Page 17 of The Discount Damsel

He’d done his best to arrange it all on matching dinnerware and settle it on a wooden tray, though he had to overlap the edges of the plate a bit to get it to all fit. Dirk selected the one fork that didn’t have bent tines, plus the spoon with the least amount of tarnished blotches, and nestled them where he could.

Without sparing a look at the sorcerer apprentice, Dirk refilled the princess’s mug—Bradley’s mug—added another two lumps of sugar, and wedged it between the ham and the potato. A gust of wind lifted the tray and had it bobbing through the air after him as he flew into the stairwell in search of the princess.

Alone, Bradley stood in the middle of the kitchen. He could take a princess’s temper-tantrum in stride—they were all self-absorbed, vainglorious peacocks—but Dirk’s reprimand hit deeper. He was called an idiot or a moron by the baby dragon daily, but never ass, and never with the vehemence he’d just experienced.

Frowning and feeling like a boat suddenly cut from its mooring line, the sorcerer apprentice turned to the stove and struck a match to light it. He suspected he’d be dining alone tonight, but just in case the dragon came back, Bradley would have Dirk’s favorite grouper almondine waiting for him.

CHAPTER 7

ALMOST A WATERY DEATH, DEFINITELY A TRIPPING HAZARD, AND MUCH AUDACITY

The baby dragon did not return, so Bradley ate by himself in the quiet kitchen with nothing but the creaking of the stove as it dispelled its heat to keep him company. The fish, caught only yesterday and still very fresh, did not seem as flavorful, and the browned butter and toasted almonds did little to improve the flavor.

Later, Bradley found little wonder or solace in the stars of the northern sky, so he abandoned the balcony early for some reading, which he never did at night. First, candles were a non-renewable resource, which he had to rely on since the multisyllabic illumino incantation now had explosive tendencies when uttered with his stutter, and second, a particular piece of wisdom had been drilled into him by his father, mother, and the entire fishing village time and time again: the body needed a break sometime. If you didn’t rest your body, your body would make you rest, and usually in the form of injury or illness just to spite you for abusing it. And Bradley had no time for anything that would hinder his ability to study, so eight hours a night it was.

If those personal reasons weren’t reason enough, his own master forbade it. Master Excelsior was a stickler for never bringing sorcery books out of the workroom. “That’s how they slip from your fingers and plummet to a watery death below.” Nor bringing any work into the bedroom. “That room is for rejuvenation only, dear boy, whether through sleep or . . . other activities that you’ll learn about when you’re older.”

But the sorcerer apprentice found himself simultaneously restless and exhausted, and sometimes that combination could breed recklessness.

Maybe it was the princess’s comment on him being slow. He’d been in the top one percent of his class since he started formal education, so he most assuredly was not a dunce. She’d just taken one look at his callused hands and sun-darkened skin and homespun clothes and had assumed someone who’d had to work for living had never learned how to read. His pride had risen like the hackles on a dog and refused to be soothed until he proved to her that he was still the same caliber of sorcerer apprentice as always even with a cursed voice.

So he yanked a thick volume titled Small Magicks from the shelf, ignored the phantom admonishment from his master, and decided he’d read while he soaked in the tub. Besides, the mind gleaned just as many details when it was relaxed as it did when it was focused, they were just of a different nature. Since the potions weren’t working out for him, maybe the archaic small magics would. Master Excelsior certainly wouldn’t have kept the book around if it provided no value.

With each winding step down the tower, Bradley kept the book tucked up tight under one arm. Just because he was breaking the rules didn’t mean he had to be reckless in every facet of his life. Still, he hurried down the stairs as if someone might catch him and scold him to within an inch of his life and nearly pitched into the tower’s central abyss when he tripped over something on the landing just outside his bedroom door.

The book dropped from his armpit as his hands shot out to grab the guide rope and the door handle. A quick thrust of his hip and a kick of his leg bounced the book off his body and into the safety of the alcove. Another crack or two might’ve appeared on its worn leather covers, but at least the integrity of the knowledge inside had been preserved.

When his ears stopped ringing from all the rushing blood and his heart no longer raced like a chipmunk being chased by a very hungry fox, the sorcerer apprentice straightened.

In the soft glow of the wall crystals, he discovered a wooden tray and dishes in slumped disarray.

Oh no. No, no, no.

Bradley shouldered open the door.

The princess looked over from where she snuggled under the covers in his bed.

On the bedside table, the taper candle flickered in the wind of his appearance. No book or embroidery lay across her lap. Hells of the deep, what had she lit it for? Ambience?!

With something akin to a panicked grunt, Bradley yanked the door shut. Perhaps it was just the exhaustion and excitement of the day fraying his nerves. There were dozens of bedrooms in this tower—surely the princess and the discarded tray were just figments of his imagination. He never would’ve taken Small Magicks out of the workroom had he known the breech in protocol would cause hallucinations. Swallowing thickly, he pushed open the door just a crack.

The princess was still there, sitting upright now. The light from the sole candle glowed gold in her long auburn hair and slid across her bare shoulders. Caelus’s Stars, was she naked under the bedsheets? That thought should have set his nerves tingling, but all he felt was outrage on behalf of his meticulously organized bedroom. Her taffeta dress draped haphazardly over the back of his chair, her silk stockings slung across the seat. The fact that she was snuggled in his bed smacked of audacity enough, but this? Had she never heard of a closet or hangers? Or a hamper?

Brow creased in a frown, Millie began, “Excuse y—,” and Bradley yanked the door shut once more.

With a shove of his boot, he scooted the tray into the corner of the alcove opposite Small Magics where he was less likely to trip on either again. Then he bolted for Dirk’s room.

The baby dragon’s impressive hearing heard the frantic cadence of Bradley’s approach from a long way off, and he greeted the sorcerer apprentice at his bathroom door. The white cat was in his arms, eyes slitted and ears flattened at the disturbance.

Bradley stared at the cat. It certainly hadn’t taken the beast long to make herself comfortable, just like her mistress.

Dirk yawned. “I hope you didn’t step on any hermit crabs during your stampede.”

“That princess is in my bed!” the apprentice signed.

Balancing Duchess, Dirk rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “I need some context here, since you were so opposed to getting laid earlier. Are you excited that there is a princess in your bed, or angry? From what I’ve observed about humans, both emotions would give you that rosy complexion and cause that vein in your neck to throb.”

“I’m angry!”