Page 193 of The Discount Damsel

Renaldo opened the door to the restricted section, and the wicks of the candelabras snapped to life with heatless white flame. There were no windows here, nor shelves, just a long table with each guarded book or scroll positioned on its own cushion of black velvet. The bat-winged bookwyrms left their perches by the door and swooped in silently for new perches on either side of the table.

The Komodo referenced the slip of paper Millie had given him again, just to be sure, then offered the paper to the nearest bookwyrm. The little creature’s razor-like teeth shredded it to bits so fine one could’ve mistaken the mess for lint. Renaldo lifted a slim book bound in black leather and offered it to Dirk.

“This is the subject matter the princess recommended. You are free to look at the other works here, as well, but take no notes. I will leave you in private, but Noir and Akumu will remain to attend you. Fair warning, their teeth have the same effect on dragon flesh as they do on paper.”

Dirk gulped.

“Happy reading.” Renaldo closed and locked the door behind him.

“Can you two, um, turn around?” Dirk asked the bookwyrms. “I don’t like being watched.”

They shook their heads.

“Fine, fine, fine,” the Mini Red huffed. He flipped open the book to its cover page and felt his flesh tighten as if he’d been petrified by a basilisk’s stare.

WYRM.

Dirk forced a swallow and a ripple of luck from his scales. Both were pathetically weak, but they bolstered him nonetheless. Then he began to read about the curse inherent in every dragon and the fate that awaited him should it ever activate.

CHAPTER 79

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING, A ROGUE SCHEME, AND DIRK IS SWORN TO SILENCE

With nothing left to do for the rest of the day except become true tourists and holidayers, Millie and Bradley headed for the beach. The townsfolk would hear nothing about their paying customers assisting in the beach clean-up efforts and shooed them away.

“I suppose we could just promenade,” Bradley suggested, gesturing to the others doing the same.

“Are you sure? We could always stop in at Midge’s and see if she has something that could help you.”

“Like what? The third eye of a three-eyed goat or a giant rabbit’s lucky left foot? Pfft.”

“I did see a jar full of eyes on one of her shelves in there.”

Bradley stopped, swiveled a newfound look of respect and horror at the moss-covered establishment. “Really?”

She swatted his arm. “Of course not. She’s a respectable swamp witch.” The princess kept walking. “That jar’s probably hidden under the counter with the rest of her freaky wares.”

“A promenade it is, then.”

A large part of him protested this decision—he should be spending every waking moment devoted to lifting his curse—but the smaller, stronger part of him insisted on a break. A clearing of the mind. A precious moment where he could just be again.

Coming aside her, Bradley gave the brim of Millie’s hat a playful flick. “Is this enough to protect you from freckling? Should we return to The Dreary Pelican for your parasol?”

“Whatever for?” She swept the auburn curls over her shoulder. “You said my freckles enhanced my beauty.”

Bradley flushed. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You are free to compliment me at any time, Bradley Donmarin. Or kiss me.”

The apprentice tripped on nothing at all, caught himself, and smoothed down the front of his robe. Despite the vulnerability of yesterday, he still found the princess’s lack of subtlety in this matter pitching him off-balance. He’d been taught a man pursued a woman, not the other way around. Like birds. The male tern danced and flew prettily and offered his female fish after fish to prove his worthiness and his ability to provide. Bradley didn’t consider himself worthy yet, so he would keep his feathers to himself.

She rescued them from the awkwardness growing between them by declaring, “Now give me your arm. My feet are absolutely ruined for these pointy shoes and I will not be seen wobbling.”

Millie slipped her gloved hand into the crook of his elbow, but he didn’t protest the touch. He tightened his arm against his ribs to keep her closer. Secure. Safe.

When he chanced a glance down at her to make sure she was comfortable with this more intimate connection, pink had bloomed upon her cheeks like carnations. For all her boldness about kisses and compliments, she was still a woman who yearned to be wooed.

“I say,” she exclaimed softly, freezing to a halt. “Is that Lord Robert Matcha?”