Page 16 of Water Dragon
“Yes, I know,” she said, gesturing at the clothes she was once more inspecting for any loose decorative gems or threads coming undone.
“I should like you there,” he said. “At my side.”
They both knew that this would cause a stir, even if it might not cause a scandal. If her being invited into the training circle had caused displeasure among the courtiers, then of course her appearing at a social function as important as this dinner wouldn’t exactly make them all titter with approval.
“They’re going to have to find their way into acceptance,” he said, reading her mind. “And so are you,” he added. “There will be plenty of dinners in your future. There will be plenty of rooms where you will be looked at differently than everyone else. And you are to hold your chin up high, and you are to smile their deference away, and know that you hold the heart of a king in your hands.”
He paused, as though catching on to what he had just spoken a millisecond after the words had already left his mouth. For a moment he looked astounded, then his eyes slid from hers self-consciously.
Why would he be self-conscious? It had merely been a figure of speech, had it not?
“I have nothing to wear, my lord,” she said, the title a tease that he was familiar with and that cut through the tension, quirking the corners of his mouth.
“I will have the seamstress come to your room, my lady,” he replied, bowing low.
She watched how his locks fell forward, thinking he was in need of another haircut. Thinking of running her fingers through them while he sat on a chair, his face level with her chest, and suddenly she flushed.
He straightened up as there came a knock at the door, both of them thankful for the interruption.
She went to accept the parcel handed to her, bringing it into the bedroom and placing it on the bed for him. It was heavy, wrapped in velvet, and she knew the contents from touch alone: a sword.
“This came for you,” she said.
“Oh, good,” he said. “Why don’t you unwrap it.”
She did, flipping the velvet aside with gentle movements, always reverent whenever a new weapon was about to be revealed to her. It took the blacksmiths a month or more to perfect a sword and she had always seen fit to revel in their craftsmanship. She paused at the sight of the familiar blade.
“This is…” She trailed off.
“The blade you’ve been eyeing in the armory for the past year, yes,” he nodded.
“Are you choosing it for the tournament?” she asked, flattered that he would have even noticed her preoccupation with its particular detailing whenever they’d chosen their weapons for one of their training sessions.
“No, I’m choosing it for you,” he said.
“I don’t understand,” she mumbled, reaching out and touching the blade.
“It’s a gift,” he said, and she could hear in his voice that he was smiling. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you for ages and meant to give it to you before our fight yesterday, but I didn’t want it to seem as though I was doing you any favors.”
She frowned.
Was that why he had used the watermagic on her? To underline how she was not in any way going to be treated differently than anyone else, but producing that underlining by treating her completely differently? It sounded like his style of logic. Had he even thought it through at all, or had it been impulsive? Most likely it had been impulsive. But this sword…
This sword was a gift that he had put real thought into.
They’d rarely exchanged gifts, since she had no way of repaying him in kind for anything he might get her. He’d treated her at market, and she had treated him right back with sweets and foods from the food stalls, but this sword was something else entirely. This sword was the weapon of a knight.
“You wish me to carry this?” she asked.
“I wish you to feel protected,” he replied. “The tournaments are bringing all sorts of people here. Not to be an alarmist, but the citadel will not be as safe as it usually is.”
“So, really, you wish to feel I am protected,” she remarked, but she couldn’t hide the glint of amusement in her eyes when they met his.
“Yes,” he confessed. “That, too. It is a selfish gift. Let me take it back down to the armory at once.”
“No!” she stopped him, placing her hands across the blade.
Intricate carvings of crashing waves stretched down from the handle and eased out once the blade began to grow into a point. She ran her fingers over them, disbelieving that they were hers. She knew the blacksmith who had fashioned the sword and hoped he would not feel dishonored that a knight had not been given it, but rather a runt in a skirt. The thought made her smile broaden.
