Minstrel's Serenade. Aubrie Dionne

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СКАЧАТЬ her into the night. Bron grumbled under his breath behind her as he and Nip followed. Danika resisted the urge to turn around and give him a look.

      Did Darkenbite frustrate him? Or did he find Valorian’s affections annoying?

      Surely, he thought of Darkenbite. How could the Chief of Arms, appointed as her bodyguard by her father before his death, harbor feelings toward a princess? Seven years her elder and five ranks below her, he had as much of a chance as a prisoner in their dungeon cells. Remember that.

      Danika breathed in slowly to calm herself. Long journeys such as these blurred the ranks, but they’d return to Ebonvale soon enough. Her throne and all the expectations along with it awaited her.

      Valorian brought them to a pair of bluewood cottages set apart from the village, resting in a moonlit glade behind the domed House of Song. “The one on the right is for your counterparts. This one, over here is for you.”

      True to his position, Danika’s bodyguard didn’t budge. His dark shadow at her shoulder reassured her.

      “Very well, then.” Valorian slipped her hand into his and brought her fingers to his lips. His kiss fell soft on her skin. “Tomorrow then, Princess.” He bowed to Bron and Nip. “Warrior, and son.”

      Valorian disappeared into the shadows while a lone flute trilled on the wind.

      Bron bowed to Danika and turned to leave. “Come on, little dragon slayer. Best we get some rest.”

      The night seemed unfinished, like she’d struck a dissonant chord with no resolution. A sudden longing to speak with Bron came over her, as if the answering note lay with him. “Bron, wait.”

      He raised an eyebrow and gestured for Nip to go in without him. The boy scurried to the front porch and slipped in the door. Bron returned his attention to her.

      “Yes, Princess?”

      “Watch over the boy for me. I do not trust these minstrels. They could have something stuck up their velvety sleeves.”

      Bron grinned as though amused. “I was beginning to think you didn’t need me anymore.”

      His words hit a chord in her heart and it vibrated along with the distant hum of song. Danika touched his arm and his skin burned hot under her fingertips. “I’ll always need you.”

      They stood frozen while a musical phrase swelled and cadenced behind them. She’d said too much and not enough all at once and her emotions ran unbidden as if Troubadir had slipped wine into her tea. Bron’s eyes shone dark with mystery, making her heart beat faster.

      “Evening, Princess. We have quite a day ahead of us, and the night’s running its course.”

      “Goodnight.” Danika pulled away, embarrassed. She’d guessed wrong. Protection was not love. He was an exceptional bodyguard at most. Biting her lip, she strode to her cottage. Honestly, the more time she spent outside the castle walls, the less princess-like she became. Once this quest came to an end, she’d have to find an appropriate suitor, and Valorian ranked highest on the list.

      Cursing her strange emotions, Danika opened her cottage door. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting Bron to have disappeared inside. He stood underneath the moss-draped gable, watching her in return.

      Chapter 3

      Wyvern’s Breath

      Bron guarded Danika’s retreat to her cottage, her skirts kissing the blades of grass with each delicate step. Her elegance in awkward situations always impressed him, and she’d handled herself like a queen in the negotiations. Her father would have been proud, and Bron was proud as well. She’d grown into a regal woman with a flair for battle and a spitfire tongue. If only his feelings ended with thoughts of protection and pride.

      Danika paused on the gabled porch and turned toward him, as if she heard his secrets on the wind. Her meadow-green gaze brought goosebumps to his skin. A sheer vulnerability weakened him until his legs felt like porridge. He was a veteran warrior, for Horred’s sake. He’d scaled the Fortress of Angst singlehandedly and defeated the dead army of Sill. Now a woman’s gaze threatened to bring him to his knees?

      He didn’t think she’d look back. She shouldn’t.

      Bron couldn’t break her gaze. He had to make sure Danika entered the cottage safely. Besides, looking away would reveal too much. He nodded slightly, as if he’d meant for her to catch him staring. Danika tore her gaze away and disappeared inside.

      He exhaled slowly, calming his nerves. The minstrels’ music taunted him, reminding him of the circus he’d visited with his brother, Hule, on Festival Day. The jesters had leered at him, the bells on their three-pointed hats tinkling as they danced and pounded on drums. They made everything in life a mockery, and their disrespect churned his stomach. The Man of Muscles had earned his admiration. He’d lifted a wheel barrel holding two goats over his head. Bron had wanted to be that man, and here he stood now, guarding a princess as the Chief of Arms.

      If only he hadn’t failed her. The memory of the battlefield left a scar on his heart far greater than the one on his right cheek. The deep tones of a bass lute mirrored his regret. Bron pushed the uncomfortable memories from his thoughts, refusing to play into the song’s desperate notes. Music played slippery tricks on his mind, whereas steel made an honest and clean cut. No, this time he wouldn’t fail, even if it meant protecting her from himself. Bron smoothed his fingers over the pummel of his claymore, the golden etching hard underneath his callouses like a forgotten language. He skimmed the night and slipped into the cottage without a sound.

      Nip sat upright in bed, straight as a broomstick. He hadn’t even unlaced his boots.

      “Cannot sleep?”

      “I want to see it.” Nip locked on his eyes, his small mouth set tight.

      Bron still reeled from the encounter outside. He collapsed on the cot and pulled off a boot, massaging the sole of his foot. “See what?”

      “The wyvern snout. The one you killed.”

      The warrior paused and rubbed a hand over his shaved head. Tiny prickles of hair dusted the skin, and he needed time with his dagger and a bowl of water. But the lad seemed determined.

      “Won’t it give you nightmares?”

      “I already have ’em.” Nip stood and smoothed over his soot-stained tunic. “It’ll make ’em go away.”

      “It’s not a pretty thing, child.”

      Nip’s voice rose and he stomped his foot. “I’m not a child. Not anymore.”

      Bron raised an eyebrow. Surviving the scene that morning would make a man out of a duckling. The boy had a point. But to lay eyes on the dead beast’s head so soon after the attack?

      “It’s late. How about we take a look in the morning?”

      Nip swallowed. “I have to see with my own eyes what killed my parents.” His chin trembled.

      Bron scanned him from the ratty hair on his head to his scuffed boots. Did a hint of warrior shine in those sky blue eyes?

      “Troubadir СКАЧАТЬ