Page 174 of The Discount Damsel

It had to the be the eel. It must’ve been undercooked, or maybe there was something in that secret sauce she was allergic to.

Millie was feeling just fine now as she paced back and forth barefoot in the surf. The cool water lapping at her ankles had done wonders to settle her nerves, so obviously that meant she was ready to try again.

Bradley and Dirk watched from where they were seated upon the beach as the princess ran off in the direction of the sailboat they’d seen at dawn, now docking. It was a large vessel, at least thirty feet long. Positioned as it was on the leeward side of the pier, a boat that size would barely bob in the water.

Dirk’s claws dug into the sand as he minced in place, nervous. Bradley lifted a hand to shade his eyes, eyebrows rising in interest as the captain agreed to let Millie aboard. He was either very chivalrous or the princess was marvelously endearing, for he offered her his arm and escorted her up the plank himself.

The princess took one step across the deck, then a second, and released the captain’s arm as if to take a third all by her very independent self, thank you very much. Instead she bolted for the railing and heaved bile into the water.

The captain patted her back, offered his handkerchief, and quickly escorted her from his ship for as much her benefit as his. Stomach acid did frightful things to a wooden ship, and the deck had just been waxed.

Shoulders slumped, Millie staggered up the beach. By now, it was midmorning and those on holiday were leaving their rooms for time in the sun and surf. Some young men were assembling a true windsurf board, and the princess spared no time hailing them. From their bright smiles, they were pleased as punch to show off for the pretty young woman and give her a ride.

Mutineer Millie clamped down on every muscle and sphincter in her body, willing her insides to stay exactly where they belonged, as she heaved herself up onto the board. Instead of waiting for the young man with the obvious boner to join her, Millie angled the boom and caught the wind. She shot off into deeper water.

“Hells of the deep!” Bradley had already stripped off his robe and spectacles and was running into the water before her stomach heaved and the board capsized.

He ignored the screaming in his almost-healed shoulder and sliced through the water like a shark. He caught the flailing, half-drowned princess around her middle and swam for shore. When they could touch sand beneath their feet, Bradley hauled her upright so they wouldn’t be swept under by the pushy waves. There was a decent undertow here, and the princess couldn’t swim.

Once ashore, the princess waved at the young men. “Apologies! The wind took her right away from me. Enjoy the day.”

Bradley smacked the wet dark locks out of his eyes. “Tula,” he admonished.

Millie removed her sunhat, wrung out her hair, twirled it back up, and replaced her hat. It dripped fat beads of saltwater from the brim, curtaining her face in rain. “I bet the library’s open now. I’m sure we’ll dry on the way. Shall we?”

“Tula! You nearly⁠—”

Without looking at him, she walked off, her stride unsteady but purposeful. Dirk, who had stayed behind to guard their luggage, quickly helped her with her boots. Before Bradley could even shoulder his knapsack, the princess was fully loaded and marching across the beach for the library.

As she took one heavy step after another, Millie kept her chin up and her eyes forward. She focused on the lighthouse, that spire of gray stone against a fiercely blue sky dotted with cottony clouds, and nothing else. She felt instead of thought, noting the cool wicking of the breeze against her wet skin, then that dry skin warming under the summer sun, the dull thuds of her boots against the sand path, the rasp and scrape of her suitcase or picnic basket against the beach roses when she veered too far off to one side. Feeling was safer than thinking, because if she thought about what it meant for a pirate aspirant to suddenly discover she was violently seasick, she might just dissolve into a puddle of tears.

The dragonlore library was indeed open when she arrived, though one could not simply step inside. You had to ring a bell and a servant of the library would come fetch you.

A tall man with small horns protruding from his forehead answered the bell. Millie instantly recoiled, not out of fear, but out of astonishment. Miss Josephine would’ve rapped Millie’s knuckles something fierce for the slack-jawed, bug-eyed expression that now reigned supreme on Millie’s face. But it couldn’t be helped.

The assistant was positively and wholly uncontestably gorgeous.

The assistant’s eyes were an enchanting shade of emerald, and his white robe enhanced the golden hue of his skin. His jaw was sharper than cut glass, his high cheekbones perfectly symmetrical, and the musculature hinted at beneath his robe undeniably mouth-watering. Chocolate-brown hair tipped with gold curled beautifully around his horns and down to the nape of his neck. When he smiled and lifted Millie’s hand to his lips to kiss, she thought every bone in her body would melt.

“Enchanté,” he murmured in a velvety baritone.

“Uh-huh,” Millie replied dreamily. Suddenly, she didn’t seem to have a care in the world. How strange.

His thumb swept across the backs of her knuckles. “My name is Renaldo. How may I assist you today?”

Even the idiot of the most backwater village could’ve picked up the double entendre in that simple question.

“R-Renaldo. Sounds exotic,” she breathed.

His eyes glittered, lips parting to reveal a little sickle of a white smile. “I am, my lady.”

“He’s a Komodo,” Dirk told Millie, “just like Sir Eustace. They have the same golden skin and cranial horns, though his are bigger.”

“Wait, Sir Eustace is a Komodo?” Bradley exclaimed.

“Not like this one,” Millie said dreamily.

“Sir Eustace Zonure?” Renaldo asked, still holding Millie’s hand. “Pudgy little fellow who prides himself on his penmanship and loves tangelo margaritas? How is my cousin?”