Page 29 of The Warlord's Princess
Knowing he’ll never truly accept me, I say, “You wouldn’t believe this, but I was weak before I came here.”
“Oh, I believe it.”
Again, I laugh, louder this time, even though I know he meant his reply to be insulting.
“I will never understand why you take such joy in being feeble,” he says in a raspy tone.
“It’s not that I take joy in it. It’s that there’s no escaping it for me.”
“You could work hard and train.”
“Is that what the women of Tempest do?”
“No, their strength is effortless.”
More laughter escapes my throat, though I know I should probably stifle it, because it rubs Ramsey the wrong way.
“Were you always strong?” I ask him.
“Always.”
“Then how did you…” I pause, thinking better of asking him something so personal. “Never mind.”
“Do you mean to ask how I got exiled?”
“Yeah…”
“Unlike most of the men here, I was born to a noble line, one of royal blood, which meant I stayed with my mother instead of being sent to the barracks.”
“So…you’re some kind of prince?” I ask, stunned by the irony.
He shakes his head. “The men are not princes or kings as they are with your people, as they once were for mine, when things were different.”
“Then what are your noble-blooded men called?”
“We are merely progeny and consorts, as our blood is potent with the blood lust and strength of the strongest of Tempest.”
“So…what does that mean?”
“When I came of age, I was meant to mate with a strong princess, strengthening her line with the blood of my royal mother and her fierce warlord consort, and when I failed, I was exiled.”
“How did you fail?”
“My seed did not take.”
“But you did nothing wrong?”
“It was wrong to bear such weak seed.”
“But that’s not your fault,” I say quietly.
“That is where you are wrong.” He turns his face away as shame washes over his handsome features.
I understand his pain, for it was my own.
“I was exiled too,” I confess.
He bares his teeth. “Do you mock me?”
