Happily Ever Awkward (The H.E.A. Files, #1)(8)

King Hofnar rolled his eyes. Even the bandit seemed unimpressed.

“Beg pardon?” said the ruffian.

Paul cleared his throat and tried again. “I said, unhand her, knave!”

King Hofnar nodded. “Now get thee down and advance.”

He gave Paul a little shove. The prince toppled from his saddle and the bandit watched with bemused amusement as Paul worked his sword free and shuffled into the intersection.

He began to recite. “Only a coward… I mean, only a craven coward hides behind a woman—”

The bandit sneered. “I think even bigger cowards hide behind swords.”

Paul looked back at his father. The king scowled; logic like that just bewildered and angered him. Uncertain, Paul let his sword droop.

In that instant, the bandit flung Laura aside and leaped at the prince.

Paul stumbled backward, but not before the bandit’s flashing knife nicked his cheek and drew a faint streak of blood. Feeling the sting of the cut shocked something awake within Paul and, impossibly, his sword blurred. Acting on instinct, he clumsily blocked every slash of his attacker’s blade. But clumsy or not, block them he did.

King Hofnar’s eyes widened.

So did Laura’s.

Paul finally knocked the knife away, yet even so, even after his victory, he continued to retreat from his now unarmed foe.

Seizing what might be his only chance to escape, the bandit smirked, bowed with a flourish of his ragged coat, and sprinted away.

Paul didn’t move.

But King Hofnar did. Springing from his saddle, the king sprinted along the railing of the bridge like a jungle cat and pounced in front of the bandit to block his escape. “Where dost thou think thou art going, vermin?! Get thee back there and attack my son!” He jammed a mace into the criminal’s hands and kicked him back into the intersection.

Laura couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “What are you doing?”

“Silence wench!” King Hofnar growled. “We be training!”

“Wench?” Laura looked shocked. Then she looked furious. “Who are you calling wench?!”

The bandit rounded on Paul, swinging the mace in his hand and looking more than a little upset about the current situation.

“Sorry about this,” Paul said apologetically. “My father, he gets this way sometimes—”

“Vermin!” the king called. “Aim high to the left! His backhand be weak!”

Taking the king’s advice, the bandit angrily swung the mace high and to the left. Paul barely managed to get his sword up in time, and with a teeth-rattling CLANG, his blade shattered. The impact caused Paul to lose his balance and he stumbled over some loose cobblestones. Landing hard on his back, he tried to scuttle away like a crab as the bandit rushed at him with the mace.

“Help him!” Laura cried.

“This be his fight,” the king said.

Frantic, Paul kicked his way back across the intersection. He spotted the bandit’s fallen knife and stretched for it, but before he could reach it, the bandit stepped on his hand and began crushing Paul’s fingers beneath his boot.

The thuggish thief towered over the cowering prince, mace raised high—

CRACK!

A cobblestone ricocheted off the bandit’s temple. Stunned, he dropped the mace upon his own head and the impact caused him to crumple. Laura stood behind him, ferociously brandishing another stone in case the need — or the bandit — should arise.

King Hofnar smacked his palm against his forehead at the sight. “Oh, the shame…”

“Are you all right?” Laura asked.

“Um, actually that… that’s supposed to be my line…” Paul said.

“Of course it is. Well, I’m fine. I just saved us, didn’t I?” She looked at her nails. “Oh, and I think I cracked a nail. Great.”

King Hofnar crossed the intersection and paused beside his son. The prince extended his hand, expecting his father to help him up, but the king just grabbed the fallen mace and mounted his horse.

“What was that all about?” Laura demanded of him.

“’Tis the only way he wilt learn.”

“He could have been killed!”

King Hofnar trotted past without giving her a second glance. “I guarantee thee, if he getteth a limb chopped off once, he’ll not make that mistake again. Come, Paul.”

Paul scrambled to his feet. Dusting off his trousers as he made his way back to his horse, he said, “Sorry about… all this.”

As he started climbing into the saddle, he couldn’t help but notice Laura’s disgusted stare. “What?” he asked hesitantly. Virtually everything Paul did, he did hesitantly.

“Typical,” she scoffed. “Ride off on your big white horse, let the handmaiden walk back on foot.”

Paul swallowed hard. “Would… would you like to ride on… I mean with… ride with me?”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Laura said, stalking away. “They’re right. Chivalry died with Sir Whitethorne.”

Those words stung Paul more than any other humiliation he had suffered that day. After only a moment’s hesitation, he stepped down and slipped his boot from the stirrup. “Don’t… don’t say that.” He offered his horse’s reins to her. “Here. Please. You earned it.”