Page 30 of The War Queen's Daughter

I laugh again. I can’t help it.

Zenthris tosses his friend a frown before returning his attention to me. “Well, princess,” he says, his voice a low, teasing rumble. “Are you here to pick a fight? Or do you need something else?” He winks at me. “Or two somethings?”

The drakonkin looks shocked by the suggestion.

“You’re a bit obvious with the deflection,” I say, circling slowly, sword held in a casual stance as I weigh their measure both. I could take them, of course, either on the field or between the sheets. The question is, however, which will be more fun?

I’m still frustrated from Altar’s rejection, so the second, of course.

“Am I deflecting?” Zenthris’s faked innocence is meant to beguile, no doubt. “We’ve heard you’re quite the hand with a blade.” His gaze drops to the wooden length in my hand. “Care to prove it?”

A fight, then. Sex can come later. Again and again and again…

“Only if you can keep up.” As my foot hooks the second sword abandoned in the sand.

And now I have two.

“Oh, I think we can manage,” Zenthris says, taking up his single sword, Kell doing the same. Only the drakonkin looks hesitant as his friend opens the sparring session with a sudden lunge.

Zenthrisisfast, agile, his movements fluid and unpredictable. Kell is a force of nature, powerful and quick, his bulky frame moving with deceptive speed. I know this about them already. I’ve clocked them both thanks to our meeting in the library.

Against another opponent, they’re a formidable pairing. But it’s clear that they’ve never fought a warrior of Heald before.

I’m faster, more precise. They fight as they’ve been taught to. I fight like someone whose life has depended on it. I breathe the battle, drink combat like fine wine. It’s quickly clear that they are skilled, yes, and likely have faced their own deaths a time or two at the end of a blade.

Still. No match, not even close. And they know it. Kell accepts it immediately, but it takes Zenthris a few grunting moments to accept.

I dance around them, skirt not the distraction I considered it might be, deflecting their blows, finding openings they don’t expect. The sound of wood clashing on wood is music to myears, though I would prefer metal. I’m having fun, laughing as I slide and leap and twist and parry and never mind the dress that gives them both a view or two. Zenthris jumps when I spank him with the flat of the left blade, Kell stumbling when I insert the right between his knees and send him sprawling. The sheer joy of movement, of being truly challenged, of proving my worth in a language I understand, fills me as I wish Altar had filled me.

This will do. And perhaps I’ll still get the pounding I need after I finish giving these two the one they’ve asked for.

“The library,” I say as they pant and fight to gain ground that I take before spinning away.

Zenthris, feinting and parrying with a desperate expression growing on his handsome face, stumbles. He tries to fight back with that infuriating, charming smirk, but it’s falling short. “Library? What do you mean, princess? Kell and I are merely loyal palace guards.”

Kell grunts, retrieving the sword I just sent spinning, shaking his hand from the sting my blow left behind. “Never been to a library.” His silver eyes are wide with feigned innocence. “Zen can’t even read.”

I laugh again, a genuine, joyful sound. They are terrible liars, on purpose. Zenthris’s flirting, meanwhile, is wickedly attractive, his movements a dance of power and grace, and the longer we spar, the more intensely I want to know how good he is with the sword he carries between his legs.

No doubt, he’s talented in that regard, too.

I press them harder, enjoying the challenge, the thrill of the fight. Finally, with a quick series of thrusts, I disarm Kell, sending him to his ass in the sand before spinning and doing the same to Zenthris. I finish with a playful tap to his chest, second blade at his throat. He’s breathing hard, a bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple.

“You’re very good, princess,” he gasps, a grin spreading across his face. “Remarkably good.” He raises his hands in surrender. “I concede, at least in this regard. You passed.”

“Passed? Passed what?” My arms lower, but my eyes narrow. “You’re testing me?” Me? For what purpose?

Before he can answer, Kell’s head snaps up. “More guards,” he mutters. I hear them too, but only just. “We really need to go.”

Why a new batch makes them nervous they don’t tell me or give me time to ask. Zenthris curses softly under his breath. He gives me one last, lingering look, his amber eyes sharing a wealth of unspoken meaning. “I guess we’ll have to get to the other kind of play another time.” He backs away, retrieving his helmet, and retreats. “We’ll continue this conversation, Remalla of Heald,” he promises, his voice low.

Then, with a shared glance, he and Kell exit through the archway at the far end of the exercise yard, melting into shadow. They disappear just as the sounds of approaching guards grow louder. I stand alone in the sand, my two blades still in my hands.

Whoever they are, whatever they are up to, I can’t afford to get distracted, even if the allure of their mystery lingers.

Except I can’t shake two questions as I replace the wooden swords on the rack, while the new round of startled guards see me there, saluting them as I leave.

Who are my new rogue friends, really? And what test, exactly, did I just pass?

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