Page 31 of The Warlord's Princess
Weak Asha is still asleep when I rouse, wrapped in one of her weaves, her hands placed under her cheek.
Her scent is everywhere, needling my growing anger, for I should not have to deal with such an aroma.
It makes me lose myself.
In Tempest, it would be grievous for a woman to sleep as she is when a man slept on a bed, but she is not of Tempest.
Haelden and Brock are already at The Tomb when I enter, scanning over the map Jacek has on the center screen.
I point to where the Veriskans were, which is about a seven-day walk from the village.
“There were only two, but I worry they have since brought more.”
Brock scratches his chin. “It seems curious that Amber was able to walk out all that way.”
Not wanting to discuss my failed courtship, I say, “I was letting her glimpse the island for what it was, hoping she would see her folly and grow more compliant.”
Haelden shakes his head in annoyance. “That is not the way of Amber.”
I snort out a laugh. “It is not.”
As we are about to leave The Tomb to make our way to the outer territory, Brock pulls me aside and speaks to me in a hushed tone.
“I was wondering how your cohabitation with Asha was going.”
“Terribly.”
He gives a slow nod.
Something twists in my gut. “Why do you ask?”
He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I notice she does not get as much attention as the others,” and walks off.
Could it be that he is enamored with the weak Penticari woman? Not too long ago, he was loudly complaining about the Penticari, and now he asks about the Little Vaeyark with curiosity I mislike.
Brock’s interest in Asha should not bother me.
Yes, for some inexplicable reason, it does.
A lot.
Letting his words hang, I walk past him, “Let us hurry,” letting my anger fuel me.
I have long wondered what makes some Tempest men prone to falling for the weak Penticari, and more than once I attributed it up to ‘barrack blood’, but admittedly, I had little reason to believe that. It was my pride that demanded I believe that, as it was barracks men that obliged my princess when I could not.
We meet with Grixis and Eddard and walk out to the edge of our village.
“Do not let yourself be known and return in a fortnight,” Grixis instructs.
“Worry not.” Haelden puffs his chest out with pride. “We will bring honor to Tempest.”
Brock says nothing.
I watch them set out with envy roiling my gut because they have true purpose.
With the bruntler we took down, we will not need a hunting party for a few days, leaving me to work around the village.
What have I done to deserve such torture?
