Page 75 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

I try to look anywhere at all, but nowhere is safe from the hairy bellies and pale chests. I happen to look up to find Rahk smirking down at me.

“This will be you someday,” he teases.

My disgusted reaction is out before I can help it. He chuckles as Lord Oliver catches up to us.

“You came!” he cries happily, sweating profusely and planting two hands against his narrow hips. He has one of the nicer torsos of the group, and the fact that I notice only embarrasses me more.

I shuffle partially behind Rahk, keeping my head bowed, my heart pounding violently when Lord Oliver glances my way.Please don’t recognize me. Please don’t recognize me.

“I am grateful for the invitation,” says Rahk with a warmth I’m not sure I’ve ever heard from him. “I hope it is no trouble that I brought my attendant. He is young, but he intends to go to war someday.”

I couldmurderhim. He all but grins down at me, his dark eyes twinkling.

“War, eh?” says Lord Oliver, turning his sunny smile down to me.

I squirm in my shoes. I pray like I have never prayed before.

“Well, you’re in the right place, er . . .?”

“Nat. His name is Nat.” Rahk ruffles my hair. “Would you like to join us?”

“I can watch,” I squeak.

The two of them laugh. Rahk shucks off his boots, hands them to me, and then strips off his shirt. I frantically look elsewhere until the shirt drops into my waiting hands. When I brave a glance, he has mercifully left on his thin linen undershirt.

“Watch those for me,” says the prince as he strides barefoot toward the barrel of weapons.

I scurry toward an empty bench and carefully prop up his boots, folding his shirt and draping it over the bench. Then I sit cross-legged and pray no one looks my way ever again.

There are several circular wooden fences scattered throughout the yard. As I watch, two men choose their weapons, climb into the enclosure, and begin sparring. Rahk is busy inspecting blunted swords with Lord Oliver. He tests the weight of each in his palm and does not seem fully satisfied with his selection. Once he has a weapon, he leaps lightly into a pit. Lord Oliver follows, far less gracefully, though not without his own dignity.

Is this the prince’s way of connecting with the influential men of Harbright? I didn’t know they all came here to fight together like dogs.

Lord Oliver faces Rahk, both with their swords lifted. Lord Oliver attacks first, darting forward and aiming at Rahk’s forearm. Rahk blocks the blow and side-steps. Lord Oliver continues throwing quick attacks—faster and more precise than I would have expected from any young lord in Harbright’s aristocracy. Rahk stays back, blocking and dodging, but not striking.

“Come now!” cries Lord Oliver. “I know you’re better than me! You needn’t protect my dignity!”

The next second, his sword goes flying upward. Rahk darts forward and snatches it out of the air, and an instant later, he has both blades against Oliver’s throat. I press a hand over my mouth—and then rip it away when I realize how feminine of a gesture it is. I’m supposed to be excited about this. Nat wouldn’t be worried about Oliver.

Oliver lets out a chortle. “How did you do that? You must show me at once!”

Rahk seems pleased with this response, tossing the sword back to his opponent. His neck cranes quickly, and I find myself trapped in his sparking gaze. He didn’t search for me—he knew exactly where I sat.

Something about the look he gives me makes my cheeks flush.

He returns to his opponents. Many of the men have abandoned their respective matches in favor of surrounding the pit and watching Rahk. I cannot see a thing except the top of Rahk’s white hair, which moves as he instructs the onlookers.

He and Lord Oliver do two more rounds—none of which I can see—and after that, it is Alsbee who saunters forward and demands his turn. He proclaims that he wishes to fight hand to hand, no weapons. I have no idea where he gets the boldness for that. Maybe the same place he found the boldness to try to seduce me when I was sixteen.

I lean forward on the bench, very eager to watch Alsbee get trounced. There is no viewing pocket available to me, so I leave the safety of my bench and venture closer to the pit.

Laughter erupts just as I find a spot, several paces away, but at an angle where I can see. Rahk’s knees are bent, his hands gripping Alsbee’s forearms. Forearms that are wrapped around his neck. My gasp is out of me before I can stop it. Why are they laughing? How dare Alsbee play so dirty?

And then one of the men shift, and I get the full view. Alsbee hangs on Rahk’s back, his feet literally dangling off the ground. He is trying to pull Rahk down. Rahk, however, stays sturdy on his feet, and all he does is keep Alsbee from choking him. He isn’t even fighting.

Everyone is laughing at how ridiculous the young lord looks.

I find myself smirking, delighted far beyond what I expected. Maybe this trip isn’t the worst thing that ever happened.

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