We reach the hall, and the guards close the doors behind us, giving us privacy. Though not the flighty type, I almost jump when they thunk shut.
Attempting to look disinterested, I glance at Irving. With his arms crossed, he watches me. His expression is far from friendly.
Turning from him, I study a painting on the wall. The silence thickens, growing more uncomfortable by the moment.
“Why did you leave?” he finally asks.
How dare he follow me here and question my decision—especially when I was party to that horrifying conversation in the hall.
I whirl around, my eyes flashing. “Let’s start with a question for you. Why would you follow me here? We both know I did you a favor by leaving.” I take a step closer. “You’re free. Go find a barmaid to complain to. Perhaps she’ll jog your memory as to why you didn’t want to marry me in the first place.”
He narrows his eyes—and what nice eyes they are—and a slow, angry smile curves his lips. “Can you blame me? Why would I want to marry a spoiled, privileged princess who pouts and takes off the moment her feelings are hurt?”
I suck in a breath. No one ever speaks to me like that—usually because I have a sword at my hip. I miss the comforting weight of it now.
“I’ll ask you again,” I say once I’m sure my voice won’t quaver with indignation. “Why are you here?”
He rolls his shoulders and looks away. “I’ve come to bring you back with me.”
A laugh bubbles in my throat, and I don’t bother to hold it back. “And this is your idea of wooing me?” Feeling bold when I see another flash of irritation cross his face, I step forward, forcing him to shift back. “I’m afraid the rumors about you are wrong.”
His eyes flash, and there’s a challenge there. “What rumors?”
Smiling, I take another step closer.
There’s really little difference between an argument and a duel. In both, you want the upper ground, and for the moment, I have it.
“That you’re dashing and debonair,” I purr. “That you could—and do—seduce any woman you please.” I scoff. “You probably started and spread the gossip yourself.”
Suddenly, his hands are on my shoulders, and he twirls me around, pushing me against the wall. He leans down so we’re eye to eye, a confident smile on his face. “They’re not rumors.”
My heart hammers in my chest. Just like that, I lost my advantage.
“It won’t work with me,” I lie.
Slowly, with maddening control, he brushes my hair behind my ear and leans close. “That, Princess, is because I’m not trying.”
Gulping, I ignore the heat in my chest and the flutters in my stomach.
“I don’t want your pretty words or your lies,” I say. “You sailed a fortnight to speak with me. Be blunt.”
Irving pulls back just enough he can look me in the eye, and his anger bubbles to the surface again. “My father blames me for you leaving. If I don’t return—with you by my side—he’s cutting me off and naming his third cousin’s seven-year-old boy as his heir.”
Unable to help myself, and feeling wicked, I grin. “I daresay that will put a cramp in your lifestyle.”
At the end of his patience, Irving smiles, shaking his head. “No, because you’re coming back with me.”
I shift away slightly. “I’m not marrying you.”
Without a word, his thumb shifts, and he strokes the side of my neck. I freeze, terrified to move for fear he’ll realize how much I’m enjoying his touch. Our eyes meet, and his expression changes, softens. Slowly, he shakes his head—more to himself than me—and growls low in his throat.
“What?” I demand.
“You are my least favorite person right now.” Irving pauses and makes another soft noise of frustration. “But you’re so…”
I hold my breath, unable to even blink.
His hand drifts again to my hair, and he wraps it in the strands at the base of my neck before he breathes, “You’re beautiful.”
My knees go weak, and I’m barely able to hold myself up. My eyes drift to his lips just to see them curl in a knowing, smug smirk.
Realizing I’ve been duped, I snarl and shove him away. In response, he raises his eyebrows, crosses his arms, and smiles with triumph.
Storming off, leaving him as I walk blindly down the hall, I seethe. Once I’m a safe distance away, I yell over my shoulder, “I’m not marrying you.”
“Don’t fight it, Princess,” he calls after me. “We both know you find me irresistible.”
