The Blacksmith Princess by Rowan Mallory

Author:Rowan Mallory [Mallory, Rowan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Martha Longshore

Chapter Twenty-Three

Why do people try to frighten one another with talk of imaginary demons when so many real ones walk freely among them?

— Princess Anara of Kherem

“I told you. It’s dangerous back here.” That was Jordis, Jax thought—curt, haughty. “Where are your friends?”

“That’s none of your concern.” Beatrix’s voice matched his for hauteur.

It seemed such a shame to waste her efforts to protect the rest of them. Jax sighed and headed for the path through the hawthorns.

“I am a duke of the royal lineage of Tyrglas!” Jordis snapped. “You’ll watch how you speak to me.”

“I am an imperial princess of House Magna of Bellis,” Beatrix’s tone held a dangerous chill. “You should think twice about how you speak to me.”

“We’re only concerned about your friends’ safety,” another voice cut in. Jax recognized Ralf’s lilting accent. “Please, Princess Beatrix—”

“Princess Beast is more like it,” Jordis snarled.

“Jordis,” Ralf chided. “The ground in this area can be treacherous, princess. If anyone were injured—”

He stopped, startled, as Jax came around the last bend in the path, Eira and Anara close on her heels.

“Princess Jax!” Another voice she recognized. Prince Theo stood between Jordis and Beatrix—probably to prevent them coming to blows. “We keep encountering each other in the strangest places.”

“It’s a small castle,” Jax pointed out.

His face lit in a delighted smile at her irreverence, but Jordis’s disapproving scowl reminded her of the dangers of unwanted attention.

“Princess Eira. Princess Anara.” Theo greeted them all with an extravagant bow. “I am so grateful to find you alive and well and not trapped at the bottom of a sinkhole or buried in a pile of rubble.”

“We’re grateful for that, too, Your Highness,” Eira said brightly, making Beatrix roll her eyes.

“I insist you call me Theo,” he corrected. “Wait. First, I must introduce everyone.” He gestured around him. “His Grace, Duke Jordis of Tyrglas. My Esquire, Ralf. Milords Sir Van, Sir Edgar, and Sir Ryder.”

Jax had no idea which of the three older knights was which. She could only hope Theo did. They all wore identical swords and had identical arm muscles to prove they knew how to use them. Still, their relaxed posture suggested they saw themselves as part of the prince’s pack rather than his babysitters. If the king had assigned them to keep his son in line, he must be sorely disappointed.

“You girls have caused a lot of trouble,” Jordis said. “You don’t belong here.”

Beatrix raised an eyebrow. “The king put us in Lukos.”

“I meant this courtyard,” he spat.

“My father’s restoration of Lukos hasn’t reached this far,” Theo explained, once more inserting himself between the two. Jax gave him credit for courage. “The ruins are unstable. It’s dangerous.”

“Men have been killed working in this area,” Jordis added.

“Seriously injured,” Ralf, the peacemaker, amended. “A broken leg. A head injury.”

“They thought that one was going to die,” Jordis said. “He didn’t wake up for two days.”

“Workers won’t even come here anymore.” Theo lowered his voice. “They say there’s a curse.”

Eira sneezed. At least, that’s what Jax hoped the boys thought.

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