Bloodguard

chapter 12

Maeve

The sun is barely peeking over the horizon as I pound on the cottage door the next day. “Leith, wake up. It’s Maeve.”

Wow. I can hear him growling from here. The door’s pretty thick, too. I’m rather impressed.

Leith knows who I am. About my fathers. Uncle Vitor imprisoning Papa. The murder of my grandmother, the true queen. The offer to free my father if I marry Soro.

I told him everything.

I was desperate. He was…disturbed.

But he needed to know who he was marrying, and smart man that he is, he recognized the unfathomable potential my offer may provide.

He hasn’t accepted it yet. Who can blame him? I’ve already lost one fiancé in as many days.

I try the door again, pounding harder. “Look, you said you could be called back at any time. Your muscles have healed, but the deeper wounds may need more medicine.”

Nothing. Well, nothing like words, anyway.

A thought occurs to me as I think back to how infected he was. Was he growling a minute ago, or was he dying? Oh, stars, did I kill him? “Shit. Are you dead?” I shout and pound some more.

“Not yet,” he answers from behind me.

I whip around, the small dagger I keep on my belt already in hand. How did he get out here so fast? He blinks at the point and not much else. I frown. Shouldn’t he at least take a step back? “What were you thinking? I could have slit your throat!”

“Yeah. Okay.” He scoffs, lifting his hand to the flat side of my knife and all too easily pushing it away. “You’re too close to the door, and your stance is off.”

“ Your stance is off,” I grumble. There’s that smirk—and there’s my heating face. Damn the effect he has on me. “I’ll have you know I was trained by the best.”

“Sure you were,” he mutters.

Leith steps backward, blinking at the sun as it rises, bright rays lightening his wet hair. He’s freshly bathed and evidently more awake than I am. He’s also wearing the new clothes I had Father take him after his match.

“What do you want?” he asks, leveling me with a dark scowl.

“Didn’t you hear me the first time?” I heave a dramatic sigh. “I want to see if you’re fit for battle… Otherwise, back in the tub you go.”

He shrugs and looks around. “I’ll take my chances. You might sedate me again, and I’ll wake up married.”

“That’s not true. I need you awake to say ‘I do.’”

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t leave.

“Come on,” I say, tucking my knife back into the scabbard in my belt. “Let’s make certain I didn’t miss something that could possibly cost you your next match.”

He raises a brow. “I think I’ll pass.”

“But what if you get called in to fight and your wounds reopen?”

He crosses through the garden to a small training area with practice swords leaning against a stand. He looks good. Really good. And not merely in the healthy manner I’d intended. Eyes illuminated with cunning and swirling with lasciviousness take in this day’s battlefield in one sweep as his muscles bulge and relax as he readies to take me on. He picks up one of the heavy swords, twirling it from his wrist as though it weighs no more than a twig. “Feel free to try to open them.”

I sigh. Gladiators .

I reach him in just a few strides and pick up the other sword. When Vitor stopped training me, Father, a revered soldier himself, took over that task—if for no other reason than to thwart a possible kidnapping attempt. I think it’s high time I show this cranky behemoth that not every royal is useless.

“Stay within the perimeter of the clearing or else you’re out,” I say and gesture to the edges of the field. “And don’t worry. I promise to hold back.”

“Oh, I wasn’t worried,” he replies casually.

I bounce in place to warm up. “You should be. I’m quite lethal.”

He makes a face. “Yeah. It shows, Princess.”

I lift my sword, move a few steps back, and take a practice swing to loosen up—only for Leith to knock my sword out of my hand with his. I glare at him.

“I wasn’t ready.” Just as a self-satisfied smirk reaches his lips, I drop down and sweep my leg under his. He falls as fast as any arrogant bastard should. I then use my instep to hook the hilt of my sword and kick it into the air. I catch it and grin. Seconds. That’s all it took me to act. I stare down at him, trying not to full-out guffaw at the shock riddling his features. “I am now.”

To his credit, he never dropped his weapon. Using speed uncommon to most humans, he kicks up, whirls, and strikes.

My hands and arms vibrate from the force when his practice blade collides with mine, and pain shoots all the way up to my shoulders. I try not to show it, using the momentum to spin in the air and come down in an arc.

Leith blocks my hit and the next, and I leap back when he launches forward. Back and forth, back and forth, and…shit, this is hard. I didn’t expect to be better or even equal. But I still expected to do better than this .

I barely keep up, gritting my teeth.

“Are you smiling or snarling?” he asks, leaping when I try to sweep his leg again.

I’m actually grunting, but I don’t admit it. “Just pondering what to do after I win.”

“Sweetheart, the day you win is the day I crawl into a hole and die.”

“Then get ready to crawl to your death,” I say.

Leith laughs. I focus on my strikes and not, definitely not, the smooth motion of his hips or how the muscles in his arms bunch up before each swing.

Leith is brutal in the arena, but here, with me, his swordplay is almost…majestic.

He drops to a crouch when I take my next swing, the speed at which he moves billowing his long hair and permitting me to slice off the ends. He stares at the falling strands. “Don’t look at me like that. You needed a haircut, and you know it.” I blush because yes, it was a total accident. “It will continue to grow, just like your ego.”

The strike he follows up with nearly causes me to lose my footing and my weapon. This is unfair—he’s not even breathing hard. He lunges forward, forcing me closer to the perimeter. I leap and roll aside, just barely making it to my feet before he’s on me again.

Aside from Uncle Vitor and Father, I’ve never sparred with someone at this level.

But then, rarely have I ever had to fight for my life.

Leith does this regularly, lasting however long he needs to win.

He easily deflects my next two offensive moves. “I”—slash—“can prepare a batch of medicines if your family could benefit from them”—block and pivot—“and a chest of coins for expenses they”—gasp—“might have incurred in your absence.”

I barely get the words out.

Leith…he still isn’t even winded.

I spin away, and he allows me a few seconds to drag air into my lungs. A tacit form of thanks, maybe.

“Tell me,” I say when I can breathe again, “won’t marrying a princess to become king help your family? Didn’t you say you’d do anything for them?”

He growls as I bring up the family he mentioned when I told him about my predicament. Then he swings his sword at me with considerable force. “Do not…”

I raise my sword and block, pain vibrating down my arm.

He swings again. “Ever…”

I block again.

He grabs the hilt of his sword with two hands now and swings. “Question me…”

I block again, my teeth rattling.

He whips around and swings his sword again. “When it comes…”

I stumble backward and pivot out of range.

“To my family.”

Each swing has gotten harder and harder to block, and only now that my arms are reduced to nothing more than quivering muscle do I realize how easy he was taking it on me earlier. And yet, as rage sparks in his eyes, I know he is still holding back. He wants to make a point—whether to me or himself, I’m not sure—but he’s never fully lost control.

Which is why I’m not afraid. I’m horrified.

Guilt at what has been done to this man, by my own royal court, makes me want to scream, but I can’t focus on his past right now. What I need to do, what I will do, is change his future.

I let my sword fall to the ground with a hollow clank . “Marry me,” I plead, my gaze on his.

We stand there, me breathing hard, hurting, aching. Him scowling.

The seconds tick by, and I think I should say or do something, but before I can, he straightens. “If you really intend to be queen, you need to fight harder. I won’t stick around to catch you when you fall.” He tosses his sword beside mine. “Even if it means your life.”