***
I twirl, ducking Rogert’s attack, and lunge forward before he regains his balance. He jumps back, barely avoiding my blade, and then attacks again. I whirl to the side, taking him off guard and circle behind him as he staggers. Quick and sure, I knock him in the back of the knees with the blunt sword, sending him to the ground.
Our small crowd roars their approval as I point the tip of my sword between my knight’s shoulder blades.
Breathing hard, I say, “I win.”
“That was a low blow.” Rogert rolls over, his face red with exertion, He grins. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud of you.”
I match his grin with one of my own and glance over my shoulder at Barowalt, seeking his approval. The remaining seven elite look on, laughing at Rogert.
Grandmother’s estate doesn’t have a true practice yard, so we gather in the courtyard, sparring amongst the Ptarma lilies. Milly sits in the shade of a tree, not far from us, painting. When our gazes meet, she rolls her eyes. My lady-in-waiting hates to see me hot and sweaty—like a mule—as she so kindly puts it. Then she glances at Rogert, who’s still sprawled on the ground, and a smile twitches her lips. She shakes her head and goes back to her properly domestic pursuits.
Barowalt smiles, but he’s still not impressed. “You hesitated.”
“I didn’t,” I argue. “I got behind him, and I took him to the ground.”
“Did the princess hesitate?” Barowalt calls to his men.
One by one, the knights agree with their king.
Huffing out a breath, I push a limp lock of hair out of my eyes. “It’s not a very sportsmanlike tactic, is it?”
Barowalt gives me a wry look—the same look he always gives me when the conversation comes up—and crosses his arms. “Are you as tall as Rogert?”
Here we go.
“No,” I answer.
“Are you as muscular?”
Bored, I slide my sword in its sheath. “No.”
“Thank goodness,” Milly pipes up, making the men laugh.
Barowalt flashes her a slightly-amused warning look and turns his attention back to me. “What advantage do you have?”
“I’m faster.”
“And?” he asks.
“More agile.”
“And?”
Rogert leans on a pillar near Milly. “She’s prettier.”
I hide my smile so Barowalt will finish his lecture and let me silently bask in my win. “I’m a smaller target.”
“But all those mean nothing if you hesitate.” My brother’s eyes bore into mine. “One half-second of indecision could be the difference between life and death.”
Letting out a long exhale, I nod. “I know.”
He eyes me for a moment longer, nods, and turns back to the group. “Who’s next?”
There are days it’s easy to forget that Barowalt, at twenty-three, is only three years older than I am. He seems so much older. My brother may be a young king, but he wears the crown well.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s hard on him, leaving his kingdom in the hands of our uncle. It’s the way it’s always been done when the Order is needed, but this is the first he’s had to leave for an extended period of time. Brookraven is only as large as a good-sized province to begin with, and it’s easily tended by a small number of related nobles. Still, I wonder if he feels like he’s deserting our people.
“I want to see you fight, Your Majesty,” Milly calls out. She can�
��t say his title without drawing it out, teasing him—flirting with him.
“Against who?” Asher, the knight assigned to Ptarma, asks.
My friend sets her paints aside, taking her time because she enjoys the attention, and rises to her feet. She taps her lips and walks down the line as if inspecting the men.
Barowalt wears a bored expression, and Milly glances at him, amused. Finally, she stops in front of Keven, a strapping twenty-year-old knight with a mane of blond hair and cornflower blue eyes. Always patient with Milly despite her constant attempts to rile Barowalt, Keven smiles at her.
She taps him on his mail-covered chest, and he steps forward, eager to fight.
My brother’s eyes narrow only slightly, but Milly pretends to ignore him as she glides back to her seat. Though she’s never admitted it, I know what game she’s playing. She thinks if she pushes Barowalt over the edge, eventually his control will snap, and he’ll accidentally admit he’s in love with her in a passionate and wildly romantic display.
They’ve been dancing around each other for ten years now. I’m not sure how well her plan is working.
