Forbidden Warrior (Midsummer Knights)

He reached forward and slid the flask out of her fingertips. Their hands brushed. Her body froze. He took a swig and, as she was still frozen in position, slid the flask neatly back into her hand and tapped it a few times, to push it in deeper between her still-curled fingers.

“Then you believe me,” he said simply.

She seemed to have to shake herself to bring her back to the conversation. “Believe you? That my father took something of yours? Of course I believe it. This is a thing he does. He is a gambler. A foolish one. Much like you.” She eyed her whittled wooden chess piece and held it up. “What is this? A dog?”

He stared at her face. “Did you call me foolish?”

She nodded, still examining the piece. “I think it is a dog,” she decided, and set it down to consider her move.

He glanced at the chess piece. “It is a deer. A roe.”

“Of course. Yes, I see it now. And yes, I did call you foolish. You are. This is.”

He lowered his forearm, so it rested beside the board. She glanced at it, then away. “What is foolish?”

She waved her hand at the tent. “This. Staying here. One might even call it stupid.”

“Stupid,” he repeated softly. “What do you know of your father’s plans?”

Her face inched up. “Naught. My father never shares his plans with me.”

He believed her, which was good…for her. And he had no intention of staying here—he was only waiting for darkness to fall, then he would take her and leave. But as he did not think she would react well to that news, he did not speak on it.

“All I am saying is it is never wise to trust him,” she murmured.

“I do not trust him.”

She made a little sound in her throat.

“You wish to go somewhere else?”

She looked at him sternly. “But of course. There is a feast occurring in the castle, if you recall. There are knights, great and mighty lords and—”

“Aye, I know. Your suitor,” he interrupted, oddly irritated. “He is wealthy and handsome and has glorious polished armor. The epitome of every maiden's dreams.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip. He stared at it.

“I do not know about 'dreams’,” she mused, “but they are indeed handsome and chivalrous—”

His ears pricked at the unexpected word. “They?”

“Yes. I have six suitors.”

He felt taken aback. “Six?”

She looked up slowly. “You doubt six men would vie for my hand?”

“Six,” was all he said, then added, “How will you ever decide?”

She frowned. “I will not. They are fighting for my hand. A joust, on Friday morning. And they have paid a great deal of coin for the privilege.”

“Paid, did they?” He slid his rook forward. “If you’re dealing in coin, lass, that’s not a suitor. That’s a customer.”

Waves of fury practically rode across the table and knocked him back. He met the onslaught with a raised brow.

She glared. “You disapprove? You, who has engineered this entire ridiculous situation for coin?”

They stared at each other across the board. “Move,” he said shortly.