Page 65 of The Discount Damsel

“You’re halfway done,” she prompted softly.

Something about that tea—tisane—was clearing his head and making it easier to concentrate. He adjusted his seat so he could lean forward and brace his elbows on his knees. “Deep. In.” Ha, those had been easy ones, and he didn’t bother with another sip of tea. “D-d-dunge⁠—”

With an exasperated scoff, he downed another deep swallow of tisane and braced himself again. Work, throat. Work, he cajoled. “Dunge. Eee. Ons.”

The princess rolled her lips inward to suppress her mirth, and when the apprentice’s brow furrowed defensively, she shot out a hand to cover one of his balled fists. “I apologize. You’re doing it. Keep going.”

But he couldn’t, not with that hand and the pink-chipped nails perched on his, light and soft like a robin. That lump lodged in his throat again. There was nothing patronizing about that touch, but there was still something strange about it.

Millie followed his stare to her hand and quickly snatched it back. Began picking at the chipped paint on her thumbnail. Piss and plagues, she hadn’t meant to do that. Offer him encouragement when she had received none from him. It had just slipped out. For Dirk, she told herself.

Across the table, Bradley collected himself with some more tisane.

“Dank,” he said, brightening when he realized he had just completed the exercise.

“Do it again.”

Thirty minutes passed with many Dirks and dreams and dungeons. The teapot was dry and the sun hot, so they packed it in for the day. Or rather, Millie did. The wrought-iron patio set was strong enough to survive the weather, so she only cleared the table of mugs, pot, and doily, and, walking very, very carefully, brought them down to the kitchen for the sink to wash. Bradley trailed after her, running a hand through his hair, at a loss for words and signs.

He'd done it. Poorly, with much stumbling, but he’d managed to say Dirk the Dangerous dozes dreamily deep in dungeons dank all strung together in halting speech. And that feat had upended his world. Perhaps he didn’t need all these books or forbidden magic he shouldn’t know anything about. Perhaps all he’d needed was the princess and her patience all along.

But that was so against all he knew that his brain, and certainly his heart, couldn’t accept it. Nothing was ever that simple. Still, he loitered in the kitchen archway unsure of what to say. Should he thank her? That might be the equivalent of admitting he was wrong, or worse, apologizing for the brutality of this morning’s workout, and he wasn’t ready to go that far yet. This was just the first lesson, after all.

“Excuse me,” she prompted, and he discovered he was still blocking the archway.

She held two bowls of beans and rice in her hands, one topped with a raw egg she’d taken from the icebox. The pockets of her taffeta dress bulged with what he knew to be Anti-Fainting Noshables—cubes of salty cheese, roasted nuts, a small orange or two, all wrapped up in a cloth napkin. She had the strap of a waterskin slung over her elbow just like the strings of her reticule.

“Mustn’t keep Sir Roger and Master Dirk waiting.”

Right. The hedge knight needed fed and the little luck dragon had been conspicuously absent at breakfast. Maybe he was polishing his enchanted warhammer?

Bradley pivoted to the side to let her though, then stopped halfway through the maneuver when he noticed her hands. The apprentice seized the earthenware bowls and thrust them onto the counter.

The princess’s protest was cut off when he seized her wrist and angled her hand into the morning light. Bubbles filled with clear fluid dappled her fingers and palms.

“Let go.” Millie wiggled to get free and hide her hands. Though she had no idea what a blister was, she was a smart enough girl to know they were a result of her morning activities. An injury, perhaps. A weakness. Something the apprentice would use to humiliate her further.

But from the dark look on Bradley’s face, she suddenly feared maybe she’d touched something sorcerous and was now infected with something most dreadful.

Bradley’s insides coiled. He’d meant to break her, but not like this. He was freak of nature, not a monster. This was too much, and yet she’d said nothing, hadn’t even cursed him out as she was so fond of doing. She had endured—was enduring, because even now she fought to shed his grip.

“Do you mind? That hurts!” She swung her other hand back to slap him, or snatch her hairpin to jab into his throat again, but he caught it before she could strike his cheek.

“I-I m-m-mind.” Bradley backed her away from the archway and further into the kitchen until she bumped against the counter. “D-don’t . . . move.” He fought for patience against his stutter and tried again, focusing on each word as he had been taught. “I n-need . . . to. Clean th-these.”

“I’ll do what I like, thank you very much.” She gingerly rubbed her wrist where his fingers had pinched. “Outside of our training, my schedule is not yours to command.”

Yet Millie stayed put, curious, as Bradley retrieved an amber bottle, what looked like a square of dark green leather, and a roll of gauze from the cupboard nearest the stove. She flinched when he squirted a dropperful from the amber bottle onto each blistered palm. After Bradley wet the leather under the faucet, it relaxed into something flexible that smelled faintly of brine. He tore it in half and layered each half over the blisters. An involuntary moan of relief resounded in her throat.

“Kelp,” he said gruffly.

With a tenderness she didn’t know the grumpy apprentice possessed, he secured the kelp snugly against her blisters with the gauze. His fingers whispered over her skin, sure about their task. Like he had treated similar injuries a hundred times before and knew exactly what was needed. It reassured her more than the cooling numbness of the kelp that she would be alright. Finished binding, he tied a knot to secure it and tucked the ends under the bandage, neat and precise.

Millie was quick to pluck her bandaged hands from his grasp. She wouldn’t thank him. He didn’t deserve that after what he’d done to her. Her voice was stiff. “Well, I’m expected. Good-day.”

She collected the breakfast bowls and swept around the apprentice with his hung head into the stairwell. A few steps on shaky legs whisked her attention to her footing instead of her hands. They tingled, and it had nothing to do with the soothing balm created by the kelp.

CHAPTER 29