Today, she wears grey sweats and a moth-eaten T-shirt. It truly is amazing how Myla can make that look work for her. Although, considering how she mastered the white puffball dress that is our gown of welcome, sweats should really be no problem.
“Hi. Sorry I’m late.” Myla scans the practice area, her eyes wide.
“No problem. It gave me and Nat a chance to practice.” I gesture toward Nat, who’s now standing and grinning. “I don’t believe you two have officially met. Myla, I’d like to present Nathaniel Archer, my Master at Arms.”
“Master at Arms?” asks Myla.
“That means I teach the young prince how to fight demons, milady.” Nat bows.
“And stay alive in the process,” I add.
Her gaze meets mine. Tendrils of connection loop between us. And now? There’s no reason to worry about that energy. I can simply soak it in. Allow it to grow. A slow smile rounds my lips. Myla’s mouth curls up as well.
At last.
Nat moves to stand between me and Myla. “I’m also here as royal chaperone.” He clears his throat. “In case any ladies should stop by what’s officially a boys-only work out.”
Myla tilts her head. “You’ve never had a chaperone before, Lincoln.”
My smile melts away. “We’ll get to that in a bit.”
Myla shoots me a thumbs up. “Good.”
It’s a single word reply, but I can guess the many pages of thought that lie behind it. Both Myla and I have waited too long to spend time together. There are numerous dark clouds of news hanging over our heads. But forget that. In this moment, we’ll enjoy our time.
Which brings me to the day’s activity.
I rub my palms together and smile. “I’ve a surprise for you first. Nat here will teach you how to fight with something besides your tail.”
Myla’s beams. It’s one of those smiles that envelops you, charging your soul with hope and light. Every cell of this woman’s body seems to vibrate with energy. I could look upon her forever.
It’s a thought at that.
“Really?” Myla races to the edge of the mats. “I’ve never had actual combat training.”
“Now, be fair, my prince.” Nat shoots me a worried look. “I never agreed to attack the young miss.”
“I told you, Nat. She’s not like the ladies of the court.” I pick up a wooden practice sword by the hilt and point it toward Myla. Nat gasps. It’s a big reaction, considering how the weapon is a full six yards away from my girl.
Nat hasn’t seen anything yet.
I flick the wooden blade straight at Myla’s head.
All the blood drains from Nat’s face. His body starts to shake. I know how my Master at Arms thinks. He believes that Myla is certain to lose an eye, and that’s at a minimum.
For her part, Myla barely flinches. When the wooden point is barely an inch away from her nose, Myla grasps the blade, holding it in place. If it were a painting, it might be called Woman About To Be Speared In Eye, except for the part where said woman holds the weapon stationary. Nat starts breathing again, which is good. I was starting to worry there.
Nat gives me a shocked look at that says, what in the world is this?
I shoot back a smarmy one that replies, told you so.
“It’s a shame that you missed her at the tournament,” I add. “She was amazing.”
Myla blushes, which is one of my favorite looks on her. “Thanks.” She turns to Nat. “I fought in the arena since I was twelve.” She then proceeds to set the blunt point of the sword on her fingertip, balancing it there. I don’t think Nat could be more shocked if she’d swallowed it while the blade was on fire.
“Hand-to-hand combat,” adds Myla. “To the death.”
Even so, Nat still isn’t completely convinced. I don’t like how his heavy brows pull together. That’s his face which means, this is still a bad idea.
Myla grins, bobs her brows and peels off her sneakers. My girl isn’t taking no for an answer. She strides onto the practice mat, the wooden sword remaining in her grip. Myla’s gaze locks with mine once more. A different kind of energy moves through her now.
Battle power.
It’s the coiled strength of a lioness about to pounce, and I love it. Myla gives me the barest of nods. Her words are there if unspoken. Attack me.
Happy to oblige.
I give my Master at Arms a sideways glance. “Here’s what I know, Nat.” Then I raise my sword and race straight for Myla.
