The Rebel Prince (The Season Series #3)

Chapter 33

As Frederico's wife dragged him back towards the door she'd burst free from, Beatriz clapped a hand onto my back.

"We meet back here at sundown for dinner," she said.

I squinted overhead, at the sun that was hours from setting. "And in the meantime?"

She'd already put at least five paces between us, but she glanced back at me over her shoulder. "Entertain yourself." She swung her arm wide, gesturing to the town and the troops camped around it. "Plenty of new strangers for you to pester."

"What if I'd rather entertain myself with you?" I closed the space between us with more effort than I'd have liked, my saddlesore thighs struggling to keep up with her steady soldier's gait.

She cut me a sidelong glance. "If I'd wanted a puppy dog who hounds my every step, I'd have trained one myself. He'd probably be a better fighter, too."

I let out a low whistle. "That stings, darling."

"I can't help that it's the truth." Her steps ground to a halt as she folded her arms and turned to regard me with a barely stifled smirk. "But if you insist upon playing the role of obedient dog, now is when you would sit and stay like a good little boy."

"And miss finding out what – or who – has you all but sprinting across this camp the moment we arrive?"

She opened her mouth, then stopped herself and pressed her lips together with a chiding grin on her face. As if she hadn't expected me to notice how quickly she'd set off across the town, towards a cluster of bright tents in the distance, and she'd almost slipped up and told me why.

I returned her smile. But before I could retort, a pair of bronzed arms closed around Beatriz' neck.

I barely had time to step out of the way before she threw the young woman who had leaped onto her back over her shoulder, in a blur of dark hair and a flash of white teeth. The stranger landed on the ground and rolled to her feet. My hand flew to the pommel of my sword, the blade halfway freed from its sheath, ready to step in and defend the Ardalonian princess, when Beatriz's face lit with a smile so bright and full of surprised glee, it stilled the breath in my chest. A laugh tumbled from her lips and, with a Bazeran exclamation, she threw her arms around the other young woman. Over Beatriz' shoulder, the stranger's honey-coloured eyes ran the length of me.

She was shorter than Beatriz, but her bare arms were chiseled with muscle and etched with pale bands of scar tissue. She wore leather armour similar to the Ardalonian princess'. But beyond all that, a shrewdness lurked in her eyes as they lingered on me.

I felt like a mouse being sized up by a hawk as I jammed my sword back into its sheath.

"Who's this?" she asked in accented Ardal, her white teeth flashing again in an unnerving smile.

"The prince of Pretania. Is Shahnaz here?"

"She is." the stranger's eyes ran the length of me again, glittering with the promise of trouble. "He seems friendly."

"I am friendly," I said in Ardal, sweeping a bow. "Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

The stranger's eyes flared with wicked delight. She bit her lip and glanced over at Beatriz. "Oh, I like him very much already."

"Don't encourage him, Nisha. He's insufferable enough as it is," Beatriz said, though the laughter had slipped from her eyes. Her back had gone rigid and her face had hardened into disdain, in what I'd hoped was no more than a mask for this stranger. If it wasn't a mask, I'd certainly have to improve upon her opinion of me.