Page 64 of The Discount Damsel

The desert breeze fiddled with the doily under the teapot like a nervous debutant at her first afternoon tea out in society. It whisked away the steam from the mugs and rippled across the amber-colored tisane.

Across the table from him, the princess picked up his mug for a sip as she looked over the sun-washed dunes with a nonchalance that could only be described as forced. She had to hold the mug with both hands since her arms still trembled from their morning workout.

Bradley had expected a tantrum at breakfast, but the princess, once again dressed in her pink taffeta, had surprised him with her silence. Her behavior, too. She didn’t bang the cupboards shut after fetching her tea leaves nor slam the spoons and bowls for their pottage down on the table. She was cool, collected, and that made him very, very suspicious.

His gaze flicked down to the tisane in the Lip Cutter, wondering if it was poisoned. Bradley hadn’t been familiar with that term, but of course the princess had educated him all about that (it was an herbal concoction that had no business whatsoever calling itself “tea” since none of the components hailed from the Camellia sinensis plant), along with all the components of this particular brew. Chamomile (for relaxation), rosemary (for concentration), lemon balm (for reducing anxiety), and well, she would have added some apple slices and some honey to round out the flavor profile, but the larder had been spectacularly lacking in those ingredients, so would he mind terribly if she added those to the magic blackboard for Miss Penelope Shrewsbury to deliver at her earliest convenience?

None of those ingredients were beyond the College kitchen’s ability to procure, but someone would definitely notice the difference in handwriting if the princess made the request, so he scribbled the items down with the chalk, making sure to add rice paper to the list once again, in case he had forgotten. He couldn’t promise the kitchen staff had the time to make adjustments to his shipment, as Miss Penelope and her griffin were scheduled to arrive any day now, but there was no reason why the extra items couldn’t be in the next shipment.

“I think it’s cool enough to drink now,” Millie said presently, taking another sip from his mug.

Bradley would’ve preferred something cold to drink, after wrangling that wrought-iron patio table and two matching chairs halfway up the tower after breakfast. The princess had discovered the patio set last night (but not a suitable suite) and insisted they have a separate space for his speech lessons. But since all the other rooms in the tower were either biohazardous or in colossal disarray, and she wanted to preserve the peace and function of the kitchen, the bedroom (where there was only function and absolutely no peace, what with her being his bedmate), the workroom, her training room, and the dungeons, she settled on the least-used balcony—the eastern one.

Leagues upon leagues of scalloped dunes and the occasional scraggily agave plant, all beneath a spotless azure sky, stretched endlessly. The tower was situated far to the southwest in the Ashburnum waste, so the bulk of the Heroes would come from those cardinal directions. The griffin rider would come from the north, and while that was an infrequent arrival, it could prove distraction enough. So they faced east where there was nothing to surprise them but the presence of a daring lizard or a vulture riding high on the thermals.

The princess cleared her throat, and Bradley picked up the traitorous (and possibly poisoned) Lip Cutter for a cautious sip. The tisane was woodsy and floral, and he wondered if this was the same brew she’d made the first time she’d confronted him in the workroom about starting speech therapy. He shoved that time from his mind and cleared his head. He’d promised to be a willing student, after all.

“Drink at least half, and we’ll begin,” the princess said.

He obeyed, set his mug down.

“Now, repeat after me: Dirk the Dangerous dozes dreamily deep in dungeons dank. And remember, you know this sentence. Focus on each word separately, and the rest will follow.”

Bradley discovered his mouth to be quite dry and hastily took a sip of the tea to lubricate his throat. “D-D-Dirk th-the D-D-Dang-g-g⁠—”

She held up a hand. “Stop. Your mind is already running away with your mouth. Take a sip of tisane between each word.”

While the vindictive part of her enjoyed seeing him struggle, considering how he’d humiliated her this morning, she knew him mastering this was essential to helping Dirk, and she was very fond of the wee noodle-like dragon.

The apprentice’s mouth flattened into a thin line, and the princess popped an eyebrow.

Yes, yes, he’d promised to be a willing student. He took a sip of tea. “Dirk.” Sip. “The.” Sip. “Dang-g-ger-ous,” he spat out and took a frustrated sip.

“Breathe.”

Bradley scrutinized her, wondering if he’d heard a hint of smugness in her voice. Was she getting back at him from this morning? He huffed and sipped. “Do-zes.” Sip. “D-d-d-d—” The cursed word skipped across his tongue.

“Dream-ah-lee,” the princess replied.

Jealousy ripped through him. How could she sit there all cucumber calm and coordinated in her stained pink taffeta with her auburn hair swaying in the breeze like he wasn’t fighting for his life and dignity just three feet away? She was definitely getting back at him for this morning, wasn’t she?

“You broke apart dozes into its component syllables without difficulty. You can do the same with dreamily.”

“I’m not a child who needs to sound out words!” he signed.

Something sharp came to her eyes, surfacing silently and lethally like sharks from the deep. “Today you are, Mr. Donmarin.”

The apprentice blew out another breath and gulped the rest of his tea.

“Close your eyes if it helps,” she suggested.

He wouldn’t, simply because she suggested it. There was “willing student” and there was “mindless drone.”

“D-d-dream. Ah. Lee,” he managed.

She smiled, and its genuineness caught him off-guard. The tisane in his stomach suddenly turned sour. Great, now he was feeling guilty for thinking poorly of her instructions. And maybe about how he’d treated her this morning. Maybe.

He lifted his mug to dislodge the lump that had formed in his throat, only to find it empty. Her arm lifted with all the grace of a swan’s neck, lifted the teapot, and poured him some more. He noticed she took great care to allow none of the tremors that raced up and down her arm to pour the tea into anywhere other than his mug. Bradley mumbled something wordless in thanks and took a deep swallow.