Page 18 of Downfall of a Princess

“Hey, isn’t that the same slave who was flogged yesterday?” Gem tipped her chin at him. “They shouldn’t allow a criminal on the palace grounds. I’ll have to speak with his owner.”

Something about that man kept drawing my attention to him. His height and size made him stand out, but it wasn’t just that.

I wondered what he was thinking when he started that fight. Hadn’t he known he’d be punished? Aggression like that wasn’t tolerated, the law was clear on it. If he was harassed by the others, why didn’t he file a complaint with his owner about the other slaves’ behavior instead?

“He isn’t hurting anyone, is he?” I replied to Gem’s concerns.

Salas’s sudden appearance in my vicinity unsettled me. Even from a distance, I felt his presence with my skin. Tearing my stare away from him, I set the puppy down. She immediately took off along the patio in chase of a large butterfly that fluttered by.

“Here, Ria.” I grabbed a morsel of cooked beef liver from the crystal bowl on the table. I had it brought in, intending to do some puppy training before she’d passed out in slumber on my lap.

The butterfly flew over the low banister at the end of the patio, and the silly puppy leaped over it to follow. I didn’t know she was old enough to jump over the banister already.

I sprang to my feet.

“No, Ria. Come here!”

Sadly, we hadn’t quite mustered the “come here” command during our training yet, or any command, for that matter. Ria tended to do as she pleased rather than following any commands at all.

“Ria, come on, you hellion,” I groaned, stepping over the banister.

Gem sat up straighter. “Ari, leave it. Let’s send a maid or a footman to fetch the dog.”

It’d take time to get a maid. Meanwhile, Ria was heading toward the hedge of the huge garden maze. If she made it inside,neither I nor the maid would have an easy time finding her. The puppy was so small, an owl or a fox could easily snatch her before we got to her.

“Riaaa!” I dragged out her name in frustration.

The furry rascal dashed across a flower bed, plowing a path through the blossoming tulips. I hiked up my long skirt and sprinted after her, hopping over the neat rows of flowers.

Her ears flopping, her tail wagging, the dog swerved along the gravel path and toward the man in the bloodied shirt. She weaved between Salas’s feet, beelining for the lily pond next. She was still so young. What if she fell in and drowned?

“Get her! Please!” I yelled, gasping for breath.

Following my plea, Salas turned and gave chase after her. Thankfully, his legs were much longer than hers. He caught up with Ria in two long strides, then scooped her off the ground with a hand as huge as a shovel.

“Oh Goddess, thank you.” I pressed a hand to my chest, slowing down on my way to him. “Thank you so much. I would’ve never found her in that maze...”

Somehow, my words of gratitude sounded inadequate when talking to him. This man had been through hell in the past twenty-four hours. And here I was, with such a trivial problem as my dog running away, the problem that I couldn’t even solve on my own. He had to solve it for me.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, suddenly having difficulty looking straight at him.

“It was no trouble, Princess.”

Once again, the deep rumble of his voice startled me. I was not prepared for the weirdly pleasant vibration resonating through my chest in response.

I glanced up, meeting his eyes. They were brown, a little lighter than his hair in the afternoon sun that made them glow like two golden drops of honey.

“I...um.” Gods, what was I going to say again?

It felt like I had to say something, but all the words scattered in my brain. It must be because of how big he was. He towered over me, blocking half the sky. Surely, I must find it intimidating, especially from this close.

“Your dog.” He moved his hands forward.

Ria, the little troublemaker, sat comfortably in the palm of his hand. He covered her with his other hand, gently scratching the puppy’s head behind her ear. Like the rest of him, his hands were massive. His knuckles were scuffed, with his fingernails cut short or broken. Fine red dust from the bricks covered his skin in a thick layer.

I had a feeling he could easily crush my head between those giant mitts of his. Yet by how carefully he handled my dog, I also believed he could cradle a butterfly between his calloused palms without so much as crinkling its wings.

Finding nothing better to say, I was about to repeat my stupid thanks, grab my dog, and be on my way when a whiff of coppery smell of dried blood reached me with the breeze from his direction. It was stronger than the smell of sweat.

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