Page 113 of The Discount Damsel

“You want your feet to blister and rip open instead? How will you train then? And I said socks, Tula, not shoes.”

“I understand, Mr. Donmarin! Your chastising barrage is unnecessary.”

The room was quiet for a long tense moment, nothing but the soft sounds of his hands smoothing against her legs and the faraway sounds of a Hero running for his life from a dragon.

“Ugh,” Millie griped. “How do you it?”

He wet his lips. “Do what?”

She propped herself up on her elbows. “All the boring stuff. The cleaning, the cooking⁠—”

“I like cooking.” It gave him a sense of accomplishment. So long as he didn’t have to create elaborate meals, he enjoyed it. He preferred fresh food and simple but hearty flavors.

She waved that aside as she fell back and stared at the ceiling. “The mending, the laundry.”

He chuckled. “No one likes laundry, but it must be done. It matters, and you simply make time for the things that matter.” He flicked her lightly on the leg, earning him an affronted look. “And don’t think you can just throw your clothes out the window for the desert to eat anytime you don’t want to do the washing and simply put on a new outfit. I know it crossed your mind, you little heathen.”

She wrinkled her nose at him, eyes twinkling with mischief. “How dare you accuse me of thinking that exact thing?”

Bradley realized he was just about to smile at her and clamped his lips shut. By Caelus, am I teasing her? Is she teasing me back?

Fantasizing was one thing—a private, solitary experience—but teasing required a connection between both parties. Dropping his gaze, Bradley cleared his throat and resumed his work on her burns.

“What possessed you to start baking?” he asked quietly. Anything to take his mind off the heat igniting upon his cheeks.

She nudged him in the chest with her big toe. It didn’t hurt.

“Because I’m not selfish,” she said. “And I really love pastry.”

His blue eyes flicked up to hers then back to his thumbs kneading the ointment into the ball of her foot. “Hn.”

Millie tried to sit up, but it was a little difficult to do without kicking the apprentice in the face, and she didn’t want him to stop whatever he was doing with her foot. There were no words to describe how heavenly it felt.

“And I wasn’t doing just my laundry,” she persisted. “I threw your clothes in there, too.”

His hands stilled. “You what?”

“It may not have occurred to you, sir, but I haven’t had to be responsible for a lot of the mundane things for the bulk of my life. I’m learning, okay? I’m not some thoughtless twit with nothing but air and cotton in my brain. I watch and I listen and I— Hey!”

Bradley tossed her legs to the side and launched off the bed. In the bathroom, he bent over the tub and fished around in the mass of clothing. His stomach dropped when he found his undershirts, normally the off-white color of undyed linen, a beautiful carnation pink. Leaning back into the doorway with a sour expression, he showed them to the princess.

Millie stifled a snort and pressed a hand over her mouth, brown eyes dancing. “But they’re clean, right?”

He kept his lips pursed even as they threatened to quirk upward. “I give you permission to be selfish in this chore, Tula. Never help me with my laundry again.”

Bradley’s footfalls were so soft upon the sand that the inhabitants of the dungeons were only alerted of his presence because Fink had heard him. Chittering, the ferret wormed his way through two of the iron bars and bit down on the apprentice’s boot in greeting. Bradley scooped up Fink in the rough manner he seemed to enjoy and wrestled him gently.

Their playtime concluded, Bradley lifted his gaze and found the Heroes watching warily from their cell doors. The dragon’s valet never visited them after collecting their supper plates. They assumed he was off doing sorcerous things, which he normally did, but not tonight.

A jerk of his chin summoned Sir Roger.

“Like I told the miss,” the hedge knight said as he approached the dungeon door, “I didn’t see who started the fight this afternoon.”

The apprentice noted how the old man spoke loud enough for all to hear.

“I know what started it.” Bradley flicked his finger between two bars. He’d seen the same stir-crazy behavior in some of his fellow fishermen before. Long voyages at sea with nothing to do but wait for the fish to bite and get on each other’s nerves. “I’ll be back for them in the morning. They might be the princess’s tutors, but they’re guests in my tower first and foremost. And I will not tolerate unruly guests. See that they’re ready to work.”

CHAPTER 49