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“Squires attend to their knights, meaning they can access the feasts, the castle, and all the restricted areas where important things happen.” He bites into his own food. “But if you’d rather sit in the stands…”

My jaw clenches. The idea’s actually clever. Irritatingly, maddeningly clever.

Wait. Help with his armor?

I angle my face to conceal my blush. Being his squire means helping him dress. And undress. My hands on his body, adjusting straps and buckles, my face level with his chest while I fasten greaves. Him standing still while I kneel to secure leg armor. The intimacy of it, the proximity, the way he won’t be able to avoid or ignore my touch.

He’s been closer to the edge since the night he ravished me. This could be just what I need to push him over.

And more than that, I’ll be present after every bout. I can heal him if he’s injured. I can ensure he survives long enough for us to steal the Everhand while running my hands over his body. If I tell him skin-to-skin contact is necessary for healing, he’ll believe me simply because he wants to.

I school my expression. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

His smile drops like my answer surprises him. “What?”

“I said I’ll do it.” I sit back down and concentrate on my breakfast, pretending I’m cool and unbothered rather than scheming over how to seduce him. “You’re right. It makes sense. I’ll be your squire.”

He stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” I bite into the open-faced sandwich he prepared for me. The smooth, silky egg yolk breaks against my tongue, and juice runs down my chin. I wipe it away with the back of my hand. “When do we start?”

His confusion satisfies me. Deeply. He clearly expected more resistance, but I’m ready to show him just how willing I can be.

“We need armor first.” He watches me like I might be setting a trap, his eyes narrowed, his mouth pursed. “Weapons. A proper kit. We’ll pick some up in one of the towns.”

“Perfect.” I brush crumbs from my hands. “Anything else?”

“You’ll need to learn how to actually be a squire.” He rises and starts breaking down our camp. “Protocols. How to buckle greaves and adjust breastplates. When to speak and when to shut up.”

I know all about that last bit. “I can learn when to open my mouth and when to close it.”

His eye twitches, and I hope he understands what I really meant. I blush at the boldness of my flirtation but don’t back down.

Agnar clears his throat and shifts his weight away from me. “And you’ll have to bow. A lot. Be subservient.” His grin creeps back. “Think you can manage that, princess?”

The nickname grates, but I force a smile. “I’ll manage.”

We source the armor along the way. With an upcoming tourney, more than enough vendors sell gear. By the third town, we have a full kit spread across our camp.

That evening, Agnar stands in the center of our campsite with the pieces of armor laid out around him. “Time to learn.”

He names each piece and where it goes, demonstrating how the buckles work, insisting a specific order for donning and removing them exists.

“Start at the feet and work your way up.” He points to the lower leg armor. “Greaves first. You’ll need to kneel.”

I drop to my knees in the grass. My hands shake as I pick up the first greave, which weighs more than I expected.

“Around the calf. Front piece first, then secure the back.”

He issues the instructions over my head, and I resist the urge to glance up. If I do, I won’t be able to ignore that I’m on my knees for him, and my face will reveal every thought racing through my head.

“Other way.” His hand covers mine, guiding the strap through the buckle. He lingers a moment too long before pulling away. “There. Now the other leg.”

The second greave goes on easier. The cuisses for his thighs follow, and I slide my hands up his legs to position them. His muscles tense under my touch.

“Good.” The word comes out rough. “Now the breastplate. Stand up.”

When I rise, we’re close. Too close. After I settle the heavy breastplate against his chest, my fingers work the side buckles. When they skate over his ribs, his breath hitches. My skin flames from the memory of the last time we were this near each other.