The Dragon's Price (Transference #1)(65)
“I am still betrothed to that northern princess,” he says, and I can hear the anger in his voice.
“Then have your father break it.”
“No. I don’t want him to,” Golmarr patiently explains. “By my own free will and choice, I have given her my heart.”
“You have given her your heart…just like that? But you’ve only know her a handful of days!” Evay snaps. “You have known me for years, yet you never fully gave your heart to me.”
“You are right, but I don’t think you truly love me, Evay, and what I feel for you dims in comparison to what I feel for the Faodarian princess. You should be cherished and loved, and cherish and love in return. You deserve far more than we had.” Golmarr looks at me, and everyone gathered around him turns to stare at the forgotten companion he returned with.
Evay’s furious eyes lock on mine, and she shoves past Golmarr. The crowd parts for her, opening a pathway that leads directly to me, and she pulls the sword from her belt as she stomps forward.
“Evay, no!” Golmarr cries, but the crowd closes the pathway, sealing him away. “Move out of my way,” he shouts, fighting against them, but they are so transfixed on me and Evay that they ignore him.
Without hesitating, I slide my staff from the strap on the horse’s saddle and balance on my toes as my heart starts pounding so hard I feel like it is going to choke me. But then I look at her—really look. She is one person, closely matched to me in size and height. She is not a dragon. She is not a muscular mercenary. My heart steadies itself, and I step away from the horse as a quiet confidence settles over me.
Evay stops in front of me, and her eyes roam slowly over my body and fill with disgust. Surely, she won’t swing her sword, I think. Surely she is just trying to intimidate me. And then her sword catches the afternoon light as she waves it in front of my face.
I recognize instantly that she does not mean to touch me with her blade, only scare me, but her actions fill me with anger, and I swing my staff up anyway. It shimmers in the sunlight as it clangs against Evay’s sword. Pressing my weapon to hers, I step close to her and stare right into her dark eyes. “I am no fool, Evay. You did not intend to touch me with your sword—just frighten me,” I say. “But I’m not scared of you. Not after the things I have fought.”
For a moment the fury in her eyes is replaced with shock. Then her nostrils flare with anger and she swings her sword again, a blow that will injure me if I do not block it. So I slam her weapon aside and drive forward, attacking hard and fast. She stumbles back as she desperately tries to deflect my blows, but she is not as fast as I am, and not as strong as others I have fought in the last day. When I fight her, because of the dragon’s treasure, I can almost see what she is going to do before she does it, and so I have the advantage. From the corner of my eye, I see Golmarr. He has broken through the crowd to come to my aid, but is standing aside and watching instead as Evay desperately tries to defend herself.
Within half a minute my arms start trembling, my heart feels like it is fluttering too fast, and sweat has beaded on my brow. I can feel the consequence of a week of near starvation, coupled with the strain of the fighting I have done in the same amount of time, not to mention my sedate life prior to going into the dragon’s lair. My hunger, my fatigue, and my physical weakness are going to lose this battle for me. I am my own worst enemy.
Desperate to put an end to the fight, I swing my weapon behind Evay’s knees and thrust my foot into her stomach, knocking her to the ground. She lands on her back with a noisy thud, and I pierce the shoulder of her voluminous red blouse to the dirt with the tip of my staff. “I do not want to fight anymore,” I say.
The air explodes with clapping and whooping. Evay shoves my staff from her shirt and rolls to her feet, glaring at me over her shoulder as she storms away. Golmarr steps up to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think she would actually—”
“She wasn’t trying to hurt me at first. I provoked her,” I admit.
He frowns and smiles at the same time. “You provoked her?” I nod and wipe the sweat from my brow with a trembling hand. He tips his head back and laughs, and wraps his arms around my shoulders. “I love you,” he says, loud and clear, for everyone to hear. “Come and meet my family.” I nod, but wrap my arm around his waist and lean into him because my body is so heavy with fatigue that I am about to fall down. “Are you all right?” he quietly asks.
I shake my head. “I am so tired I can hardly stand,” I admit. “I need to lie down.” A single tear trickles out of the corner of my eye.
Golmarr scoops me up into his arms and cradles me against him. I wrap my arms around his neck and lay my head on his chest. “It looks like I will be carrying you over another threshold,” he says. We slowly walk through the gathered crowd. They peer at me curiously. Some of the children ask why their uncle is carrying me, but they are shushed by their mothers. Golmarr pauses beside his father, and the great man smiles at me as if it is totally normal for his son to carry princesses.
“It is a pleasure to see you alive, Princess Sorrowlynn,” King Marrkul says. He looks to his son, and his forehead creases with worry. He puts his hand on Golmarr’s shoulder and leans in close to him. “Is she all right? What does she need?” He speaks quietly, for only Golmarr and me to hear.