Page 16 of Bloodguard

Her petite features soften with palpable sadness. “Terrible, Maeve, justawful. What are we going to do?”

“It’s not we. It’sme. And I’ve already come up with a new plan.” I cross my arms, tilting my chin up. “I’m going to marry a Bloodguard.”

Giselle nods thoughtfully, flopping onto my fluffy white bed now free of estrellas. When she turns her head, I know she’s ready to talk, or at the very least tear my idea apart. “What size?” she asks.

My brows knit together. “What size Bloodguard?” I question.

“What size coffin, Maeve? Are you mad?” She throws her arms out for emphasis. “Bloodguards kill, like, everything and anyone in their path. And you want to marry one?”

My spine stiffens as I straighten to my full height. “If that’s what it takes to free Papa, I’ll do it.”

“Which Bloodguard, Maeve? Ditrese the bear shifter is on wife number three, due to the ‘accidental’ demises of the first two.” She blows out a breath. “Damn shame. You would havelovedshaving his back twice a week.”

“Giselle…”

She holds out a finger. “Oh, there’s Aeet, the mage, but while she likes women, she’s so traumatized from the arena, she won’t leave her cottage. A million gold coins. That’s how much she won. And she’s used all of it to fortify her home against, well, everyone.” She lifts her head. “No one who’s tried to enter it has yet returned. Are you planning to be the first?”

“Giselle,” I say.

“And let’s not forget Situ. ‘Where are my toes? Where are my toes? Has anyone seen my toes? I’ll kill you for hiding my toes!’ I mean, how many times can you tell a wizard he ate his own toes before he starts to believe you?”

“That’s just a rumor.”

“Is it, Maeve?” She shakes her head, quieting me as she repositions against the pillows. “There are only five Bloodguards in Arrow, all either dangerous to you or dangerously loyal to the regent. The other two moved as far away from the arena as they could go. And can you blame them?”

“No,” I admit. My sister is right. Seven Bloodguards in my lifetime… Seven deeply traumatized individuals, the latest two faithfully serving Vitor. “All that senseless death…”

I move over to the wardrobe, grab the hem of my dress in my fists, and yank it over my head. I toss it into the basket next to my bed and wish it was as easy to get rid of the memories from today.

I pull my wardrobe open, grab breeches, and tug them on with jerky movements. My hands tremble as I fasten the hooks on a clean shirt, and I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing pulse. “But someone new will soon become a Bloodguard. I just know it. And I will make a deal with him to be my husband as well.”

“This is an absurd plan, Maeve. No.” She scooches up on the bed, crossing her arms and glaring at me. “No. Absolutelyno.”

I don’t bother arguing. There really is no other choice.

The door to my bedchamber creaks open. I don’t have to turn to know it’s Neela, the matron troll who’s cared for us since we were children. She was our governess and tutor and family, which is why Neela was more than happy to come with us when Father, Giselle, and I left the castle in exchange for this manor.

Her extra-wide shoes tap against the oak floors as she walks over.

She blinks her small black eyes, her hooked nose crinkling as she tilts her head at me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“A lady of your position should dress to impress,” she reminds me in a comment that bears remarkable similarity to Vitor’s. She’s short for a troll—coming only up to my shoulder—and ancient, as the gray tuft of hair on top of her head suggests. Her large ears droop, an unfair show of disappointment. “If you seek the throne and the crown that comes with it, you should appear worthy.”

“I’m wearing a dress, Neela,” Giselle says with a wide smile.

“That’s nice, dear,” she says, her gravelly voice cracking with age.

If Giselle had long ears, they would droop as well. Neela wasn’t trying to hurt her, but the naturally brusque woman hit a very sore spot nonetheless.

Father and Giselle were given titles by Papa following his marriage to Father. Father was an accomplished soldier but had no connection to royal bloodlines. He was accepted into the court favorably due to his military accomplishments as the former High Guard of Arrow. His daughter, Giselle, never was. Short and supposedly lacking the magical prowess of her mage mother, she was snubbed.

A distant horn blasts, announcing the start of another match. “I’m going to see Papa,” my sister says, and a pinch of jealousy tightens my chest. Papa has refused my visits thus far.

I nod, and Giselle heads back down the stairs, the gentle aroma of jasmine oil trailing behind her. I hope the tincture I concocted to ease her discomfort is working.

Neela waits until Giselle’s light steps reach the lower level before saying, “She’s upset.” My hands disappear within her large grasp as she gives mine a gentle squeeze. “And so are you.”

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