The Rebel Prince (The Season Series #3)

Chapter 38 - Part 2

A brazier glowed in the center of Nisha's tent, beneath a narrow vent hole open to the sky. The orange clouds shone overhead, as bright as the four lamps that flickered around the perimeter of the circular tent. Patterned rugs, soft blankets, and plush pillows of all sizes littered the floor. Had it not been for the snake of a woman coiled in their midst, I could have almost considered it comfortable.

"How punctual," Nisha said, glancing up at the sky through the vent hole in the tent before she returned her attention to the brazier. Skewers of marinated meat sizzled against the open flame. She said something in Bazeran to the sentry and punctuated it with a wink that set my teeth on edge again. The bronze coins tinkled as the sentry left us.

I stood just inside the entrance, inspecting the tent. More pillows and blankets were concentrated towards the opposite end, atop what must have served as Nisha's bed. As soon as I noticed it, I wrenched my eyes away. The armor she'd worn during the duel sat on a rack, oiled and polished and glimmering in the light from the brazier. Beneath that, metal winked from an open chest. Knives and swords and metal-banded bows – an armory for one.

"Well, come sit down." Nisha said, a faintly amused smile on her face. She'd wrapped herself in a blanket and I wasn't sure I wanted to know what was underneath, not when she'd clearly already removed her armor.

"I'd rather not." I said stiffly.

She rolled her eyes and shoved the blanket from her shoulders. Where I'd expected her to be attired in some form of undress as an attempt at seduction, instead she wore a loose, overlarge shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows, and a pair of soldier's trousers like she had that morning. She unfurled her legs from where they'd been crossed beneath her and stood.

"Tea, then." She crossed to the opposite side of the tent from her armor. A table with a clay teapot and a pair of cups sat before a single chair. Her hair hung loose and unbound down her back, straighter and finer than Beatriz'. When she turned back towards me, she held out a cup of steaming liquid. I regarded it with narrowed eyes.

She loosed a frustrated sigh and made a great show of sipping from both of them, her eyes on me, before she offered me one again. I took the other one and earned another sigh.

"I suppose I brought all this suspicion upon myself," she grumbled, as she resumed her seat beside the brazier. "But I'd rather not have you longing to rip my head off all evening. You can relax, Your Highness, for I have no interest in bedding you."

I didn't trust the relief that loosened my shoulders. "Then why demand me as a prize? You'll have to lie a little better than that to convince me."

She fixed me with a withering look. "You're a scrap of a man, Thomas. When I like men, I like them like Rafael. Big. Muscled. Competent with a blade." She turned her attention back to the brazier and took a sip from her tea, wincing when it touched her bruised, split lip.

Well then. I wasn't even affronted by her words. Instead, the wariness that had prickled across my skin since I'd stepped into the tent settled. This was not the Nisha I was expecting. Gone was her swagger and all the lustful looks she'd laid upon me whenever we were in Beatriz' presence. Instead, she scowled at the smouldering coals as if she were the one being compelled against her will to be here. Carefully, I took a seat on the pillow across the brazier from her. She didn't even glance up at me, and instead focused on rotating the skewers.

"Why am I here, then?" I ventured eventually, with a sniff at the cup in my hands. The tea was thicker than I was used to, perfumed strongly of mint.

"Because Beatriz needed to be reminded that she's not as good as she once was," Nisha replied, as she pulled two of the skewers from the brazier and separated them onto plates. She lifted a cloth-covered bowl of water with floating slices of lemon and ginger and handed it to me. "Here, wash your hands."