body, settling into my bones.
I may lose my throne, but losing Myla? That could cost me my very soul. In light of that, being prince doesn’t seem so important. Nothing is worth risking this. But could she ever care for me?
The arrowhead end of Myla’s tail slides up my arm and throat. Against my skin, the brush of her tail is all things cool and soothing. At length, the arrowhead end presses against my cheek. I lean into the touch. There’s no reason for me to have a psychic connection with Myla’s tail, but in this moment? That’s exactly how I feel. And I know one thing.
Myla wants me too.
One by one, the cords that held me back break. I make a new vow.
No longer will I battle against this.
I will fight for this.
With everything I am, I will trust to this love. The rest of my life can turn to dust. So long as she is beside me, I will be happy. Pulling my girl closer against my chest, I march out of the stables and into a new world. One where no matter what, I will battle for this love.
21
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Carrying Myla, I march out of the stables. Outside, a starless night sky arches overhead. Pausing, I soak up the moment: a quiet night by the forest and Myla in my arms. Her scent surrounds me. Cinnamon and sunshine.
My hunter’s sense kicks in. The hairs on my neck stand on end. I’m not alone here. Sure enough, Bera steps out of the shadows. She does a good job of pretending to have been stepping by. “Why, Lincoln. Fancy seeing you here.”
I shake my head. “Mother should let you sleep.”
“I’m not here as a spy for Octavia. I helped Myla get on her armor, you know. Is she all right?”
“She should be fine. Just sleeping off a scratch from the arachnoid.” It seems I got all the poison out of her system. I’ll know for certain within the next hour.
Myla’s tail pops up. The arrowhead end points at Bera.
“Oh, my. What’s that?” asks Bera.
“A tail,” I deadpan.
“I know that part.” Bera tilts her head. “What’s it doing?”
Perhaps when it comforted me back at the stables, Myla’s tail and I forged some kid of bond. But whatever the reason, I’m absolutely certain what her tail wants.
“It would like to share your hand,” I explain. “Isn’t that right?” The arrowhead end swoops to point at me. It then arcs up and down in a nodding motion. “See? It agrees.”
The arrowhead end points back at Bera. “Go on,” I suggest. “Shake its hand.”
Bera reaches forward, shaking the tail with her fingertips. “Pleasure to meet you again.” She curtsies.
“Well done, Bera. Is the Rixa guest cabin still empty?”
“It is.”
“I’m taking Myla and her tail there. Send the royal physicians please.” My eyes widen as I recall another task. “ And will you gather up her armor?” I’m sure Myla wouldn’t want to lose that lovely breastplate.
“Of course, my Prince.” Bera waddles away, then pauses. “And Lincoln?”
“Yes, Bera?”
“Most of the people like her.”
My heart lightens. “In what way?”
“They like her fire. We thrax can be a rather saggy bunch, if you catch my meaning.”
“That I do.” Myla’s strength is what drew me to her as well. Glad my people and I have that in common. “If they feel this way, why not say anything? I’ve had two mead hall encounters where I’m the only one speaking up for Myla.”
“Most are simply too afraid of Aldred. Yet things will change.” Bera grips her hands tightly at her waist. It’s something she does when screwing up her courage. “Myla and I had such a sweet time getting ready today. Don’t let Aldred ruin it.” Her voice takes on a pleading tone. “Give us a chance with her, too? She could be good for our people.”
If my heart felt light before, now I have the sense I could fly. “Thank you, Bera. And yes, I’m working on a plan.”
“That news makes your Big Bera smile.” She twiddles her fingers, which is a Bera motion for, move along. “Now off with you both.”
I wink. “As you command.”
In my arms, Myla curls closer to my chest. Leaning in, I kiss the top of her head.
My precious Myla.
Adjusting my grip, I move Myla so I can hear her gentle breathing more clearly. After that, I march through a maze of wooden structures until I reach the Rixa guest cabin. In the least surprising revelation of all time, someone already stands outside.
Mother.
As always, my mother wears a simple black gown and an unreadable look on her face. Now, I’d ask how she knew I was heading this way with Myla, but that would be a waste of breath. No one has a finer spy network than Queen Octavia.
I step into the cabin. It’s a snug space with a wide bed and some simple furniture. A trio of serving ladies bustle about, getting things ready. I gently lay Myla atop the coverlet. After enjoying the touch of her ski against mine, it almost hurts to set her down.
“That’s quite enough,” declares Mother. “You can wait outside now.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “I’m not going anywhere. She was poisoned by an arachnoid scratch and isn’t out of danger yet.”
Mother points to the door. “She also needs to wear a nightie. Cool your heels outside. Five minutes.”
I step closer to Myla. Her skin looks far more pale than it did before. Although, that could also be a trick of the light.
“The longer you wait to leave, the longer before you can return,” says Mother.
“Five minutes.”
I step outside once more. The door closes so quickly behind me, there’s a soft whoosh of air. The royal physicians approach. They’re a trio of older ladies with pinched features, gray hair, and simple black gowns.
