Page 32 of Settle Down, Princess

I frowned, having no idea what he meant. Silas sat forward, elbows on his knees as he stared up at me.

“Stormarian girls are taught to dance, aren’t they?”

“Of course.”

“And when you dance, who leads?”

His green eyes burned into mine, seeming to will me to understand. I was no dunce, but I couldn’t seem to work out what he could mean.

“The man, of course, but—”

“Imagine the rocking of the carriage is the man. He’s got your hands clasped in his and is whisking you around the dance floor. Find the rhythm and then let go.”

This was ridiculous. Silas just wanted to watch me fall, hopefully face first and right between his… I stopped that train of thought and tried to do as he said because, while each one of them might be infuriating, they were skilled at what they did. Roan’s injuries were much less red and free of the characteristic weeping that heralded an infection. Creed had given me another draught of the calming tea, helping my stomach settle when we got underway. I frowned and then let my hand relax so that only my fingertips touched the ceiling.

Instantly I swayed wildly, stumbling forward until my hands slapped down to stop me falling. Silas watched me with brows creased slightly as I tried again. Feel the rhythm, he’d said? My dance master had always said the same when introducing a new piece of music. But a beat was far easier to detect than the random jostlings of a carriage travelling at full speed, and my eyes narrowed as I tried to find the impossible.

There.

Sway, sway, SWAY. It felt like there was a series of smaller movements, then one bigger one. Testing my hypothesis, I observed the pattern repeating itself, not perfectly, but near enough. I forgot Silas as my hands loosened their hold, allowing my body to anticipate and counter the violent shifts side to side, and I was already veering to the left when the carriage went to the right.

I was doing it.

When my eyes found his, they were sparkling with amusement, but there was more there. Pride? That seemed an odd emotion for him to experience right now, but I clung to it like I did the ceiling. A5r4s he watched, I let my hands relax till my fingers were flexing in time with the carriage, then I let them pull free altogether. I was standing, bloody standing there, completely unaided, my weight shifting in response to every movement. Silas nodded slowly.

“The problem with broadcasting your strikes,” he explained, lifting his shoulder for emphasis, “is you declare to your enemy what you’re about to do. If you’re strong enough to take them down anyway, it doesn’t matter, but if you’re not…”

I wasn’t, that was clear. While I was small in stature, my family had compounded that by ensuring I was brought up weak and dependent. The only knives I’d handled had been those at dinner, so I took the blade he offered me and listened carefully.

“Then you need the element of surprise. Your size, your sex will help with that. People won’t anticipate you being a threat.” His eyes seemed to take in all too thoroughly just how small I was and all my feminine attributes. “But if you make clear you’re going to strike at me with your right shoulder, I’ll be able to predict that and deflect your blow.”

He nodded at me to try again, and I hefted the blade in my hand. I saw in my mind what I needed to do, but instead I pitched forward. Keeping to the rhythm of the carriage felt like a full-time job, one I couldn’t defer to attack him. So the moment my weight shifted onto my front foot, the rest of me came with it, propelled by a particularly violent shift of the carriage. I let out a little shriek, for I was no longer trying to strike at Silas, rather, I was afraid I’d succeed. The knife buried itself into the cushions right by his thigh and I came tumbling with it.

“Gods…” I gasped into a very hard, very masculine chest. I slapped at it disgracefully in my haste to pull away to assess the damage. “Tell me I didn’t hurt you. Tell me I didn’t…” But as I yanked my hand free, I froze when I saw a neat tear in his leather breeches and… I swallowed hard… blood.

Only a scratch, but it seemed so very bright against his pale skin. Then the thin line welled with blood and that had me moving. I grabbed a woollen blanket that had been left inside for my comfort, pressing it down on the cut to the sound of his hiss.

“I’m so, so sorry. I wasn’t ready,” I babbled. “I didn’t mean to cut you, though what were we thinking, giving me an actual knife to practise with in a bloody carriage? Will it need stitches? Surely Master Creed—”

“Shh…” His hand was cool to the touch as it covered mine before he squeezed my fingers. “It’s fine, honestly.”

But it wasn’t. I could hear the pain in his voice, turning it ragged and rough, as my focus jerked up. He was hurt…

Well, that much was obvious, but his response? He looked deathly pale in that moment, except for two bright red spots forming in his cheeks. His chest heaved as he sucked in breaths, then his tongue flicked out to moisten his bottom lip.

Why did I follow its passage so closely? Why did I openly gape? Because while I’d not had a lot of experience with this, I was starting to become a keen observer of male desire. It was my means of power, of influence, giving me an ability to cut a man’s knees out from under him just as men used knives or swords. Silas was staring at me like I was the most precious thing in the world and that didn’t make sense.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I whispered.

“No, I don’t suppose you did,” he rasped.

“Nor ruin your pants. My needlework is exemplary. I’m sure I’ll be able to repair them for you.”

“That’s not really a concern right now, lass.”

He reached up with a shaking hand, then traced the line of my jaw. Both of us were caught up in some strange spell as it trailed down, his thumb brushing my bottom lip.

“But you’re bleeding…”

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