Now, I’ve fought many opponents. Angels. Demons. Thrax. Each has their own set of unique skills. Demons are fast. Angels are strong. Thrax are clever. Myla combines all three of these into a single force that’s beyond anything I’ve ever witnessed. Her sword stays raised and ready, as if she’ll repel my strike with a counter-thrust.
Then, at the last possible second, Myla does something completely different.
With supernatural speed, Myla leans over just as I close in on her. My body slams against her side, shoving me off balance. At the same time, Myla’s tail loops around my neck. There’s a sensation of weightlessness as I’m flipped though the air. After that, a heavy thud slams against my spine as I land back-first onto the mat.
That was brilliant.
But Myla and I compete. And in a spirit of competition as urging the other person to be better, I simply must add some commentary here. I raise my right brow.
“You’re using wrestling moves in a sword fight, Myla.”
She sniffs. “Says the guy on the mat.”
Touché. In this situation, most courtiers would bow, scrape, and slink away. Not my Myla.
Arching my back, I spring onto my feet. Before, I wasn’t aware of how quickly Myla could move. Or how well she masked her true intentions. Now, I now better. No matter what strike I make, I need to be ready for anything.
Fair enough.
Lunging forward, I strike at an angle, top right to bottom left. Then I slice my blade from slide to side. My weapon goes for different targets. Hips. Arms. Neck. Myla keeps up, blow for blow. Her full mouth thins to a determined line.
My girl is an ace at blocking and defense. That said, I know she’s hating every second of this. The tight set of her shoulders says it all. My girl wants to crush me already and can’t.
I decide to give her an opening; see if she’ll take the bait. Spinning about, I prepare for a moving strike.
Extra force.
Extra impact.
Extra tempting for Myla to try and kick my head in.
Sure enough, my girl leaps into the air, jutting her out her feet to where my skull should be.
Yet I was expecting it this time, so I dodge before she can connect.
Without my face to stop her kick, Myla flies through nothingness before falling onto the mat like a stone. As her back slams against the floor, she lets out a little ‘oof.’ Adorable.
But not so cute that I won’t go for the close.
Leaping forward, I pin Myla to the matt, holding her wrists above her head.
“I warned you about wrestling moves, Myla.”
“And I should have warned you about my tail.” The way Myla says the word tail, I know what she expects. The arrow head should take me down, as it did to poor Husani. Even with the healing charms, that young lord still walked funny for days.
But Myla’s tail and I have a special relationship. Instead of punching me in the dick, the arrowhead end slides up my arm and musses my hair. I can’t help it; I fix Myla with a gloating grin.
“Some secret weapon you’ve got there,” I say.
She groans. “My inner demon and I don’t always see eye-to-eye.”
It’s the groan that does it. All sense of playful competition evaporates. All of a sudden, I’m extremely aware of the swell of her breasts against my chest. She writhes her wrists under my grip and smiles. Myla’s gaze locks onto my mouth. So tempting.
Nat steps up. His outline sits just outside my peripheral vision. “You’ve proved your point, my prince. I’ll fig
ht the young miss.” His voice takes on a nervous edge. “The pair of you need to be getting up.”
Myla licks her lips. “No,” she whispers. “Just one.” She shifts her hips just so, causing her leg to move between my thighs.
That does it.
Little by little, I lean in until our mouths meet. There it is. Sunshine and cinnamon, bursting through my senses. I press my tongue against her lips, she opens for me. Our kiss deepens.
Off in the distance, a bolt of lightning strikes, sending a flash of brightness through the ballroom. Low thunder rolls. Now, that’s definitely odd. Every time Myla and I kiss, there seems to be a lightning strike. Then again, who cares about weather when MYLA.
Nat’s meaty hand yanks on my shoulder. “That’s quite enough, you two.”
I frown. The weather may not stop me, but Nat certainly can. I roll to the side. The sensation is like stepping away from a blazing fireplace and into an arctic blast. I miss Myla’s touch already.
Nat ushers me off the practice mats. I stand nearby, my arms folded over my chest. Meanwhile, Nat waves Myla to the center mat. “Let’s begin the lesson.”
Myla beams once more.
