Page 37 of Their Witch Bride

He doesn’t listen and just stands there like a statue. Stubborn. Foolish. Irritating. But at least he doesn’t keep trying to help her.

The sun is making its way higher in the sky. Someone starts a stew cooking over the fire. Still, she doesn’t give up. On her next attempt, she manages to get one side of the tent up, but as she rushes to the other side, the first side collapses with a dramatic swoosh. Her foot gets caught in the fabric, and she stumbles, arms flailing in a wild dance to regain her balance.

“Whoa there!” She chuckles, steadying herself. “You didn’t have to try to take me out, Tent. I’m trying to help you here. To make you whole.”

Someone laughs, but covers it with a cough. Two men get up angrily and stalk away, shifting into wolves and racing out into the woods. Like they can’t handle watching this.

Weak. Pathetic. Cowards.

This is not what I expected. She’s putting on quite a show, but she’s neither frustrated nor angry. Instead of acting like a pampered princess, she’s acting… I don’t know, like she doesn’t mind any of this. Like us making her do this is perfectly okay. But no one, woman or princess, would think this was okay. To be treated with ridicule. To be treated as less than.

So what the hell is her deal?

The men still here keep looking at me. My head shake lets them know to leave her be. They look uncomfortable. Some are even glaring at me. I wanted to laugh at her and see her riled up, but this isn’t fun at all. Of course, the Princess Witch sucked all the fun out of it.

“She’s struggled enough, Drogo,” Rinan tells me as he takes a step towards her. I grab his arm.

“No.”

He yanks his arm away and returns to looking like a sentinel. The camp is now full of sentinels watching her, waiting for me to say the word before they all race to put it together for her.

Has she really won?

After one last collapse, she stands, looking thoughtful as she eyes the fabric. At last, she spreads the fabric out flat on the ground and lies on top of it. Using some of the material, she pulls it over her like a blanket, and stares up at the sky. “Best tent ever,” she declares with a satisfied nod. Her hands move behind her head like she’s relaxing in luxury, not like she’s the only woman out here in the wild with a bunch of men.

I shake my head and cross my arms, unable to keep the scowl off my face.

It’s absolutely inappropriate for a woman, for our wife and a princess, to sleep out in the open like this. She has to know that. She has to know that no man here can go into their tent and sleep comfortably knowing she’s out here.

Fucking hell.

I’m not sure what she’s trying to do here, but she foiled me brilliantly without seeming to try. She’s good.

I don’t stop Rinan this time when he tries to help her.

“The tent requires two people,” he tells her as he comes to kneel down beside where she lays.

She looks up at him, almost like she’s not quite sure if he’s there to help her or hurt her, which makes me feel uncomfortable in ways I don’t understand. “That must be why I sucked at putting it together.”

He runs a hand through his short blond hair, looking more ashamed than I like. “Yeah, sorry about that, but can I help you now?”

She shrugs. “You don’t have to. I don’t mind sleeping out here. It’s really no trouble.”

I scoff. I’m sure the princess, used to her fluffy bed and fine sheets, is perfectly okay sleeping on the ground. In the open. With a bunch of strange men.

Rinan gives her a small smile, and his smile… I swear it lingers too long. “I don’t mind. Really.”

She seems reluctant, but he offers her his hand, and she climbs out of the tent fabric. When she’s on her feet, again, I feel like they’re too close. And is he smelling her? Fuck.

I watch as she bounces around while she and Rinan put the tent up efficiently. There’s a spring to her step that I don’t understand. An ease in the smile dances across her face. It’s like she truly doesn’t hold the slightest grudge for what we just did, which doesn’t make sense. Witches are vengeful, heartless bitches.

None of this makes sense.

Regardless, this isn’t good for our plan. She’s a complication. An annoyance. And someone who seems to know just how to get her greatest enemies to sympathize with her.

Tara, the witch princess, is an unforeseen player, and I don’t know the true objective of her game, but I will figure it out.

Arlys returns having, surprisingly, changed. I wonder about it, but don’t ask. I just wait until he sits next to me, then quietly say, “The witch is trouble.”

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