Page 6 of Slaying the Shadow Prince
‘Oh, deadly serious, apprentice. We both know the lady wants to be close to me.’
‘I hope she sticks a knife in your back.’
‘With a face like that, I might just let her.’
‘Insufferable,’ Wilder muttered, motioning for the male ranger to approach.
Talemir turned to find the woman closer than he’d realised. She was quiet on her feet. He’d give her that.
‘Are you quite done with your dick-swinging?’ she demanded, folding her arms over her chest.
He stepped back, presenting the stirrup to her. ‘By all means, climb on.’
‘You expect me to share a saddle with you? With a fucking shadow wraith?’
Talemir couldn’t help but glance towards Wilder, checking that he hadn’t heard. ‘I don’t know where you’ve got that idea, but I assure you —’
The woman closed the gap between them, her knuckles paling as she clenched her fists around her weapons. ‘You may look like a man, but I know better. Don’t insult me by saying otherwise.’
‘Regardless of what you think, I bear you no ill will. My business is with the forge master. Once that’s dealt with, you needn’t see me again. But we have to get there first.’
‘I can walk.’
‘It’ll take all night.’
‘So be it,’ she said, lifting her chin in defiance.
But no, that wasn’t how this was going to go. In a single, effortless motion, Talemir enclosed his hands around her waist, the warmth of her skin seeping through her clothes into his palms, and he lifted her into the saddle.
Apparently, only shock stopped her from kicking him in the face, and before she could think better of it, he swung himself up behind her, settling her between his legs. Oh, he could feel the rage rolling off her in waves, but that didn’t stop him from appreciating the brush of her soft hair, nor that intoxicating scent of lilac and heather.
A blur of movement to their left caught his eye as he urged his stallion onwards. That damn hawk was back, flying close enough to them that it felt like a warning. But he was a Warsword of Thezmarr. It would take more than some bird to ruffle him.
‘What did you say its name was?’ he asked the woman, his hands gripping the reins in front of her.
‘Terrence,’ she said.
‘Terrence?’ He baulked. ‘What sort of name is that for a bird of prey?’
‘A perfectly decent one,’ she countered coldly.
‘Right…’ He watched the hawk fly ahead then, dipping in and out of sight. ‘What does he eat?’
‘Starlings,’ she replied, deadpan.
He snorted. For that line alone, under different circumstances he would have courted her. But despite his jesting to Wilder, he was under no illusions about finding passion here. She offered nothing of the sort, or perhaps another form of it entirely – where the tip of her blade kissed the delicate skin of his throat.
As they rode south, Wilder and the other ranger looking equally uncomfortable sharing a saddle to their right, the woman spoke again.
‘What are Warswords doing in Naarva?’ There was no missing the hatred lacing her question.
‘We’re here by order of Thezmarr,’ he told her.
‘You’re over a year late.’
He felt, rather than saw, Wilder’s attention snap towards her, his rage palpable. ‘We were here. We fought. We lost as you lost.’
‘I doubt that, Warsword,’ she taunted.
