Page 42 of Settle Down, Princess

“Shut up,” Arik snapped, but when he turned back to me, the smirk was back. “Alright, Princess, you’re on. Though perhaps not with your tongue. I’m already about to pound in some heads for looking overly long at your arse.” He shifted his focus over my shoulder, and I looked behind me to see a drunken man leaning so far back in his seat that he threatened to tip over. “You’ve got a mop behind there?” Arik asked the innkeeper.

“Of course, sir.”

“Then if you spill a drop, you’ll have to clean it up.”

“Certainly, but I—”

“The entire floor.” Arik’s arms crossed his chest as his smile grew wider. “The girls won’t have to stay back tonight to mop.” He poked a finger in my direction. “You’ll do it.”

That would put a severe kink in my plans. My jaw tightened as I considered the idea, but I knew what my answer would be. I needed him to go and sit down as I drugged the beer, and so I’d need to carry the lot of them over to the men for them to drink. When they grew affected, I’d announce that I was tired, go to bed and wait for them to lose themselves in a lustful display with the serving women…

My brows creased as I considered that idea, imagining Arik pulling a woman down on his lap, shoving her blouse up, just as the sailor had done in the pub on the docks. Then he’d offer her breasts to Silas or Roan or even Creed… I shoved the thought away, coming back to the room with a snap, and I waved my hand at Arik, dismissively.

“You’re making a fuss over such a small thing.” His eyes darkened. “Go sit and you’ll see.”

I didn’t wait to see if he obeyed me, because that was not the way of royalty. You acted like there was no other legitimate possibility, which was enough to ensure compliance most of the time. So he could’ve watched over my shoulder as I opened my ring and poured dark red powder not dissimilar to colour of the stout into four stouts.

But he didn’t. The innkeeper saw what I did, though.

I slid a gold coin across the bar, hoping it bought not a barrel of ale, but his silence, before plonking the tankards on the tray and hefting it up. My muscles strained but, although Arik might have found it hard to believe, this was familiar.

In Stormare we observed a ritual on the shortest day of the year. All the women of court served the men as if we were maids, sweeping smoothly around the tables, the movements having become so stylised over time to become a dance. My grandmother said the ritual had its roots in something ancient, from pagan times, when a commoner was crowned king for a day and allowed to rule the city from sun up to sun down until he was… I squared my jaw and held the tray high, my back ramrod straight, as I sallied forth.

Men watched with eyes shining with greed as I passed by. Some tried to get to their feet to take my load from me, but just as the serving girls did, I danced out of their way, weaving my way between the tables, towards the four men. They were the ones I needed to serve, not some labourer from the field or the blacksmith’s apprentice, so I kept my eyes trained upon them, all the way until I’d reached the table.

“We didn’t discuss what I’d get if I won, did we?” Arik shot me a baleful look as I placed the tray on the table, then grabbed the mug I’d set away from the others and took a long drink. “Perhaps you could clean the floors for the serving maids tonight?”

The others just chuckled, taking the tankards I offered them. I pretended to be preoccupied with my victory as I sipped at the heavy beer, but really, I watched the four of them out of the corner of my eye.

“You’re a dab hand with a mop, aren’t you, Arik?” Roan said, jostling the other man with his elbow, but Arik barely moved apart from dragging his tankard closer.

“He certainly had to mop a lot of floors during our training.” Silas stared at the foam of his beer and for a moment I was terrified he’d spied the roseblood. “Cleaning the latrines with a hand cloth for insubordination.”

“Using a nail file to get rid of all the grot accumulated between the floorboards for insubordination,” Roan added.

“Cleaning the blood off the training ground.” Creed’s addition seemed to suck all the pleasure from the moment. “Over and over until—”

“To the fallen.”

Arik thrust his arm up and men across the room did the same, not knowing why. The other three men at the table did, reaching up to tap the rims of their tankards with his before bringing them to their lips.

Drink it down, I thought furiously. Drink it all down. Because whoever’s death it was that they commemorated, I wouldn’t be joining them, that I swore.

Chapter 24

Creed

Something was wrong.

I knew what a heat was: my fathers had given me the talk about the wolves and the wasps when I was hovering on the edge between pup and male. And that’s what this felt like. My hands, then my claws, raked at the clasps at my neck, yanking at my leather armour, toggles straining, then breaking as I forced it open.

I was hot, far too hot.

And so were my brothers.

Sweat prickled across Roan’s brow as he stared at the princess, his eyes tracing her form in that damn dress that displayed shoulders as pale and perfect as the first snow of winter. Her gown revealed as much as it covered, and I needed it to do one or the other, my claws flexing as I considered which one to choose. Then those slender little arms went up in the air as she stretched, then yawned so hard her jaw cracked, reminding me of the last time she’d struggled to open it far enough.

Around Roan.

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