Bloodguard

chapter 8

Leith

Considering I was summoned to screw Jakeb’s daughter, her staff has stuffed me dangerously close to exploding. I’m sitting alone in a small cottage away from the main house, waiting for the woman in question to appear. And waiting. And waiting some more.

I look out the only window to a garden filled with wildflowers and greens, their stems stretching tall and proud in spite of the wind. For reasons I can’t explain, they remind me of the brown-haired elf from earlier. Defiance, maybe…something about sheer force of will. Or I just want an excuse to remember the first pretty face I’ve noticed in a while. A rusty laugh builds in my chest as I recall her reaction to Lord Peacock’s untimely demise. Hell, maybe I’ll even imagine her face tonight while I’m screwing whatever royal is beneath me.

The manor is a good distance away across the garden, which means whoever is coming for me probably likes to scream and yell all night, then continue the facade of a good, chaste royal when she leaves in the morning. Whatever. Coin is coin.

The dwelling holds no bed, only a large kitchen featuring a hand-pumped sink and a rack of strange, colorful spices, with a fireplace in one corner and a large empty bathtub in the other.

This is a strange place for sex, but I’ve seen stranger.

Two servants sweep up the remains of the meal they served an hour ago—a full loaf of bread, savory braised lamb, and perfectly crisp rosemary potatoes. The portions were enormous—enough to feed my whole family and then some—and it was a struggle to pace myself so I didn’t get sick. It almost physically hurts to watch them carry the leftovers away.

Then they start filling the large tub with buckets of hot water they carry in from outside.

I cock my head when I see steam rise from the water. A hot bath. Nice.

I look outside again, wondering when Jakeb’s daughter intends to show up, but all I find is some stable hand crouched in the garden just below my window. They set down a basket of berries, back to me and hood tucked over their head. The servant offers the fruit to a small group of estrellas who raced from where they were playing in the garden.

“Neela’s coming soon, and I’ll bet she brings dessert,” they tell the small creatures.

That must be the daughter of the manor, I surmise, swooping in after the real work is done. Royal women are obsessed with those puffy motherfuckers—treat ’em nicer than they ever deigned to handle me, that’s for sure.

This “Neela” is taking her sweet time, though. Or…is she waiting for me to bathe first? No, I must be given permission to use anything in a noble’s home, even the damn chair I’m sitting on. It’s the only reason I’m not already enjoying a hot bath.

I cross my arms and look around. The table seems sturdy. Maybe she’ll want me to take her there.

Standing. Sitting. Crouched. Swinging. I’ll do anything she wants me to do. That meal was superb, and that bath looks heavenly. I just want to get to the fucking part soon—so I can get to the sleeping part even faster. After today’s fight, every inch of my body aches except the ones she plans on using.

The floorboards on the porch creak. Looks like it’s finally time for the lady to grace me with her presence. Her guards will wait outside, I presume, to make certain I don’t kill her.

Her guards, which there’s still no sign of…

Instead, that servant from the garden steps through the door, a basketful of greens under their arm this time. They’re taller than I thought. A lot taller—either an elven woman or a wiry human man. Given the outfit, it’s safe to assume the latter. Good. Easier in a fight . His expression is blank. At least I think it is. It’s hard to tell with that hood covering most of his face.

But then he sees me and jumps, dropping everything, including his jaw, on the floor.

“My, you’re huge up close,” he breathes. “I just might need help taking care of you.”

“I don’t need anyone to ‘take care of me,’” I say. “I’m just waiting for Neela.”

“For Neela?” He cocks his head. “Why?”

“So I can fuck her,” I say, pointing out the obvious.

“What?” the servant shrieks. Yeah, shrieks . I could kill every soul in this place if I wanted—a comforting reminder, actually—and they sent a fucking teenager to watch over me. The dazzling stupidity of the noble class.

I sigh. “Fine, so I can ‘make love’ to her,” I try, using air quotes this time.

“You can’t sleep with Neela…” The boy gives it some thought. “I mean, maybe you could if you’re her type.” He shrugs. “Anyway, at least for the moment, you’re stuck with me.”

