Another Charming stumbles back from an attack by Nash, and damn, can that man move. His body is fluid, his sword an extension of his limbs. The Charming falls into another Charming and down they go, like a domino of Prince Poopfloofs. The Stirlings make this look so easy.
Theo and Malachi stand back to back, each battling two Charmings with ease. This display of strength makes my lady parts flutter. I’m not ashamed to admit it.
“Please try,” Gwyneth mutters.
Oops. Me and my word vomit. I flinch as Gwyneth’s Charming comes at Hart. He catches him in the shoulder, the sword disappearing into his flesh, while red blooms on his white shirt. I lurch to my feet just as Hart’s eyes dance with amusement. Freaking psycho is happy he got stabbed? He grabs Charming’s blade and pulls it from his flesh, more blood dripping from his hand.
“That’s not allowed,” I mutter. “It could have been a mortal wound.”
“Sit down, Daph, they are made of stronger substance than us Burghers. A flesh wound won’t stop them from fighting.”
I take a step down to the next bench instead, getting closer to the fighting. There are less and less Charmings by the tempo, but Gwyneth’s guy holds fast and continues to duel with Hart in a heated battle. I lurch when he does, sucking in a breath for every blow Charming lands on his flesh.
Hart twists and feints to the right. Charming takes the bait and stabs his blade into where he expects Hart’s ribs to be. Non mortal wounds, my ass. That would have done damage. Hart drops and sweeps his foot out, knocking Charming to the ground. He hits the dirt with a huff. I jump to my feet, forgetting my issues with gravity, and topple over the final bench. Charming’s gaze slams into mine, and in a split tempo I see evil intent there as he twists his sword and points it in my direction. I squeeze my eyes closed and make peace with the Idols that don’t give a bunkum poop about my life—this one, or the next one that isn’t coming.
Big arms wrap around me and my eyes snap open as Nash lifts me into the air and saves me from being skewered by Charming. At least it would make a more interesting headstone than the library death.Here lies Daphne Stone, murdered by Charming’s dull blade of joy.
Nash smirks at me. “Interesting turn of phrase, Daphne. I’m sure Charming has never owned a blade of joy.”
“What was that?” Gwyneth screeches. I grimace because that’s her ‘I’m about to make a steaming pile of capon poop out of you’ voice.
Charming jumps to his feet and ignores my friend. “Good fight, knights,” he says between his teeth, like it’s physically painful for him to admit defeat.
I level him with a look. We both know he was trying to kill me. What I’m confused about is, why? I’ve never crossed him. Blazes, I have enough on my hands trying to remain breathing every diurnal—I don’t have the capacity to launch an attack on a Hallowed. Seems like a total waste of energy to me.
Malachi pushes past Charming, making him stumble to the side. Charming’s glare deepens as Malachi runs his gaze over me like he’s checking for injuries.
“I’m fine,” I mutter.
“Just who do you think you are?” Gwyneth snaps as she marches down the benches, her voice reverberating off the courtyard walls until she comes face to face with Charming.
He opens his mouth but she slices her hand through the air. “No, I saw what you did. If you believe our little Burgher lives are inconsequential, then just leave us be.”
His face falls. “That’s not what I said.”
Gwyneth points to me. “If you touch one hair on her head, I will end you.”
Everyone holds their breath as my tiny Burgher sister threatens a mighty Hallowed with death. I blink, waiting for the wrath of the Idols to flame down on us. I stare at the sky—no wrath, no flames—seems like the Idols don’t give a bunkum poop about the Hallowed and their blessed lives—well, not that Hallowed anyway.
Charming's jaw tightens as he stares at Gwyneth. A chill runs through my body as I ready myself to step in. “Don’t forget our walk at sundown,” he grits before turning and strutting back into the palace with his mini Charmings following his every step.
My stomach lets out a loud unladylike growl. But that’s okay, because I’m not a lady. “Is it mid meal yet?” I ask.
Nash’s gaze flicks upwards like he’s asking the Idols for patience. Good luck, they never answer me. “You almost got skewered and you are thinking of food?”
“Will there be sausage?” I ask as we stride into the palace.
He cocks a brow. “What difference does it make?”
“Oh, Idols,” Gwyneth mutters.
“Sausage makes all the difference.”
“I would imagine sausage would be present,” Malachi answers.
“Then that is reason enough to ignore all other realm problems and just concentrate on getting to that elusive sausage.”
“Make it stop,” Hart growls.
