The large man smiled wide at Taillefer, who gasped and kicked. “Gladly.”
The word was barely out of his mouth when the giant flung Tailleferinto the air. Sword still raised, Amarande shuffled backward, aiming to get out of the way.
But the movement she’d anticipated didn’t come—the prince’s body was tossed vertically, not horizontally. And, as he plummeted back toward the cracked earth, the man’s leg shot out and his boot connected with Taillefer’s gut.
The crunch of a shattered rib reverberated in the air, a cry escaping into the new dawn with it. Taillefer landed in a heap, blood rolling out of his mouth.
“Tai—” Amarande started only to be cut off with a warning.
“Little Queen!”
Naiara’s fevered shout brought Amarande’s attention from Taillefer’s fresh blood to a blur of motion—the two guards, barreling in from either side.
“Stars,” she cursed under her breath.
The guard on the left was the faster of the two, sword arcing down against the princess’s weak side. Amarande met her in a cross-body strike. The broad side of the princess’s sword caught the thin edge of the guard’s blade—with enough power and torque to flip the momentum of her slashing movement.
It was enough to put that guard off-balance. The princess struck the girl’s knee with the sole of her boot as the guard rotated away, shoving her out of the picture and onto the ground.
Amarande’s sword was up again and slashing on the offense as the second guard approached. This one drove her blade in toward the body in such a way that the fattest part of the curve connected with Amarande’s weapon.
As steel met steel, Taillefer found his voice over her shoulder. “I could really use a blade here. Any blade!” he bellowed in her direction.
The giant drew a weapon of his own, a sword made just for him—longer than a traditional one and broader, too. Taillefer danced away from it, running out of room in the narrow confines of the tent city.
“Steal his! Mine is busy!” Amarande called back, the edge of her blade colliding with the curve of her own assailant’s weapon in a high guard, her arms gaining strength from adrenaline alone, hunger still clouding her energy.
How had this gone so badly so quickly?
Taillefer huffed out a sigh, dodged a swing, and darted into the giant’s body, rolling against the man’s belly and driving off his heels to send an elbow straight into his nose.
Blood sprayed the sandy dirt not far from where Taillefer had marked it, a much louder, madder shout wrenching into the morning light. The giant stumbled and Taillefer caught the man’s dagger from his belt. In a flash of salmon light and movement, the raised blade slashed down and into the soft curve of the man’s exposed side body.
The giant’s liver, spleen, stomach—one or all of them punctured.
“You are an immeasurably helpful presence in my time of need,” Taillefer chided, collecting the dagger from the man’s side as he thrashed. The giant nearly rolled right onto Taillefer’s boots, which would’ve pinned him, but somehow he eluded the man’s weight.
“I knew you could do it!” Amarande shouted. It was a call back to the night of the wedding—not one she’d meant.
For one blinding moment, Renard’s lifeless body scraped across her eyelids as she blinked after yet another clash of steel.
Eyes open, the princess hesitated.
A mistake.
The guard managed to use the momentum of their swords crashing together to pull herself into Amarande’s body. The girl’s knee connected with the top of her thigh. It was enough that the princess stumbled backward, and the guard gained purchase enough to shove her to the ground, their swords caught in a cross that was slowly lowering toward the crown of Amarande’s head.
The princess tried to shove back, but her injured hand was on top and the pressure of the hilt upon her wound was making it difficult to hold, even if her trained muscles could do it. Amarande locked eyes with the guard and gritted her teeth. She’d push back until she was standing again; she would—
Suddenly Amarande was blind, grains of cinnamon sand cast straight into her face.
All the torque between their two swords evaporated as the princess tried in vain to see, falling to the dirt and blinking hard. A boot heel crunched onto her injured hand—the bandage marking it as a weak spot. She yelped, the sword wedged between her grip and the earth.
“Drop it.” The other guard. Her voice was full of blood and hard. She pressed all her weight onto the princess’s hand.
Amarande’s fingers splayed open.
Someone grabbed the sword. Someone else hauled her up to her knees.
