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He wouldn’t care that Archie knew how to handle a staff.
And the fact that there were no actual bandits involved didn’t seem to make a difference. The unyielding silence continued until the princess broke in with an exaggerated sigh.
“Honestly, Father. Not everyone feels the need to swing a sword around.”
“They should. Or they end up in tricky situations like this,” the king swatted back, gesturing toward Archie with a wide wave of his hand. “And we can’t have bandits roaming around so close to the town—not when my daughter has her heart set on opening the castle for the festival.”
The princess didn’t give ground for a second. “Then I suppose it is a good thing you already have at least two-dozen men at the castle eager for the first spring hunt. Assemble them at dawn. Defending your lands from bandits should not fall to one huntsman alone, no matter how talented he might be.” Ainsley flashed Archie a smile that stole his focus.
It stole her father’s focus too.
“Indeed,” the king said slowly, almost absently. His flapping arms had stilled, landing near his sword belt, and his hazel eyes narrowed in on Archie—boring into his soul. “Though, it is rare that my daughter should become acquainted with the skills of a new huntsman before me. Rare that she would raise such a passionate defense. It is an irregularity I cannot allow to stand for much longer.”
Archie had no words. That was it then. The princess had tried to defend him, but now that the king knew of her preference, Archie was going to be stabbed by the king’s sword.
And, under the king’s robe, Archie was still only in his shorts.
Archie’s life might not be much of a faerie story, but someone might still write a song about this particular misadventure. A cautionary tale. The lyrics wouldn’t be flattering, but why should he care? He wouldn’t be alive to hear it.
He couldn’t wear the mask of a competent huntsman or even Anderdolf the Dwarf like this.
The king’s hands stayed by his sword, but he smiled. A challenge and an invitation. “So, huntsman, what do you say? Join my two-dozen men at first light, help us search for these bandits, and maybe we can find someone who can teach you to spar.”
Still expecting a blow to his chest, a few words were startled out of Archie like a cough. “You’re . . . you’re going to teach me to spar?” And the princess had taught him the bow.
Apparently, such fancies ran in the royal family.
The king laughed. “I did not say I would personally teach you, but why not? I have taken a turn with most of the men in my service, and I can appreciate a man with guts.”
A man with guts. Archie’s guts were in knots. He looked back at the still-dozing cat, wondering what Leo had gotten them into.
* * *
“What is this, Ainsley? Some sort of youthful rebellion?” the king asked the moment they had reached the castle stable grounds and pawned the miller boy off on some passing servants. But Leo was still in the princess’s arms and heard the whole exchange. “Here, on the eve of your first spring as a fully grown woman, I take you on a tour to review all the eligible and noble men of our court, and I even ask for your opinion, only for you to reveal that you already have your eyes set on some half-dressed peasant boy?”
Ainsley promptly raised her chin, matching the clip of the king’s tone like they were performing some sort of dance or a friendly game with a feathered ball pinging back and forth. “Honestly, Father. You make it sound like I brought home a tavern rat.”
“No, I think you brought home a flinching rabbit,” the king volleyed back. “You should know better, Ainsley. Your brother has passed, and you will need a proper champion to help secure your claim to the throne.”
“Archie is a huntsman, from a line of noble huntsmen. You sampled some of his catches already—the quail. The rabbits. He will look perfectly respectable when you see him next.”
“After you have a chance to dress him up, you mean?”
“You think the men you showed me were not dressed up to show themselves at their best advantage? I can assure you there were no true princes amongst them.”
The king grimaced. “I should hope not. I will not hand my kingdom to a foreign prince. Not while there is still a drop of strength in our own blood.”
“Then we are agreed.” She bowed her head in a mocking sort of curtsy that could only mean one thing. The flying ball of their conversation had landed, earning her a major point. “I will only accept the suit of a noble-hearted champion from within the walls of our own kingdom.”
And Leo hated being held. He hated it more when people started making awkward movements that left his feet hanging and his torso scrunched. Every instinct told him to sound his displeasure and dart away.
But he hung on anyway.
Out in the streets, it seemed he was in a foreign land where it was easy to remain unattached and keep his distance from most humans. Everything was too big. Too loud. Crude and even smelly. However, hearing the girl verbally spar with her father was different. Someone was finally speaking his own language, even if it wasn’t directed at him.
He was on the castle grounds, and a part of him instantly felt like he had come home.
He could hang on a little more for that.
