The Rebel Prince (The Season Series #3)

Chapter 36 - Part 1

I could have slept for decades. It was not a particularly comfortable bed, but the fact it was not a bedroll on the ground meant it might as well have been my own feather bed back in Highcastle. Despite the sun peeking through the curtains, I rolled over, eager for more dreams of rooftops and dark hair and stolen kisses.

Somewhere outside, Beatriz laughed. My eyes flickered open as the sounds of scuffling and fists against flesh followed. Despite my half-asleep fog, my mind jolted awake with a wave of disappointment. Lazing around would mean missing morning training, and I wasn't about to pass up such an opportunity.

I rolled out of bed and nearly crashed into the wall opposite, having forgotten how tiny my room was. I tugged open the curtains, expecting to find Beatriz and Rafael duelling. Instead, Beatriz' mysterious friend Nisha looked up towards me as Beatriz pushed herself up from the ground. Both were already attired in armor – Beatriz' the same leathers I'd grown used to seeing her wear, but this set was scarred and faded, whereas Nisha's was snug around her midsection to leave her arms and shoulders free to move. Nisha's smile turned wicked as she said something to Beatriz when she helped her rise. In response, Beatriz pivoted to look up towards me. I bowed with a sly grin of my own, not even a little embarrassed that I'd slept without a shirt on. Beatriz simply rolled her eyes and shook her head as she said something that had Nisha tipping her head back to laugh. But her laugh ended abruptly when Beatriz sank down and dove at her.

I'd been reaching for my shirt when Beatriz had leaped at Nisha, but I froze at the swiftness of their sparring. If Beatriz had ever leaped at me or Rafael that way, she'd have easily tackled us, but Nisha somehow ducked and whirled, throwing Beatriz off with the momentum of her dive. The pair of them moved so quickly it seemed more like a brutal dance than the sparring matches I was used to between Beatriz and Rafael. They struck and dodged and dove and rolled and kicked so quickly that it was hard to determine who was winning until Beatriz ended up flat on her back in a cloud of dirt, with Nisha's knee in her stomach and elbow at her throat.

No wonder she'd taken such pleasure in knocking me onto my arse. It seemed like she'd come by it honestly.

I dressed quickly, eager to watch them spar up close, and hurried down the stairs, only to stop on the landing halfway to allow Genevieve and her voluminous skirts of cobalt blue to pass. Behind her, a pair of older men with tools strapped to their belts followed.

"Bon matin, Tommy. I do hope you got enough sleep last night, what with all the racket on the roof." Geneveive punctuated her knowing grin with a wink, before turning her attention back to the men behind her and continuing in Vareinnian, "Come, I'll show you the damage through here. I simply don't know what happened. It must be the wind that keeps knocking these shingles loose."

I bit my cheek to keep from grinning as memories of shattered shingles conjured more memories from the night before. I was almost out the front door when Frederico's voice erupted from the dining room to my right.

"Thomas," he snapped. "A word, please."

"Be back in a moment, Coco dearest," I said, and sailed out the door.

This time, Nisha was the one on her back in the dirt, writhing with laughter, while Beatriz stretched out an arm and massaged a shoulder. When she noticed me, the corners of her lips twitched before she tore her gaze away. But she wasn't quite quick enough to hide the blush that rose in her cheeks.

"I keep forgetting how skinny he is," Nisha said in Ardal, propping herself up on her elbows to study me. "What a terrible task master you must be if he's been training with you for weeks. Have you forgotten to feed him?"

"He's a Pretanian prince. He couldn't fight to save his life when we found him. All he could do was sip tea and sling insults." Beatriz pushed a piece of hair from her face as she helped Nisha rise.