Chapter 41 #2
They still respected Bradley, for the time being, which had more to do with his physical bearing than anything else.
They knew he was a sorcerer of some kind, though he never performed magic in front of them.
And keeping his words short and directed only at Sir Roger reinforced the mystery surrounding him as well as the hedge knight’s position as warden over the others.
For now.
The apprentice took the stairs two at a time and soon caught up to the princess. “Tula,” he began sternly.
“Millie,” she corrected, not pausing in her trek up the stairs.
Her breath was measured, her arms swinging lightly in rhythm with the stride of her legs. It was this symphony of movement that enabled her to reach the top of the winding staircase without her lungs and heart desiring to secede from the rest of her body, and she would not let him interfere.
“Tula.”
Her stride faltered. There was something beneath the insistence in his voice. Concern?
It caught her so off-guard that she didn’t protest when he took hold of her arm and pulled her into the shadowy alcove of a doorway.
Her backside bounced her off the oak door, but his hand on her arm steadied her. It was different than the harsh grip he used when he trained her, but no less strong or secure. It was gentle, somehow. Earnest.
Whether he knew it or not, Bradley Donmarin was being nice, even if he was caging her against the door.
No, no, no, Millie panicked. Bradley couldn’t be nice. If Bradley was nice, she might look at him differently, perhaps even soften towards him. Which would be very inconvenient because they were still very much at war.
Millie sucked in a nervous breath and instantly regretted it. The air was laced with the warmth trapped in the tower stones, but also the scents of rustic homespun and sun-tanned skin. Him.
The alcove was enshrouded in gloom, but what light provided by the nearby crystals intensified the blue of his eyes and deepened the darkness of his hair.
He was surrounded in a purple glow that seemed to offer a glimpse of the power he might one day wield as a master sorcerer.
For an instant, he was magnetic. Intense. Alluring.
But he had thrown tea at her feet! Since he had yet to brew her a pot of tea and present it to her with his sincerest apologies (and preferably something sweet like fruit jellies), she could not forgive him.
And enemies were only nice to each other when they were lulling their opponent into a false sense of security before stabbing them in the back.
She’d spied on her father’s war room meetings concerning the Duchy of Evertea many a time, so she was familiar with the tactic and what it was like to be on the receiving end of it.
Nice try, she thought, and jabbed out with her knuckles.
Bradley yelped as the princess performed a series of hits that left him with throbbing joints and a limp left arm.
Millie set her hands on her hips and lifted her chin with a satisfied smile. “You’ll find I’m not so easily manhandled anymore. Sir Roger has been teaching me chi blocking techniques that target the pressure points—something you’d know if you looked up from your books every once in a while.”
“I do look up,” he growled down at her, massaging his shoulder. “It’s because I look up that I see what you do not. You don’t know what some men are like, Tula. They’re not the pretty peacocks with genteel manners who parade about your throne room.”
Clearly Bradley had never hidden behind the hydrangeas and eavesdropped on these peacocks when they thought a princess could not hear them.
“Is this about Beau?” She waved a dismissive hand. “If I can’t endure his teasing, then I won’t survive long on my own ship, will I? Unless you know of many female sailors?” Millie side-stepped to get around him and continue up the stairs, but he blocked her.
“Enduring is one thing. Encouraging is another.”
When he blocked her again, she tapped her foot. “You’re in the way of my breakfast. Speak plainly, sir, or lose feeling in your other arm.”
“You need to do more to remind them who’s in charge.
Beau is testing those limits every day now.
Yesterday it was about why they only have one set of spare clothes.
Today it’s about cardio.” He spat out the word.
“No doubt tomorrow he’ll complain about the food.
” Bradley affected a nasal falsetto: “I’ll die if I have to eat another bowl of rice, beans, and salted fish! ”
He jabbed a finger at her. “I’ve had that same breakfast for the last one hundred seventeen days. If he can’t suffer the monotony of the food that fills his belly, then he’s, he’s—”
“He’s what?”
“A little bitch!”
Millie’s rolled her lips inward and clamped down to prevent a smile. The Bradley Donmarin of old never would have dreamed of expressing himself so crudely.
Bradley rarely touched her outside of their training, but he did so again now. His hand landed on her shoulder, gripped to impress the intensity of his warning. “They’re not ready to riot, yet, but the day is coming. And that timeline shortens every time you encourage his flirtations—”
“I beg your pardon! I do not encourage him.” Heat bloomed upon her cheeks like dormant embers freshly stoked, and she protected her pride with a mask of superiority.
She batted his arm away. “I’m merely fostering camaraderie, which ensures a pleasant experience for all of us.
Something you could learn to benefit from employing yourself. ”
“I don’t need to befriend them to get them do what I want. And the more you do, the more they think they’ll get a chance at your skirts.”
“What are you doing thinking about my skirts?” she demanded.
Bradley recoiled a step, caught himself from pitching himself into the abyss behind him. “I-I’m not!”
“Oh that’s right. You’re thinking of what’s under my skirts. Eager to reclaim your boxer briefs, are you?”