Oh, great gods and goddesses.
I’ve helped Mistress Iliyani treat innumerable ailing farmers and woodcutters in my day, which is to say, I’ve seen my fair share of masculine frames. Nevertheless, I didn’t realize backs could be quite so muscular. So chiseled and defined. Nor did I think it possible for shoulders to be so broad. Technically speaking, the ill-fated Prince Bryon was bigger and broader, but nothing about him stimulated such a flood of heat across my senses. Never before in my life have I felt such a visceralhungerat the sight of mere flesh. But here I am, practically drooling.
Why on earth did he take off his shirt?some small, reasonable part of me whispers naggingly.Such a gratuitous display is entirely unseemly. He could perfectly well climb that wall without—
Shut up!a more dominant, much less reasonable part of my subconscious hisses in reply:Shut up, shut up!
Because Valtar is in motion now, climbing the lichen wall. Hesimply scales the rock, barely using the fleshy branches. He makes it look easy, graceful, every muscle rippling in perfect harmony with the rest. The control he wields over his own body is…ridiculous. There’s no other word for it. He’s ridiculous, and the way my body is reacting to this vision of his ascent is even more ridiculous by far.
But I cannot tear my gaze from him.
“Damned dracori,” someone whispers, and I become aware of the guards on either side of me, craning their necks like I am to watch Valtar’s progress.
“Quiet, he’ll hear you,” Norlan growls in response.
Silence follows, and we all watch as Valtar reaches the spiderweb strung between two outcropping lichen branches. The poor little gremler squeals and twists in the air, a tiny ball of furious terror, convinced its doom has come.
A flash of steel, and the thickest of the spider’s threads falls apart. There are more threads, however, still gripping the poor little gremler’s body. Valtar reaches out to steady the creature. We all—the guardsmen and I—gasp out loud when it sinks its tiny little teeth into his hand.
Valtar curses and pulls back, hanging by one arm. Oh gods, did he survive the first trial just to perish now? Brought low by a gremler bite and a woman who cannot resist a small, fluffy creature in need? Somehow, he catches his grip and braces himself with his feet. Using both hands, he takes hold of the little beast and cuts free the last of the threads. I expect him to let the creature go then, allow it to whisk away up the wall and into shadows. Instead, to my surprise, Valtar begins to descend one handed while holding the gremler firmly in the other hand. What’s more, he makes it look just as easy as the ascent…like he’s strolling down a flower-lined lane on a balmy spring day. By the time helands with both feet on the balcony once more, he’s not even broken a sweat.
“For you,” he says, offering up his ferociously squeaking burden. “One juvenile gremler.”
Hands trembling, I reach out to take it. It doesn’t bite me; creatures rarely do, not even the most vicious chimera or contrary cockatrice. They sense a healer’s aura and go docile in my presence. This poor little beast sags in my hand, a small, spherical ball of fluff so dense, one almost cannot feel the tiny body down inside. Enormous dark eyes dominate most of its face, and pricked ears emerge on the sides rather than the top of its head. The nose is a bright, black little button, so tiny and perfect, it simply begs to be squealed over.
But my attention goes to the wound on its head. It must have dashed itself against the rocks trying to get free of the webbing. “Oh,” I croon, cradling the poor kit to my chest, “it’s hurt.”
“Yes,itis,” Valtar growls, shaking his bitten hand.
I purse my lips. Then: “Here.” I turn to Captain Norlan and push the gremler into his startled grasp. “Take him to my chambers. That wound will have to be seen to before I can set him free.”
“Set him free, Princess?” Norlan echoes. “Well now, you know you can’t do that. Gremlers are like rats. Orders are to destroy them on sight.”
“But he’s only a baby!” I protest.
“Doesn’t matter. He’ll grow soon enough.”
My gaze flashes from the captain’s resolute face to the little bug-eyed creature clasped between his big hands. “I won’t have you destroy it. I’ll…I’ll keep it. As a pet.”
“A petgremler?”
“Yes. Why not? They say rats are quite intelligent. Perhapsgremlers are as well.” The creature squeaks and blinks at me, cross-eyed. Captain Norlan’s lip curls, but I persist. “Either way, I won’t have it killed. Not after our brave Prince Valtar has gone to such lengths to rescue it. So please, take it to my chambers and give it to Philippa. I’ll be along shortly to—”
Norlan opens his mouth, ready to interrupt me with protests, when Valtar’s voice rumbles suddenly from behind me: “Did the princess make herself clear?”
The poor captain retreats a step. Then, turning to the youngest of the guards beside him, he plunks the gremler into his hands. “You heard her,” he says. “Take this to Lady Philippa at once and instruct her to hold it until the princess arrives.”
The young guard looks like he’s been given a handful of scat but utters no protest. He scurries off, the squeaking gremler held out to the full length of his arms. Then, with solemn bows, both Norlan and the other guards back away into the passage, leaving the balcony to me and my champion.
I turn to Valtar just in time to catch his eyes traveling swiftly up and down my figure. His gaze lands on mine, and I hold it hard. He somehow has managed to don his wine-colored shirt once more, though it remains open, that horrible scar of his fully displayed. I refuse to look at it. And I refuse as well to bolt for my discarded gown, leaving it in its pile of silk and trimming. Instead I hold out my hand.
He looks at it. Then at me.
“I might make for a poor princess,” I say, my voice cool and reserved, “but I was, until recently, a perfectly adequate apothecary’s apprentice. Even Mistress Iliyani admitted I have some skill when I bother to pay attention to what I’m doing.” I wriggle my fingers. “Come, show me your injuries, valiant hero.”
He hesitates for a few heartbeats, then extends his hand,revealing the perfect crescent of bite marks in the soft place between thumb and index finger. “Oh no,” I murmur, taking his hand and drawing it near to ascintilfor closer inspection. “Does it hurt very much?”
“I am crippled for life.”
