Chapter 50 #2
Bradley’s throat closed just as a single pang, hard and swift, throbbed in his heart. A second, equally strong pang echoed in his groin.
It would take less than a heartbeat to rise and sweep her into his arms. Cradle the back of her head as he offered the kiss that the hidden part of him was so desperate to bring into the light. Just for her, the woman who saw him at his weakest and didn’t pity him.
The princess jerked away at the same time the apprentice stood, the backs of her knees colliding with the rim of the washtub. She yelped, flailing, and gravity committed to tumbling her boots over britches. Bradley caught her arm and yanked her back before she could fall.
The world froze for a second time as he crushed her body against his, steadying her. Her ear was pressed right over his heart. Could she hear its wild drumming? Its keening for connection that had been denied him, and that which he’d denied himself?
Her hands released their cling upon his robe, and she lifted her face from where it pressed against his chest. Her gaze darted to his hand hovering near her face, a moment away from caressing her cheek.
Caelus above, what had gotten into him? Before his body could betray him again, or rather, before the princess could feel his body betraying him, the apprentice pushed her back to arm’s length.
That had been close. Too close.
“I-I’ve got some studying to do,” he told the tile floor. “Let’s get on with that lesson.”
After teaching her the proper technique, he’d lingered to ensure she was executing his instructions accordingly.
When the princess slipped into Madame Palferoi’s “The Bouncing Breasts of the Busty Barmaid” as she scrubbed, Bradley bolted.
Cheeks aflame, he had run from the bathroom like a rabbit with its tail on fire as she sang after him,
“A wink for the rogue and a grin for the bard,
A swish of her skirts for the knight on guard.
But the prize they all crave when the ale runs glad:
A slip of the nip for the sailor lad!”
Presently, Bradley swore as he pricked his finger with the needle and quickly stuck the wound into his mouth. He did not need to be thinking about princesses and slipping necklines and the fact that, with the exception of the last few years, he had been a sailor lad.
“You gonna live?” Sir Beauregard snickered from the bathroom. “The way you cussed, magic man, you’d think you’d just taken a broadsword to the hamstring. Trust me, you’ve never known such pain.”
Bradley yanked the pins from his mouth and glared at the handsome knight.
Pain? He knew exactly what it was like to get his thigh skewered by a sea monster’s barb and still have to go fishing after he and his crew had killed it so their village could eat that week.
And all while Viscount Saltreave’s armada hid in the harbor, lest the monster’s barbs scratch the paint on their gleaming hulls.
He’d never liked the blond knight’s easy smiles or cavalier attitude, probably because he knew a dozen apprentices back at the College who were just like him: schmoozers who used their good looks and parents’ coffers for anything from securing coveted work-study programs to getting out of trouble.
And there was the way the knight talked about women.
He’d been crowing about his various conquests all week in between jabs of the toilet brush.
More than once, something violent had crawled under Bradley’s skin whenever Sir Beauregard was around the princess.
Bradley knew he shouldn’t take the bait, but he couldn’t control his temper any longer. It had been the same with Franklin Gladstone.
“And you’ve been scrubbing that bathroom for three days. Are those muscles built for posing instead of real work? Is that how the dragon defeated you?”
Sir Beauregard threw the scrub brush into the bucket, suds slopping onto the floor. He surged upright and stormed into the bedroom, shoving Duncan out of his way.
Prince Henri des Marais, who had been entertaining them with Madame Palferoi’s refined operas, abruptly ceased his singing. “Gentlemen, I am in the middle of a performance here.”
“Shut it, swampskin.” Sir Beauregard stopped at Bradley’s boots, hands fisting. “At least I fought the dragon. You? You’re just his valet. Whoever heard of a dragon with a valet? And whoever heard of a magic man without a staff?”
Bradley rose, coming nose to nose with the knight. “Back. Away.”
“C’mon,” Jax murmured, gripping Sir Beauregard’s elbow.
The knight sloughed him off. “No, I wanna know. Where’s your staff, magic man? Or are you one of those bottom-of-the-barrel nobodies who couldn’t hack it at the wizard school?”
Bradley’s hands tightened into fists, knuckles popping.
“Beau.” Duncan squeezed the handle of his broom. “You’re going to ruin this for everyone.”
“I think he’s bluffing, boys,” Sir Beauregard sneered. “I think he talks a good game, but there’s no teeth to it. Mayhap we’ve been duped, and the princess is more easily rescued than we realize.”
“We don’t talk about Miss Millie,” Jax hissed. “You know the rules.”
“Princess Mildred,” Sir Beauregard corrected. “It’s like you’ve all forgotten why we’ve come here.”
“I came here to get away from my father.” The gnome gave the floor an aggressive sweep of his broom.
“Miss Millie’s our friend. Well, sort of. You know what I mean.” Jax placed his hand on the knight’s shoulder. Tugged. “She wouldn’t want us to—”
“I didn’t come here to make her my friend, Jax. I came here to make her my—”
Bradley’s blue eyes ignited.
A silk stocking flew from the pile of laundry and wrapped around the knight’s throat like an albino boa constrictor.
Sir Beauregard seized the stocking under his chin and gurgled something unintelligible before the stocking took flight a second time.
The knight’s heels squeaked and skidded against the stone floor as he was unceremoniously hauled back into the bathroom.
“The clothes are possessed,” Duncan cried, flattening against the wall.
Jax let out a whoop and chased after the struggling knight. “Guess Miss Millie’s stockings didn’t like what you were insinuating.”
The silk stocking plunged Sir Beauregard’s head right into the toilet.
The deckhand laughed. “Yep.”
“Should I sing a dirge?” Prince Henri cried.
It’s not me! Bradley pressed a hand to his chest and felt nothing but his heart. No surge of magic. So where was it coming from?
Movement by the window.
A red snout slid into view, and a golden eye winked at him.
“Dirk,” Bradley signed. “You could be seen!”
The Mini Red shrugged.
“What are you doing here?” Had he lost track of the time?
Bubbles rose from water as Sir Beauregard shouted something incoherent and slapped at the sides of the toilet bowl. The silk stocking held him fast, anchoring itself to the tank.
“Just say you’re sorry and maybe you won’t drown,” Duncan pleaded.
“Though you’ll still have to drink a healing potion,” Jax laughed. “Who knows how thoroughly you cleaned that toilet?”
Sir Beauregard flung up his hands in surrender.
Dirk flicked his claws and jerked his head out of sight.
The silk stocking went slack, and the knight lurched upright with a gasp.
Bradley exhaled slowly, the tension draining from his shoulders. His hands, which he didn’t remember clenching, relaxed, and a sudden pain radiated from his left palm.