Page 30 of The Stolen Crown

“Not at all.”

“Then that is the price. You see, since the war, I’ve practiced with knives and daggers and all manner of blades. Best to be prepared, after all. Defeat me, and we’ll set sail soon after.”

“To what end? What would it prove?”

Mira tilted her chin, meeting my gaze. She was too bleeding close.

“I am not thoughtless. No, don’t take back your words now.” She held up one palm. “You only see me as some silly woman who does nothing but laugh and get trapped by sea sing…” Mira’s voice trailed off.

There was the truth of it. More than careless words about her love for bright gowns and ballrooms. I lowered my voice. “This is about the sea singer?”

“No.” Her mouth tightened when she stepped near enough. One deep breath and our chests would brush. “No, that was nothing. I merely…I merely yearn to prove you wrong, Hearttalker. I do more than drink wine and tell jests. I am more.”

She was, but I didn’t believe a word of her reasonings. Filib’s attack had impacted my vicious princess more than she wanted to admit.

Instinct demanded I refuse. This was a horrid idea, but something deeper, something like understanding, muffled the refusal in the back of my throat.

Mira wanted to find a bit of her power again. I could understand such a thing.

I did not think her entirely silly. She’d fought for the Ever during our battles, but I would not consider her a warrior. A title she seemed to crave by this reckless challenge.

“Do we have an agreement?” Her voice was soft, the whisper of her breath warm on my skin.

Foolish. Dangerous. Refuse. I needed to refuse. I let out a grunt of annoyance. “If your stubborn royal ass will return, fine.”

Mira’s eyes widened in a bit of stun, there and gone, before her grin widened. “Hearttalker, I had no idea you thought of my ass. And here I was thinking you’d never noticed.”

Heat prickled up the back of my neck. She was a tumult of maddening…something. I could not keep my wits around this woman. Furious, calm, violent, at ease. All of it spun my head with every damn word.

Mira strode past me. “Until tomorrow, then. Meet me at first light in the grove behind the palace.”

“So long as you’re bleeding packed and prepared to sail straightaway.”

“I’ll keep my word.” She jabbed a finger in my direction. “Don’t you dare lose on purpose. I’ll know if you do.”

As though none of our combative interaction had occurred, Mira strode from the balcony, chin lifted, a gleeful smile in place.

I blinked once, twice. Could a man die from irritation? The way my blood heated was enough to leave me concerned for the state of my heart. Any second, it would erupt through my chest, pulpy and weeping with gore.

Damn. Woman.

Mira Sekundär would unstitch my orderly existence one damn thread at a time. Either I would lose my head for killing her, or she would ensnare me into her whirlwind, ignorant to the risks that I would bring to her life.

And that was the most frightening piece of it.

The more she tried to pull me nearer, the less I wanted to fight. Any more and I would destroy the light in the amber storm of her eyes.

When it happened—and it would—I would never forgive myself.

9

The Illusionist

This was quite possibly the most idiotic idea I’d ever had.

After abandoning Tait on the balcony the night before, I spent the rest of the evening scolding my own traitorous mind for conjuring this entire sparring nonsense. As he asked last night, To what end? Why did I feel such a need to prove myself to anyone, but most of all him?

Of course, once I relented that I was a fool and this entire spar would only end horribly, too many layers of my pride had encircled the notion and there was no going back.