Chapter 44 #2
Bradley glanced down to the carving in his hands, unsure.
He’d been convinced that he and the princess were nothing alike, yet her story was the same as his when he’d come to the College.
The potency of his wild magic had made him an asset to be cultivated, not a young man to be befriended.
At least he’d had Dirk, who was as intelligent as any human, and far more personable than the aloof Persian cat that had been the princess’s companion.
Empathy threatened to rise and cast every past interaction, each perceived slight, into a new light.
What if the princess had just been doing her best to adapt to a way of life completely foreign to her, clumsily and infuriatingly, but with the best intentions?
What if, beneath her bravado, she was just scared and overwhelmed?
Was that why she stole into his bed every night, so she wouldn’t feel alone? How powerful was her need for connection, then, to risk compromising her morals and reputation in such a manner?
His frustration whitewashed this budding perspective, and he growled, “Well a friend wouldn’t expect me to make her a three-course dinner.”
Mutineer Millie had had enough of his nonsense.
“We weren’t friends yet, were we?” she retorted.
“You were my host. And why wouldn’t you treat me to three courses?
If our roles were reversed, I would’ve ordered nine and elderflower spritzers!
Had we met earlier in the day, I would’ve invited you to afternoon tea, too. ”
Bradley shook his head, black locks lashing against his shoulders.
“You still don’t treat me as your equal.” He ticked off his list of grievances on his fingers. “You don’t help with the cooking—”
“That’s your job.”
“Well maybe I need help! Did you ever think of that, with seven more mouths to feed that you brought here? Has it even crossed your mind to offer assistance? No, of course not. You leave those blasted tea leaves in my coffee maker, you fling your clothes wherever you please, you don’t rinse out the tub after you’ve used it, nor mop up any spilled water, your hair is everywhere, and you don’t even feed your cat! ”
“She feeds herself. Duchess is an excellent hunter.”
“I feed her. You never think of anyone or anything but your dream to become a pirate. You think those courtiers were using you for your title? You’re using everyone around here for the same damn reason—for your own gain. Hells of the deep, Tula, you’re so selfish!”
“No I’m not!” She got right into his face then, or as much as she could with their height difference.
Her neck ached from the strain of glaring up at him, but she refused to back down.
“And if I am, it’s only because you declared war on me.
Dirk is the sole reason that I treat you with any modicum of civility.
And because I’m not a mannerless brute like you.
That is one aspect of piracy I will never adopt. ”
The apprentice sliced his hand through the air, dismissing her comment. “What war?”
“The tea! You threw tea at my feet.”
“Are you serious right now? That was a declaration of war?”
“It is in Amberly! We take our tea very seriously—it was a gift from the dragons centuries ago. And Dirk assured me you knew exactly what you were doing because you took a course called Court Customs at the College.”
“No I didn’t! Master Excelsior waived that class because of my private study with him. I was . . . I was excused from half the core curriculum, actually.”
Now Bradley was wondering if that had been a good idea for his career long term.
He’d been too obsessed with discovering what his wild magic could do, not navigating the world as a sorcerer, so he’d leapt at the arrangement.
But if Master Excelsior wasn’t all he seemed to be, particularly because of that parchment shut away in the cherrywood box, then Bradley’s private study with the grand master had definitely been a bad idea.
Millie gave him a doubtful look, her frown receding but not vanishing entirely. She rocked back onto her heels, retreated a step to create space between them. “So . . . you don’t know the tea customs of Amberly? You weren’t insulting me?”
“No,” was his forceful reply.
“Oh.”
She was silent a moment, and, the apprentice thought, perhaps even a little embarrassed. He wasn’t used to contrition coming from royalty and discovered the knot in his chest that had built from weeks of resentment loosen.
“So why did you do it?” Millie asked quietly.
Bradley sighed, a purge of breath and tension that left only tired irritation behind. And, perhaps, just a sliver of regret. “I threw that tea because I was angry and afraid and—”
A crash sounded below.
Bradley’s head snapped to the door at the noise, ears pricking. Millie yanked her letter opener from her corset.
“It’s coming from the dungeons.” The apprentice raced for the stairwell. On the landing, he spun around. “Stay here.”
Millie was already crowding the doorway. “No! Those are my—”
They froze as Sir Roger’s pained shout echoed up to the landing.
Bradley was the first to recover. He gripped her shoulder and pushed her back into the training room. Then he pressed the sailboat carving into her hands. “Stay. Here.”
She balked, startled by the ferocity in his words, the way his fingertips dug into her skin as if he could will her to stay put. He wasn’t angry, not anymore. He was worried and, she thought for the briefest moment, perhaps not just for the tower.
Millie glanced down at the keepsake he’d given her. At his rough hand cupping hers and pressing the sailboat against her stomach in an unspoken plea to safeguard it.
“Mr. Donmarin,” she protested.
But the apprentice was already racing for the dungeons.