“What do you know about quasi health? “ I ask.
The lead physician, Lady Kinborough, speaks. “Queen Octavia already sent us some books on her physiology, just in case anything went wrong at the battle. We’re excited to help.”
“Let me ensure I understand,” I state. “You knew Myla was fighting today?” Because it was a shock to me.
“Of course, all the physicians were make aware.” Lady Kinborough beams. “We’re so excited to have a lady be our champion. She fights exceedingly well, don’t you think?”
“That she does.”
For a moment, I allow myself a spark of hope. It feels like years have passed since I first confronted my parents about the Tithe and Aldred. All my ideas to help protect Myla—balls, tournaments, and even battle practices—they didn’t always go as I expected, but perhaps they worked in a different way. I’d simply wanted my thrax not to hunt Myla. Have things fared better than I planned? Can my people really be warming to my girl?
The cabin door swings open. Mother stands in the frame. “Come in. I fear she has a fever.”
I speed through the door and take up vigil at Myla’s side. The process involves dragging a large chair beside her mattress and staring. Then worrying. Then staring some more. In moments like these, I wish I were in battle. Too much energy zooms through my system.
Octavia and her ladies leave. The physicians get to work. Lady Kinborough rests the back of her palm on Myla’s forehead. “She has a fever.”
I nod, lean forward, and rest my elbows on my knees. “Do whatever you need to do.”
Lady Kinborough now shows why she’s such an excellent physician. She administers a series of tonics to Myla, spooning them onto my girl’s lips, drop by drop. Myla’s temperature lowers. In the end, this was far from the worst fever I’d ever witnessed. Even so, I worry at least a year off my lifespan.
At last, Lady Kinborough makes her announcement. “She’s fully recovered.”
“Thank you all,” I say. “You may all leave now.”
The physicians head toward the door. An idea appears. “Lady Kinborough, how long before Myla can return home?”
“She’s healing quickly. I suspect she’ll be awake and ready to go by morning.”
More of my plan takes shape. “I think she looks ill,” I counter. “She can’t return for at least a few days, wouldn’t you say?”
Lady Kinborough lowers her voice to a whisper. “If you don’t mind my asking, why do you wish to keep her here? She’s perfectly well.”
“Why, I intend to court her and turn her into your future queen, of course.”
Lady Kinborough laughs. “No, seriously.”
“I’m deadly serious. Not all the specifics are worked out yet, but I’ve decided to—how do the humans say?—wing it.”
“Apologies, my Prince, but aren’t you set to marry Lady Adair?”
“Never signed that betrothal document.” Leaning back in my chair, I kick my kegs forward. “And I’ve decided to marry for love. Myla Lewis, the Greatest Warrior of Antrum, will be my bride. She just needs to adjust to the idea, mostly because I’ve been rather horrible to her. Which is why she must stay here for a few days. Courting first, then crowning.”
Lady Kinborough pales. “Oh, tha
nk you for clarifying.”
“You’re welcome. You may leave, my good ladies.”
The physicians speed out the door. Normally, I’d spend some time contemplating my next move on the chess board of this romance. But that’s not part of my new winging it program. So instead of scheming, I spend time contemplating a sleeping Myla. Her skin holds a healthy amber glow. Locks of auburn hair fan out across her white pillow. Strength and energy that surrounds her, even as she sleeps.
My thoughts whir through the next few days. I’ve some precious hours I can spend with Myla. It isn’t much time, yet I need her to see who I really am. That will be far easier if I must get rid of Aldred for a while. Fortunately, I’m enough of my mother’s son that I have back-up plans in place for just such occasions. I’ll head back to my cabin, write a few messages, and get rid of Aldred for a time.
Rising, I kiss Myla’s forehead. She grins in her sleep. I can’t help but smile as well. Turning, I head back to my cabin and schemes for stalling out Aldred.
With any luck, this will become a lot of fun.
22
A few hours later, I stroll up to Myla’s cabin door. It’s now early morning. I haven’t slept much, but excitement for seeing Myla has me wired anyway. Glancing across the front window of the cabin, I see movement within. My pulse speeds.
She’s awake.
I gently rap on the door. “May I come in?”
“Sure.”
I press the handle and walk inside. There she is. My Myla. Standing like a goddess in a white cotton sheath. Affection warms my soul. “Hello, Miss Lewis.”
“Hi.” She scans me from head to toe. “Wow. You know about the twenty-first century.”
“That’s right, you’ve only seen me at official court events.” I gesture across my black T-shirt, jeans and boots. “Welcome to my day off.”
“I like it.” She mimics my movement, highlighting her white nightgown. “Welcome to this random nightgown someone put on me.” She winces. “That wasn’t you, was it?”
I can’t help but smile. “I’ll never tell.”
Myla starts to return my grin but pauses. Her gaze locks on the open window once more. Anger pours off her in waves. The reply is there if unspoken; whatever you’re doing, Mister the Prince, it won’t fix things.
Lincoln Page 21
