The back door creaks open, and he glances up to see the Princess's tight russet curls. Unlike her usual trousers and tight tunic, which she typically wears around Blackwood, she dons a dark green dress that tapers just above her kneecaps. Fitted sleeves cling to her arms.
He halts his progress with the whetstone, hovering above the metal while his cold gaze hungrily inspects her thick thighs. Her heavy breasts bounce in the bodice as she leaps from the porch to the ground.
She grins, springing her way out to him, pausing occasionally to pet the heads of the goats.
The past week has been a level of torture he did not predict when he confirmed with Sigvid that he would stay at Blackwood.
Knowing what curves lie beneath the Princess’s clothes is a memory that shoots straight to his cock. What little he has learned of her is enough that packing his bags to stay at the inn with Edmund is unacceptable.
“Good morning, Jarl Calder.” She greets him with that lovely, sweet voice.
“Princess.”
As she attends to the shaggy cows trudging toward her, he drinks in her figure, relishing every thick curve. “Who inspires your attire today?”
“I have been avoiding some friends after the Trial. But I’m prepared to see them again.” She makes an exaggerated gesture. “Since my parents forbid me from leaving Blackwood without a guard,” she hesitates, twisting her fingers in that way when she is anxious. “I hope you will attend to me. Of course, only if you have nothing to occupy your time.”
Will this requestdamn me to the Abyss?“Who are we to call upon?”
“Two companions I have been training in combat.” She offers no more insight and strides toward the dirt road leading to Toftlund.
He sighs as he secures Freyja to his back, then follows her into the city.
Every step increases her fidgeting until she seems unable to keep her hands at her side. At last, she halts beside a small blacksmith forge.
“Can you wait here?” She mutters without meeting his gaze.
“Use your words, Princess.”
“Wait here, please.”
“Let us not pretend that there isn't still an enemy of your family unaccounted for in this city. I will not allow you to leave my sight.” He places his hand on her lower back and nudges her into the shop.
He recognizes the young man at the forge as the one Sigvidassigned to the Blackwood southern checkpoint, the one whom Edmund knocked out cold. The Drengr cannot be much older than the Princess and hammers a new blade on an anvil.
“Kjarton?” She shouts over the metal-on-metal.
He lifts his head, revealing a short Salt Warrior braid and a large black eye. A Drengr medallion hangs over his blacksmith apron. Realization crosses his expression, and his face transforms into a broad, crooked-toothed smile.
“Miss Aura! Your Highness, I mean.” He stops rambling to bow clumsily. “How are you doing? That Trial was brutal…oh gods!” He stumbles into a rack of freshly forged swords, scattering them to the floor. “Aura, that’s… he is the Iss Drengr!” His voice rises an octave as he points at Calder.
She lets out a loud sigh as Kjarton grips the axe sheathed at his belt.
“Oh, for the love of the Briny God, Kay!” She rips his axe out of his hand and tosses it aside. “Gather your senses. I need your help.”
“Anything for you, Miss Aura.” He assesses Calder with disdain.
The Iss Drengr crosses his arms, envisioning how effortlessly he could break this little man in half.
“Craft me a Drengr medallion.”
Kjarton shuffles backward. “Aura, I understand that what happened with Isabel was irreparable, but I cannot simply make you a medallion. Only the Lady Commander Thora or the King can approve-”
“You don’t think I know that!” She snips. Inhaling deeply, she shakes her head and repaints her face with a fake smile. “It’s not for me, alright? I’ll even return it to you tonight.”
“My Princess,” he steps into her, his hand twitching as if he wants to reach out. “I would do anything for you,” he whispers, “but I cannot risk my job or my life and defy your father. I’m sorry, I cannot help you.”
Calder points to the dagger he is crafting. “Fix the tip, boy.” Kjarton examines the weapon, allowing him to slide his hand alongthe back of her neck and redirect her onto the street while she seems lost in thought.