A warm sense of satisfaction seeps through my limbs. Myla’s smiling her face off. Clearly, my girl is excited to get formal training. And here, I can give her this. I can provide.
Nat picks up a wooden sword from the floor, pauses, and eyes Myla. “You’re a little bit of hellfire, aren’t you, young miss?”
She shoots him a combination grin and wink. “I hope so.”
That’s when something happens that I’ve never seen before. Nat blushes. I’ve known the man my entire life, and I’ve never seen so much as a hint of pink on his skin. In fact, I wasn’t even sure if the man had actual capillaries. Yet here Nat is, blushing something fierce. Myla just made a friend for life.
A spark of hope lightens in my chest. Another ally for my future queen. One by one, we can win over the thrax. I just need to win over Myla first. While Nat runs through moves and practice sequences, my thoughts segue to sadder topic. I must leave soon. But at least, I can see her once before I go.
At length, Nat announces the end of the session. “That’s all the time we have, little miss. You done well.”
“Thanks, Nat.” Myla glistens with sweat, and yes, that’s an incredibly hot look on her. “That was great.”
Nat points at her nose. “Don’t forget to practice. An hour with the sword, every day.”
“I won’t.” Stepping across the floor, Myla sits with her back against the ballroom wall. I wont’ lie. I can’t miss that she’s panting a little bit while sweating. All that pinning my girl and kissing got me a tad overheated.
Nat drags the practice mats about, stacking them for cleanup. I grab a water bottle, cross the room, and take a seat beside Myla. That was the fun part of the day. Now comes the Aldred.
I offer her the plastic bottle. “Want some water?”
“Yes, please.” Myla’s tail slides the water from my hand. “And thanks for setting up training with Nat. He’s amazing.”
“I’m glad.” I drum my fingers on his knees. “I asked you here for another reason as well.” It may be me, but it feels like the tendrils of connection between us are transmitting nothing but sorrow now. Seconds pass. I don’t want this to end.
“I know what you’re about to say, Lincoln.” Myla takes a long sip from the bottle. “Walker told me about the Earl of Acca. About Adair. It’s pretty obvious why Nat’s playing chaperone today.”
“Walker told you?” The muscles along my jaw tighten. What a pain in my royal backside.
Walker won’t tell me anything … but he blabs my secrets to Myla?
“I’m gonna kill that guy.” I open my mouth, ready to complain about a lifetime of Walker quirkiness, when I remember my vow. “I told him to deliver a message, that’s it. He doesn’t even know you.”
“He was only trying to help,” Myla offers.
Turning, I face Myla directly. “And you still came here today?”
“Of course, I did.” She elbows me in the arm. “Besides, Walker said you had a master plan to defeat the earl.”
My anger at Walker fades. It seems he did more than tell Myla about my need for a chaperone. He also shared his confidence in my expanded anti-Acca treaty. I wink. “That I do.”
“See? Nothing to worry about.”
Myla shrugs, and it’s a movement that combines supreme confidence with something I haven’t felt in years. Hope. My life was supposed to be a never-ending list of duties. Protect my people. Prevent harm to humans. Lock away my heart. But to Myla? Life is a challenge that’s fun to attack. Lioness she is, Myla can’t wait to sink in her teeth to anything. Her strength awakens something in me.
“Most people crumble in front of the Earl, my parents included.” I angle my head, soaking her in from a different perspective. Still beautiful. “How are you possible?”
“I’ve wondered the same thing about you.” She curls her finger toward me and with that, I’m a goner. I lean in for another kiss.
Right before our mouths connect, Nat clears his throat. “Come on, you two.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Nat’s taking his role as chaperone rather seriously.” I take in a deep breath. “There’s one more thing you need to know. For my plan to work, my people must return to Antrum immediately.”
Myla’s shoulders droop. “When do you leave?”
“Next Saturday.”
She nods slowly before straightening her spine. “If these are our last days together, then I want to have fun.” She wags her brows again. “Maybe get into some more deep trouble.”
I all-out laugh. “More reperio demons?”
“No way. That’s so two weeks ago.”