Keven meets Barowalt, and they study each other, circling. Exhausted, I sit on a low wall and accept a ladle of water from Asher.
Barowalt strikes first, as usual. He rarely has the patience to wait. They continue to circle, looking for weaknesses, and I yawn behind my hand.
I didn’t sleep well last night. My argument with Irving kept circling in my head, keeping my mind from falling still. He’s a fool if he thinks I’ll marry him now.
After I drink my fill, I hand the ladle back to Asher. He glances at the men, and then he quietly says, “Can I have a moment with you?”
“Of course.” As I stand, my muscles scream out a protest.
I’m going to be sore tomorrow. A fortnight is too long to go without practicing.
I follow Asher toward the well, where he hangs the ladle. Since the Order placed him here, I haven’t seen him in several years. He’s taller than I remember, his jaw a little more defined. He still wears his dark hair short, but now there’s a constant shadow along his jaw. It looks good on him.
Like me and Barowalt, Asher has family here. It’s why he was the perfect choice for this post.
Asher leans against the well. “I’ve been hearing strange reports of rumors from the villages along the coast on the southern side of the kingdom.”
“Strange reports?”
“Gossip is spreading that there have been animal attacks…” He shakes his head, looking as if he thinks what he’s about to say is foolish. “Dragon attacks.”
“A dragon?” I give him an incredulous look. “In Ptarma?”
The beasts rarely venture as far south as Triblue. The thought of them flying over the sea to a subtropical island is absurd. They tend to stay close to their icy lairs in the far north of Elden, especially now that a true alliance has been made between them and the new king and queen of Errinton.
I shake my head, but as I’m about to speak, he cuts me off.
“I know.” Asher shrugs. “But it’s enough of an oddity here that I thought you should be informed. Especially now.”
Thinking, I run my fingers over the rough stones at the lip of the well. “Do you think these attacks are related to ours?”
“I don’t know what I think.” He passes a hand over his face, looking weary.
Setting my hand on his arm, I ask, “How are you faring?”
Asher was my first kiss, my first young love. Would something real have grown between us if he hadn’t been sent to Ptarma? Would he have saved me from that embarrassing sham of a wedding?
It doesn’t matter at this point. The feeling is gone, faded with time. I have no desire to resurrect it now.
The knight meets my eyes, and from his expression, I wonder if he’s reliving the same memories. “I have the largest loss in over two hundred years on my hands, Audette.”
It’s longer than that, but I don’t think he needs reminding.
“I don’t know how it happened.” He lets out a slow breath. “I just don’t know.”
Our group hollers out, yelling and cheering. Keven is on the ground, and Barowalt stands over him, his sword at the blond knight’s throat. With a smile, Barowalt abruptly stands back and offers the defeated man his hand.
Keven accepts Barowalt’s goodwill, rises to his feet, and shakes out his glorious mass of golden locks. “I’ll win for you next time, Milly.”
“I have no doubt,” Milly calls back.
As soon as the knight looks away, her eyes drift to Barowalt.
Laughing under my breath, I examine my blade and let my mind drift back to Asher’s words.
A dragon in Ptarma? It just doesn’t seem possible.
CHAPTER FOUR
Milly and I weave through the streets of nearby Kallert, the largest village in northern Ptarma and the closest to both the castle and my family’s estate. It’s late afternoon on a market day, and with the good weather, the merchants are thick. They sell their wares, shouting out their value to whoever is willing to listen to them. A few performers sit on corners, playing their flutes and collecting coins. They’re not a garish lot, unlike the gypsies on Elden’s mainland. Instead, they are the children of fishermen and farmers.
As the sun sets, the streets become busier, lending a festival spirit to the evening. Keven, our guard for the night, follows, silent and intimidating. Without Barowalt here to torment, Milly doesn’t pay the poor knight much attention.
“Look at these.” Milly stops in front of a stand of brightly-colored flowers.
