“Ow!” I rub my nose, and my finger comes away bloody. Seeing the red smear should worry me, but I can’t remember why.
“Blood.” Mother’s voice haunts me from far away. “Spill it. Shed it. Bathe in it. Make people fear you.”
Laughter bubbles up inside me. I’ve never found Mother funny before. This euphoria stuff is great!
Beta Sinta leans close to inspect my nose. He brushes hair out of my face with callused fingers that are light and warm.
On impulse, I lift my hands and trail my fingers over the dark stubble shadowing his cheeks. “Hmmm. Scratchy.”
He stares down at me as he catches my hands and slowly lowers them, keeping my fingers trapped loosely in his. His thumbs skate over my knuckles, and a lovely flutter tickles my ribs.
“The cut’s nothing,” he says, his voice unusually soft. A few heartbeats pass before he lets me go and turns to the vendor, nodding to a half-sized sword at the far end of the table.
The merchant hands it to him, and Beta Sinta inspects the weapon, testing its weight and balance and making sure the blade is straight.
“We’ll take it,” he finally says. “And your smallest sword belt with dagger loops.”
“You’re buying me a sword? And a belt for my knives?” Thrilled, I leap on him like an octopus, clinging to him with arms and legs. So more like a quadropus. Does that even exist?
Gods! His skin is on fire!
Beta Sinta’s arms lock around me. Thunder rolls in my ears, and I cock my head, listening for more. He goes utterly still. Does he hear it, too? Then he inhales so deeply that his chest expands, pressing into me. A dizzying sensation sweeps through me. Against my neck, his shuddering exhale stirs my hair and sends a rush of goose bumps down my spine.
I shiver, giggling breathlessly. “Ack! That tickles!”
With a strained chuckle, he untangles my limbs and sets me back on my feet, standing protectively over me. I can’t help smiling up at him. He’s such a contradiction. So arrogant and yet so reasonable.
“The sword’s really for me?” I ask.
His hands linger on my waist, his splayed fingers pressing lightly into my sides. “You said you wanted one.”
My smile widens. “In that case, I want two! One for each hip.” I can already imagine my swagger.
He laughs, his expression a disconcerting mix of humor and indulgence. “Let’s start with one,” he says, pulling me a shade closer.
I gaze up at him. My brain is fuzzy, my limbs are light, and no one has ever looked at me the way he does. The undisguised heat in his quicksilver eyes makes it hard to breathe.
Beta Sinta pays for the sword. It’s short, about two and a half feet long, with a rounded guard shaped like a loosely woven basket of laurel leaves.
“Can I have it?” I ask, bouncing next to him. “Can I? Can I, please?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You can have it when I can trust you.”
That sounds logical. “Okay.”
“Okay?” He arches dark eyebrows. “That’s it?”
“What’s it?” There’s a bee buzzing in my ear. I swat at it, laughing. It turns into a Centaur and gallops away. “Did you see that?” I cry.
“See what?”
“The bee. The Centaur bee. The pink one.”
Beta Sinta rolls his eyes—something I never thought he’d do—grabs my hand, and drags me through the market. Colors, sounds, and spicy scents swirl through the fog in my brain. I float through them. I have to dance. I dance and skip like the child I was never allowed to be. I’m happy. I fear nothing. I don’t have to watch my back. There’s a giant butterfly doing that.
It lands on my shoulder, flaps powdery wings, and whispers, “I’ll take care of you.”
I look up, beaming. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Beta Sinta says.
“Not you.”
He frowns, and I laugh, dancing some more. When I fall, Carver helps me up. I smile and give him my best curtsy. It’s really well done. There isn’t a princess in the three realms that could do better.
Carver bows back, and it’s awful. I laugh until I snort. Mother would not approve.
Beta Sinta lightly tugs my hand, and I stumble to the right, landing in a sea of drying cloths. They hang and flap, rainbow sails in the afternoon breeze. I jump, trying to touch the highest one while he plows through the stock on the table, looking for something in that efficient manner of his.
“This one,” he tells the merchant. It’s mid-sized and a disgusting shade of yellow.