“Listen, I’m in no mood to fight with anyone right now.” I fix him with a look that’s sent multiple enemies sprinting far and fast. “Go back to your mistress and tell her I haven’t got all night. I’ve had a real shitter of a day, so I’d like to get on with this and then get some actual rest. Now run along, kid.”

“I am not a kid,” he says, affronted and pulling back his hood. It’s only then I realize he’s a she, and she’s… her .

Strands of hair as rich as mahogany escape her braid to fall against her cheek. She starts to brush them aside but realizes I’m staring at her, and instead she lets her hair partially cover her face.

Her braid slides along her lower back as she turns to place her cloak on the chair, and I follow it to a view of the graciously curved ass that was hidden beneath.

Tan suede breeches cover her long legs, her black boots hitting right below the knee. Her blouse is black, as is the leather corset holding her top in place and emphasizing her womanly physique. Yeah, she’s a woman all right. Nothing gets past me.

“There’s a lot I need to do to you,” she says, then straightens and turns back to me. “Are you ready to start?”

“Start?” I ask.

She nods.

I point. “With you?”

Another nod.

“And not Neela?”

“No, not Neela…” She tilts her chin as if there’s something wrong with me. “Ah, could you get in? This may take all night.”

Yeah. I’ll bet. I follow in the direction she motions and realize she means the tub.

“You want me in the tub?” I ask. Typical royal—she’s expecting me to wash. Hell forbid I soil her body with mine.

There’s that look again. “Where else would we do it?”

“The floor?” I offer.

“How in Old Erth are you still alive?” she asks. “You’re completely irrational.”

“And you’re horny,” I remind her.

She frowns. “I’m… thorny ?”

I wave a hand. “Yeah, that too.”

The woman I now know is Jakeb’s daughter starts toward me but thinks better of it. “Just get in the bath ,” she says, then turns to work at the stone table, her back to me.

Testy little thing.

I remove my clothes and step into the tub, then pause when my foot reaches the base. The water is blissfully hot. Not enough to burn but enough to fully realize the extent of my injuries.

As my muscles relax, my tendons pull like delicate, easily torn webs. I didn’t notice how abused my feet were until now. As a gladiator, if you can run—blazes, if you can hobble —you’re well enough to fight.

I slide my other foot in, gripping the edge of the tub as my body trembles. My mind insists it’s better to ease in. Every throbbing inch of me begs otherwise.

After the initial bite, the hot water covering my thighs brings miraculous relief. And this basin is large enough for me to sink down to my neck and stretch out.

Grime and sweat from my legs drift off and pollute the water, but before it settles, the dirt is whisked away into nothingness. There must be a cleaning stone in here. A big one.

Cleaning stones can purify water for drinking in about an hour. I’ve never seen one work this fast before. It must have cost a small fortune.

I lower myself the rest of the way in and grimace, barely holding back my pained groans.

It’s torture. All of it.

Except then…then there’s peace.

I submerge completely, ignoring how the high temperature bombards my head injuries, but soon, serenity is all I know as the pain fades like dirt removed by the cleaning stone.

I ignore the growing burn of my oxygen-starved lungs and focus instead on the sweet silence, broken only by my pulse thumping in my ears.

When I break through the surface, I fling my hair away from my face, and the long ends smack against my shoulder blades. I take slow, deliberate breaths through the stomach, like I was taught, soothing my lungs.

Growing up, I learned from our elders how to survive in the caverns of Siertos during flood season, which plants I could safely eat and which would kill me. My mother taught me how to store water for the dry months and how to tend to the belladom, a cactus that only grows in Siertos and creates the most expensive and sought-after perfume in the world. It’s all Siertos is known for, and it’s how my family made what little money we had. Those who developed and marketed belladom were the only ones who became rich. We were just the poor farmhands who tended to the crops.

There’s a clink of bottles behind me, reminding me that I’m here for a purpose, not peace.

“So,” I say, and the woman turns to face me. “Ready to take me on, Princess?”