“I have it.” I rise to full height. “There’s a party Thursday night, a kind of official send-off. We could be troublesome there.” I offer her my hand.
Myla slowly slides her fingers across my palm. Her touch sends a charge through me. “Sounds like a plan.” I pull Myla to standing.
Our bodies are so close. Almost touching, yet not. Our fingers remain laced together. I can’t let go. It seems that she can’t, either.
“Excellent,” I say at last. “I’ll have you added to the guest list.”
“Can you add my friends Cissy and Zeke, too?”
“Of course.” Nat keeps glaring in my direction, so I release Myla’s hand. My only comfort here is the fact that, if my extended treaty works, I’ll never have to release Myla again. “The Great Ladies of the court are organizing this event.” Meaning Mother is pulling their strings like marionettes. “It’ll be traditional thrax attire. Someone will be in touch about making you another gown.”
Myla winces. “I went through all that with the tournaments. I’m not really Ball Gown Girl. Maybe we can break-in somewhere again?”
At that memory, I can’t help but chuckle once more. “With the scrutiny I’m under, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. But I’d really like to see you at the ball.” I look into her eyes, trying to convey all that I feel, but cannot name. Little by little, I run my pointer finger alone my girl’s jaw-line. “Say yes, Myla.”
She flushes and it’s beyond lovely. “Yes.”
I’ve lived a life of emptiness and duty. With that yes, I’ll keep fighting for hope and Myla Lewis.
29
I stand outside the main doors to the Ryder mansion. Since tonight is the farewell ball, I’m wearing my royal formals: crown, tunic, boots, the works. Trumpets sound. The herald, a stooped and wary fellow named Woodrow, announces me.
“His Royal Highness, the High Prince Lincoln Vidar Osric Aquilus.”
That’s my cue. I march inside the main doors and enter the mansion’s reception. It’s a tall and round space that’s all fancy woodwork and marble floors. My pulse speeds. Everywhere I look, there are thrax. I quickly scan the faces, my nerves on edge.
None of these folks are Myla Lewis.
&n
bsp; It’s disappointing, but perhaps she’s in the ballroom proper. I march about the space, greeting different nobles and searching for my girl.
Still, no sign of her.
Adair approaches. “Don’t I look pretty?” she asks.
I frown. I didn’t believe anyone could actually start a conversation that way. Oh, wait. I’m fairly certain Adair did so at the garden party. Correction.
“Well?” asks Adair.
“I see you, and you’re you, and that’s that.” Not my best verbal sidestepping, but I’m in a hurry. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m heading back to reception.”
“Why? They aren’t letting people in anymore. The prince is always the last one announced. If you’re late, you must go home. And it doesn’t matter if you got your dress at the last minute or anything. That’s thrax tradition.” A smug look lights up her mismatched eyes.
Lady Adair has many faults. Fortunately, over-sharing is one of them. “Excuse me anyway.”
Adair grips my elbow and rapid-fire squeezes. “What will you do at reception?”
“We’ve talked about the touching, Adair.” I remove her grasp from my person. “And you know very well that I’m off to see Woodrow. I’ll make certain he announces Myla, even if you did somehow cause her to be late.”
“Who told you I made her late?”
“You did. Just now.”
“Well, that’s just … and I … while you’re … I have to go.” Adair stomps off to talk with her friends. No doubt, she’s planning her next move.
Like father, like daughter.
I catch Woodrow out back. He’s hanging solo by the mansion’s dumpster, having a smoke. He almost chokes on his cigarette as I approach. “My prince.”
“I’d like you to return to your post. More guests are due to arrive.”
Woodrow stubs out his cigarette on the asphalt. “But Lady Adair was so insistent. She got these rules from Queen Octavia.” He shivers. “I don’t want to break protocol or cause trouble.”
An idea appears. When it comes to Myla, that happens quite often. “I have great news for you, then. There’s been a new protocol called the Purgatory Prerogative. It states that when the prince allows it, anyone named Myla Lewis or her guests may arrive whenever they damned well please.”
Lincoln Page 26
