Page 235 of The Discount Damsel

“Who is the skull-breaking barbarian among us? I will do it my way, Princess. Also I will be plundering as well as destroying. My ice flower deserves something sparkly.” He leapt over the gunwale, slowed his descent with the rope, and disappeared into the forest.

“Wait for me,” Duncan shouted, descending the rope at a gingerly pace. “Unless you’re a sorcerer, those contraptions are fiddly!”

“Make sure that crossbow is dead,” Millie stressed.

“Yes, Miss Millie. I-I mean, aye, Captain!” The gnome grunted when he reached the ground buttocks-first. He rubbed the bruise from his cheeks as he scurried after the trail the barbarian had left behind.

Millie turned to Pocket, who was hardly recognizable in her ombre ball gown. Ocean blue at the top, the color deepened along her bodice and through the full skirt to a luscious plum purple at the hem. Tiny crystals sewn into the fabric gave the illusions of stars falling across a midnight sky. Glitter sparkled at the corners of her eyes, and her black hair was an artful mess of ringlets tamed by a silver tiara. At the top of the valley of her breasts, the polished tooth pendant shone like nacre. The raffia purses she was never seen without were nowhere in sight (they were under her gown, strategically placed to add volume to her skirt). On her shoulder, Fink finished securing a fancy silver bauble to Pocket’s ear.

“Ready?” the princess pirate asked.

“To cause a distraction and look undeniably fabulous doing it? Absolutely.” She swept the ferret from her shoulder, gave him a kiss, and handed him off to Dirk. “Take care of him, Slinky.”

Millie, in her favorite lemon-yellow dress with the lace trim, nodded to the hedge knight. “Sir Roger, you have the Tula.”

He winked. “Aye, Captain. Come along, Dirk.”

The luck dragon stuck his tongue out at the hedge knight. “Being left behind sucks.”

“You have the most important job of all of us and you know it.” Millie scratched the scales under his chin. “Just requires a bit of patience first.”

“I know, I know,” he grumped. “I’ll listen for your signal.”

“C’mon, Millie,” Bradley called from the griffin’s back. “Not much time.”

She waved farewell to her court and reached up for Bradley’s hand. The burly griffin grumbled at the extra weight, then outright squawked when Millie helped Pocket up after her. Festus squirmed and pranced like an impatient horse until Bradley heeled him into the sky.

Statute dictated that a sorcerer could not enter the professional domain of another without invitation or sufficient prior notice—preferably a fortnight’s warning. Wards were placed around each castle under a court sorcerer’s jurisdiction to thwart this very occurrence, or at least provide an early warning system, because not long enough ago, sorcerous sneak attacks between warring countries was very much in tactical fashion.

Bradley was capable of breaking the wards, but doing so was obviously an act of war, so he had written a formal request for Millie to smuggle in to the tea ceremony. That way, if and/or when Leighton attacked, including their court sorcerer, Olabeus would be forewarned and armed with an ally. Now all there was to do was infiltrate the party, deliver the message, thwart the wedding, and prepare for the aftermath.

The grand master cast an invisibility spell on their little group, and the griffin flew on silent wings to the greenhouse’s exterior terrace.

No one would be snogging behind the bougainvillea, thorny beauty that it was, so Bradley wrangled the ornery griffin into a hover behind the magenta foliage to allow the ladies to dismount. Once they were clear of the creature’s claws and feathers, the two women plucked up some champagne flutes that had been abandoned on the railing and strolled into the party.

Bradley watched fitfully as the princess pirate and her bestie disappeared beyond the glass doors. He knew she was fully capable of achieving whatever she set her mind to, but that didn’t meant he couldn’t be there to support her. With a frustrated growl, he wheeled Festus away to monitor from the sky until the wards dropped.

Pocket gasped at the splendor. Lanterns nestled amongst the foliage emitted soft, buttery light that sparkled in the crystal decorations. The polish was so fine upon the marble floor, her reflection stared back at her. Night jasmine perfumed the air, faint and unobtrusive, letting the more robust scents of sausage rolls, lemon sorbet, and honeyed figs topped with pistachios seduce the senses.

“You gave all this up to eat beans and rice in a tower?” Pocket whispered as they inserted themselves into the milling courtiers.

“I have missed the raspberry lemon tarts,” Millie admitted with a giggle. She sobered quickly and took Pocket’s hand, leading her further into the crowd. “This way. We missed the actual tea ceremony, but they should still be milling about by the orangery until the chimes signal it’s time for the wedding.”

The crowd was thicker here, the courtiers pressing for a glimpse of the young princess and her dashing prince and all the visiting royalty. It was hard for Mutineer Millie not to step on toes or elbow ribs in order to clear a path to her family, but stealth was the order of the day.

“Olabeus will be wearing a green robe with gold trim and one of those gaudy necklaces of dragonheart amber cabochons,” she whispered. “Once we find him⁠—”

“I go and stuff my gob at the refreshment table and pretend to choke. Cause all the racket, draw a big crowd.” Pocket wrinkled her nose. “What a waste of good shrimp toast.” Then she brightened. “Bet I could pick a few fancy pockets, though.”

The two women separated and wedged further into the crowd. Millie cursed her satin slippers, wishing she hadn’t flattened her feet during all that barefoot training and ruining them for heels. She really could have used the extra three inches to see over these ostentatious coiffures with their pearls and feathers. Sighing her irritation, Millie resorted to popping up on her tiptoes like a prairie dog in search of a better look.

The crowd shifted, much like a school of brilliant-colored fish, and Millie spied an opening to slide through. She bumped into a courtier with the same idea, and when their eyes met, fury rose in her like the heat of a forge freshly stoked. This wretch had forged the weapons Leighton had turned against her friend.

Hazel eyes widened in a round, olive face, a fat bottom lip dropped into his beard, and Baron Demir sputtered, “What are you doing here?”

The tension crackling between them snapped when the pleasant cascade of a chime summoned them all to the throne room for the wedding.

The Merlish baron snatched the paisley handkerchief from his suit pocket and flung his hand high above his head, wrist twisting. “Gu⁠—”