Page 24 of Settle Down, Princess

A good thief is always aware of his environment and the people he shares it with, seeing all the same things others missed, but there was only one set of reactions I was interested in. Jessalyn stiffened as I hauled myself up into the saddle, but her body softened against mine when I settled. The same instincts I’d honed to ensure my safety fed me so much more information.

She still smelled slightly of roseblood, the tangy floral taint that stained her skin only partially masked by the orange blossom perfume she wore. Her hips were narrow on the saddle in front of me, her arse tiny, fitting perfectly between my thighs. And then there was the raw silk of her hair, coiled up in tight braids at the base of her neck. I longed to pull them free, thrust my hands into all that softness, then push my face into the mass. Instead, as we were still waiting for the others to mount up, I decided to drop the reins to let my horse graze a little more. This would be the best time to show her how to handle a blade, so I jerked a knife free of my boot and held it before her.

“What do you know of the different parts of a knife?” I asked as the others readied themselves to leave.

“This is the bit you grip, and that’s the bit you stab people with,” she replied.

“The bit you grip…” I let out a low hiss. “This is the blade and this channel here…” I ran my finger along the groove, the sensuous feel of steel against my fingertip just as pleasurable as having her in my arms. “It’s to give somewhere for the blood to go… when you stab someone.” I turned the knife on its side, to show her, then kicked my horse into a walk to follow Arik’s lead. “Mine is a full-tang knife. The same steel used in the blade goes through the handle, with the wood sandwiched on either side for more comfortable wielding. It’s much less likely to break because the steel runs through the entirety of the blade.”

“Is mine full tang?”

I tried very hard not to watch her hand delve into whatever mysterious pocket was built into her skirts, nor to react to seeing a brief flash of flesh that was there and then gone again. My arms could not help but tighten around her just slightly at the sight of her hand on the knife once more.

“Gods, no,” I said, prompting her to turn it on its side and showing her that no metal ran through the body of the handle, or if it did, it had only a slender tang. “Your blade could easily break off when you stab something. Usually this sort of knife has it just glued into place.”

“So why would someone make something so useless?”

“It was probably designed to be a belt knife, with no greater burden placed upon it but to slice a man’s meat up for him.”

“Can I get a proper knife then? Will we be stopping at any villages with a marketplace? Or a sword master’s forge?”

“Not likely, Your Majesty…” I repeated her title to remind myself of it, not to point out to her the social distance between us, but that didn’t explain why I pushed my knife into her hands. It had been given to me by my father when I was first blooded, and the nicks on the blade were testament to its age. “But I’d be honoured if you’d accept this one instead.”

“You’d give me your knife?”

I didn’t see the trees or the road, or my brothers ahead or beside me, not even Creed perched up on the coach box as he manoeuvred the carriage along. All I had eyes for was Jessalyn as she twisted in the saddle.

“It’s just a knife,” I assured her, “and I have many.”

“Well…” This close to her, I caught the slight blush in her cheeks, so much more delicate than last night’s drug-induced flush. “I accept your gift most gratefully, Sir Silas.”

“Just Silas,” I corrected. “No noble blood in my veins, unless the king of thieves is now recognised in courts across the continent now. No?” I smiled wryly as she looked at me a little uncertainly. “Now, to lessons. You now know that wielding one-handed gives you greater flexibility of movement, but how should you grip the handle?”

“Like this?”

I groaned as she gripped it like it was an eating utensil, but not just because of her terrible form. It was more that seeing the ebony wood against her creamy skin made much more vivid thoughts arise. Of her hand wrapped around my hardness. No, it would be better for her to have the handle of the knife in her palm as she gripped my cock, pressing the wood into me…

“Not quite.” I loosened the reins, crossing them over the pommel and squeezing my knees so that my horse knew to walk on, plodding after the others at a sedate pace. I took Jessalyn’s hands in mine, resisting the urge to rub my thumbs against her soft, smooth skin, and then held her fingers around the handle in the correct grip. “There are several different ways you can grip a knife hilt, and it depends on what your purpose is…”

I knew I was plodding straight into hell without even a look over my shoulder, but I didn’t care. You had to take your pleasures where you found them, that was the motto of a thief, because you never knew when the noose might tighten around your neck. My throat might be tight, every breath one I had to fight to take as I clasped the princess close, but there was nowhere else I wanted to be.

It was when she’d inevitably slip free of my grip that I’d be in trouble.

I couldn’t focus on that now. I took her through the different forms and strikes, remembering all the lessons I’d been taught and then passing them on, because it was only then I could ignore the persistent ache in my body.

Chapter 15

I knew exactly what this was now. All the coy allusion and doublespeak of the court had melted away after last night. Silas was aroused by me. I didn’t have to try to interpret anything. I knew it from his erect cock pressing into my bottom with every rock of the saddle.

And my response was just as honest: I pushed back against it.

One, because I wanted to. That surprised me—that a wantonness persisted after the fire of roseblood died down—so perhaps it was a character flaw rather than the drug itself. Either way, I felt his whole body stiffen each time I did. His instruction did not falter for a second, but I heard the ragged rasps of his breath grow faster. And two, I’d need to perform what magic I could to lull all of them into a state of oblivion, so that when I made my escape…

“If you hold it this way and strike down, the power from your entire arm is behind it.” He demonstrated, stabbing into the air. “Now, you try.”

I felt the warmth of his hand on the handle as I gripped it in a way I thought was a perfect mirror of his. Silas fussed with my fingers, shifting them into a position that better matched what he wanted and that’s when inspiration hit. I performed the strike, aiming at the poor horse’s ears, not even riffling his mane on the downward stroke. Silas took the knife from me again and showed me the next move.

I deliberately misinterpreted his instructions, because then he was forced to press closer and move my hand into the right position. Every time I got it wrong, he made me do it again and again, each time correcting my grip, until finally he slid his hand over mine, helping me perform the strike. I strived to memorise the way my muscles felt—the balance of the knife in my hand, then its sharp trajectory downward—promising myself I’d practise it over and over again until it came as naturally as breathing. If Silas was fool enough to teach me how to defend myself, I’d learn my lessons well.

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