Page 153 of Blood of the Fairest

But he does notice from the corner of his eye. With another disgusting belch, he tries to reach back for Ingrid. She squeaks in alarm and dodges out of the way.

Before I can fly off the handle, the ringing of metal fills the air as the knight pulls out his sword. Its sharp tip is suddenly an inch from Hiccuburp's neck.

That gets the drunk to back off. He raises his hands, turning to better face the knight.

"Can't impress these skirts without all that getup, though, can you?" he spits. "Wouldn't want them to see you walloped in a real tussle! Take off that iron, and we'll see whose fists are better."

The knight's helmet tilts slightly, and I swear he looks at me.

"Should I, milady?"

I blink, point at myself, triple-check over my shoulder to see what lady he's talking to, and turn back.

"What?"

"Should I duel this prick without the armor? If it helps my odds of impressing you, I think maybe I should."

Eris appears in the reflection of the sword, snorting, "Crones, I think he earnestly means to impress you with a show of his fists. What a ruffian."

Without a word from me, the knight seems to make up his mind. He stabs his sword into the straw-covered ground and reaches under his bascinet to start unlatching it.

I lean toward Ingrid and whisper, "Get Snow out of here before she has to see a dick-measuring contest."

She nods with determination, but Snow White's blue eyes grow huge.

"They're truly going to measure their…appendages?"

"You can say dicks—and no, they're just going to duke it out, but same difference. And Snow?"

"Yes, Vera?"

I pick straw from her pitch-black hair, desperate for her to understand this.

"Don't go anywhere ever again without plenty of guards present. Even then, make sure Ingrid or another woman is always with you. And we should see if Anika is willing to give you some knife-wielding lessons soon so I don't have a fucking heart attack like this again. Never forget, the world isn't safe for someone like you."

I would know. My world wasn't safe for me, either.

There's no point lecturing, and now isn't the time as Ingrid takes the princess's hand to pull her out of the stable. Snow White casts a final worried look over her shoulder at me, but I stay right where I am.

Mostly because I'm still fighting the urge to feed on the motherfucker who frightened Snow White—but if this newcomer kicks his ass, that might suffice.

Just as I turn around, the knight removes his helmet.

I swear, it's exactly like a cheesy slow-motion movie scene. I'm surprised True by Spandau Ballet doesn't automatically start playing as the tall, gorgeous guy brushes wavy chestnut hair back from his brow.

His warm brown eyes meet mine, and he flashes a dazzling smile that rivals the last glow of the afternoon sunlight pouring into the stable.

Holy smokes. He's a total fucking heartthrob.

A very distracted heartthrob—which the drunk takes advantage of a split second later, when a meaty fist connects with the knight's sharp jawbone.

I flinch at the violent impact, but this clearly is not this knight's first rodeo. He pulls off one of his gauntlets and slams his own fist into the drunk man, sending him stumbling. Soon, it's a good-old-fashioned brawl between the two, with pieces of armor dropping now and then as the knight continues to shuck off his iron.

The agile, sexy knight ducks another blow, lands one of his own, and calls out, "So what do you think, She of Ruby Tresses? Impressed yet?"

"Braggart," Eris grumbles from the discarded helmet nearby. "I hope he gets humbled."

"The jury is still out," I call back to the knight, flinching again when the big drunk guy tackles him.