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I couldn’t deny the urge to defy my father for the sake of having a choice. And this man, this conundrum of a person, had put it all on the line and still agreed to marry me, not only without a fight, but he was fighting for it. For us. Here and now. Still, my mind told me this was a bad idea.
“Pretty words and a man’s conviction rarely end in bliss.”
“I’ll make you a deal. You can pick any challenge you want, and I will best you. If you lose, you agree to marry me tonight.”
“And if you lose?”
“Then I will refuse to marry you tomorrow, and you can walk away, free of the obligation.”
“I can assure you, neither of us is walking away tomorrow. We will be married no matter what.”
“Pick your challenge. Let me prove that I’m worthy of you.”
I walked away, shaking my head. “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that. At least let me dress, and then I’ll be happy to kick your ass for a while. We can consider it a warmup for our marriage.”
He rubbed his hands together, flashing a knee-buckling smile, that chiseled jawline somehow growing more defined. “I might surprise you.”
“I highly doubt it,” I called over my shoulder, heading into the bathing room for privacy.
I dressed in my usual black leathers, arming myself with every weapon I kept hidden in the small room as an idea formed in my mind. Nothing would truly make him worthy, but perhaps instilling a little fear would be a good life lesson.
He stood on the balcony with his back to me, staring out over Perth with his hands clasped behind his back. The second I moved toward him, he turned, though his eyes still never left my face.
“If you want to impress me, Icky”—I flipped my blade in my hand for show—“disarm me.”
He pushed aside the sheer curtain. “With my charm or wit?”
“With your hands, King. But… if I remove your weapons first, I win.”
“Who says I’m wearing any weapons?”
“You’ve got a knife strapped onto your back, and there’s a holster beneath your shirt. I’d wager it holds another blade, but it could be your diary, I suppose. I’d bet my last coin you’ve got at least one weapon in your right boot. Your left is likely clear since it’s injured.”
He sauntered back into the room, his eyes finally dropping to survey me before rubbing his face. “Okay. I’m ready. I’ll be gentle… mostly.”
“I make no such promises,” I countered, planting my feet shoulder-width apart.
He dove as expected, and I spun with ease, avoiding his grip but managing to hook a finger into his belt and engage the blade on my wrist.
“I believe you missed,” he said, seconds before his pants fell to his ankles.
“Rule number one, Icky. I never miss.”
Fighting the urge to look down, I laughed, letting him pull his pants back up with a huff.
“Don’t worry, I left enough of your belt to be of use. You’ll just have to cinch a little tighter. I’m sure you can manage.”
“How considerate.”
I didn’t bother getting into position this time. He was sloppy, and I was highly trained and always ready. He lunged for me again, snagging my wrist and stealing the little knife I’d used before I ever saw his hand move.
“That’s one for me and none for you.”
“Good boy,” I chided. “Again.”
He moved without fear, looking directly into my eyes with solid composure. I’d never felt so bare before another. This time, he didn’t charge me. Instead, he feigned left and spun right, and when I caught his arm, shoving him away from my ribs, the look of surprise on his face was a victory I didn’t know I needed.
The king didn’t hesitate, hitting the ground to sweep his leg below me, knocking me down. Springing into action, he flipped over me, swiping the tiny throwing knives on my rib cage.
