Page 32 of Vicious Princess
Looking at the asshole through my lashes, I say, “Better luck next time.”
When, with one last snarl, he turns and goes off to torment someone else, I slowly pull myself back up to my feet. I look around for the next opponent to fight. Accidentally, I lock eyes with Daegel from across the room.
It’s hard to read the expression on his face. But his eyes are shooting daggers.
What did I do to piss him off?
With a scoff, I turn my back to him. Then Roman’s mischievous gaze greets me. With a quick glance over, I see he has no blood on him. No open wounds.
“I don’t want to fight you,” I say.
Roman has been the only decent fae to me here, so I don’t want to draw his blood. But I don’t want to let him win either.
He looks over at Daegel behind my shoulder. “I don’t think it’s up to us.”
I sigh.
Roman’s smirk turns into a smile. “Come on, princess. Show me how Wetran barbarians fight.”
“How original. Why don’t you show me how oh-so-mighty Ekiosh fae fight? Or are you all empty bravado and arrogance? So far, I’m not impressed.”
Roman chuckles. He holds no weapons. At least none I can see.
“That mouth of yourswillget you in trouble here, princess.”
Before I can muster a response, Roman moves. One minute, he stands three feet away from me. The next, he’s right next to me. He winks and pokes me in the spot under my collarbone, right next to the shoulder.
I frown. When the pain erupts, shooting right through my shoulder and down my arm, I wince. My blade slips from my fingertips. I can’t help it. My whole arm is numb.
Oh, shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
When Roman sees the shock in my wide eyes, he barks an amused laugh. I rush backwards, away from him.
Now I see why he needs no weapons. He’s a damn weapon himself.
“Come on, Phoenix. I didn’t peg you for a coward,” he teases.
With amusement dancing in his gaze, he prowls towards me. I advance backwards, trying to put as much distance between us.
I’m saved by the grace of the gods. Just when Roman reaches me, the gong rings. My chest heaves with relief.
Roman flashes me a smile, whirls on his heel, and walks away. But my relief is short-lived, because the redhead with an attitude worse than mine steps in front of me.
Without taking my attention away from her, I flex my hand. It’s still numb, but the shooting pain has passed. “You know,” I say, “I wasn’t the one who killed your brother. You should direct that anger towards King Francis, not me.”
She narrows her eyes at me. I should have kept my mouth shut.
With a war cry, she pulls out a long sword from the sheath on her hip and charges at me. I only have one working hand.
Just fucking wonderful.
I pull out one of the smaller blades strapped to my leather corset. No way I can fight the sword with it. So, instead of parrying her blow, I duck low and evade her. I try to trip her with my foot just like I did with Bloom.
Second time around, the trick doesn’t work.
This redhead is smaller than Bloom and much more agile. Not as quick as Roman, but quick enough to turn around and attack me again without giving me much time to regroup.