In addition to the blooms, the woman also has bulbs for sale.
“We should buy some and plant them at home,” Milly says.
I shake my head. “Brookraven’s winters are too cold. They’d never make it to spring.”
Looking disappointed, Milly steps away. “I won’t miss that. I’m glad we’re here instead.”
“We won’t be here that long.”
I only plan on staying in Ptarma for a month at the very most.
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind missing a winter.” She follows me. “There are flowers on the balcony in my chambers, growing in pots and on the ledges. It’s like a tiny hanging garden.”
“Mine too.” Angling my head toward the sun, I close my eyes. “I do like it here.”
“Then why are you in such a hurry to return home?”
Continuing down the street, I say, “I’m not, really. I just don’t feel at ease when I’m away.”
“You would have been away indefinitely if you’d gone through with the wedding.”
She must remind me. My mind, again, drifts to Irving.
He’s obnoxious. Self-important. Charming.
Growling under my breath, I push the thoughts away.
We’re visiting the village for a reason. Since Asher mentioned the dragon sightings, they’ve been haunting me. Something is strange about the coincidence of the timing. Still, I haven’t mentioned it to Barowalt yet.
A respectable-looking tavern just ahead of us has its windows and doors open to the breeze. Like most of the structures in Ptarma, the tavern is built of various shades of white and ivory stone. Clay tiles line the roof, and iron scrollwork decorates the windows and balconies. A few patrons linger outside, talking, and the smell of baked confections wafts from inside.
“Let’s stop here.” I’m already walking toward the door.
The tavern is busy, and people filter in behind us. A man accidentally jostles me, and Keven steps forward, silently threatening. The man glances at our trio, murmurs his apologies, and hurries from the tavern.
I glance at the knight and smile. “Don’t let that kind of power go to your head.”
Keven’s blond hair is contained today, pulled back at his neck, but he’s still my golden knight. He’s only a few months older than I am, and like most of the knights of the Order, we practically grew up together. He comes off as quiet and reserved, but he�
��s incredibly loyal.
I like him immensely, and I prefer to have him on guard duty over flirtatious Rogert.
Keven smiles at me now, and we nudge our way through the crowds and find an empty spot in the corner. A pretty brunette barmaid spots us and immediately makes her way to our table, eying Keven as she sashays through the crowd.
Milly and I share a glance, both of us working to contain our laughter.
This is the way it is with our elite. Women fall at their feet, and men try to emulate them. It’s gone to some of their heads, but they all know their mission takes precedence over everything else. My father hand-picked each one. Though many preen like peacocks, they have valiant hearts and level heads.
“I’ll have tea, please,” Milly tells the girl.
“And you?” the girl asks, looking down at Keven through her lashes. “Mead? Ale?” She leans close. “We even have some of the rum the sailors favor.”
“Cider is fine, thank you.”
She gives him a hopeful look. “That’s all you want?”
He nods, a pleasant but closed smile on his face. “Cider is all.”
I tell the disappointed girl I want cider as well, and she disappears into the crowd.
“Fancy meeting you here,” a man says from behind me.
Milly’s eyes flutter wide and Keven tenses, his smile instantly vanishing.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Irving, not needing to turn to know who the man at my shoulder is.
I’m not sure when I memorized the timber of his voice, the cadence of his words. It’s not a good thing.
Irving comes round the table, pulls out an empty chair between me and Milly, and sits as if he’s been invited. There’s a friendly smile on his face, like the one he wore the day I met him in the hall, and he turns it on Milly.
“We haven’t been properly introduced.” He takes her hand and bows over it. “I’m Irving, my lady.”
Easily swayed by a bit of charm, Milly raises her eyebrows at me and then turns her attention back to the prince. “The pleasure is mine, Your Highness.”
“And your name?” He flashes her a dazzling smile.
She blinks. “Milly.”
Audette of Brookraven (The Eldentimber Series Book 4) Page 3
