Page 23 of Court of Rivals
I’ve just finished eating when a bell tolls. Everyone starts getting up, so I go along with them. But as soon as I’m between tables, someone slams into me, nearly knocking me to the ground. I’ve barely recovered when another hard body slams into me. I realize their game a few seconds too late and have to watch every step I take as the men continually bash my body with their own.
Someone knocks me onto my knees, but the rest of the group walks around me. When I’m in the clear, I step back up and dust myself off, embarrassed I let them knock me over. By the door, the three princes watch, and there’s a look of utter satisfaction on their faces before they head out with the others.
“Assholes,” I mutter.
Unfortunately for them, this bullshit crap isn’t going to get to me. My grandfather and father trained me. Preparing me the way they’d been prepared to be an assassin. Teaching me to fight, and how to use my weaknesses and turn them into strengths. They taught me to be tough. So, I’m tough.
And living with four brothers? They were constantly being rough idiots. Rough idiots who I held my own with.The princes will have to be a hell of a lot worse than this for it to bother me.
Everyone is out the door except for one person. Our gaze catches, and I realize it’s Roland. He looks nervous just talking to me. Like I’m some kind of illness he can pick up, just by standing near me.
“Next we have hand-to-hand training in the practice yard,” he tells me.
“What’s that?” I ask, even though I already have a sinking suspicion I know.
“Basically, everyone selects an opponent and you fight. It’s a way of keeping us in shape, ready for anything, and everyone thoroughly enjoys it.”
I wince. “I’m a lot smaller than these guys.”
His expression is regretful. “Yeah, you are. Do you have any training?”
“Yes, though I’ve never done this exactly.”
He shakes his head. “My advice? Go down fast. End things before you get too messed up.”
“Thanks,” I mutter as we head down the hall.
Still, this can’t be as bad as I think it’ll be.Can it?
10
Alaric
This Harper woman is a problem in every sense of the word. The instant she stepped into our world something fundamental and deep changed for all of us. It’s not just that she has control of the most powerful dragon any of us has ever seen, it’s that she herself seems to radiate a kind of power that lures every dragon rider under her spell.
I’ve seen beautiful women before. Far too many. So many that their names and faces blur together into nothingness. Harper is not one of these women who have faded away in my mind. I can honestly admit that she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Her hair is long and golden, flowing around her face in waves. I’ve never thought much about women’s hair before, but a man can’t help but picture grabbing that length of hair in his hand and jerking on it while he eases inside of her. Her hazel eyes have got to be the biggest eyes I’ve ever seen in my life, and they’re expressive, telling all of us exactly what she thinks and feels without her even opening her mouth. Again, my mind wanders into places it shouldn’t, picturing just what those eyes would do if I made her come. Her cheekbones are high andsharp, so sharp that I want to run my finger along them just to see if I’ll be cut. And her body? It’s made by the gods themselves.
If our laws were fair and good, Harper would never be allowed to wear such form-fitting clothes in front of a group of viral and aroused men. She’s a temptation. A villainous woman here to drive us wild.
“I wonder if we’ll have to watch her fly her dragon again,” Lord Byron mutters beside me.
“The girl doesn’t deserve to have a dragon like him, she hasn’t earned it,” Lord Pierce whispers back.
Anger courses through me, and I can’t hold back, “One of us should have the dragon.”
Shouldn’t we?My anger feels wrong, and yet it’s there. Not as strong as my brothers’, but there’s a deep sense of injustice that simmers inside of me. A sense of injustice that I can’t seem to ignore or escape.
Even though I’m not really sure whether or not I’m more angry at her or my father.
I guess it’s easier to be mad at her.
“She’s a commoner,” Lord Byron says, his voice just a little louder, and the men around us nod.
“She’s a woman,” Lord Pierce adds, and people turn to look at us, agreement in their faces.
That anger inside of me grows. An anger I’m not familiar with. I am not a hot-tempered man. Actually, I’d be described as the exact opposite. And, I’ve certainly never directed my frustrations at a woman before. And yet, I can’t seem to shake a deep sense of outrage.
This is wrong. All of this.
