Blaise brightened at that, her rusty brown eyes practically gleaming with mischief.
Blaise wasn’t what I would consider a pretty girl—at least, not when I’d first met her. But when she smiled at you like that, like there was nothing in the world she’d rather be doing than doing nothing by your side—I could see why the servant boys, and even some of the fae courtiers, fell all over her.
“Glad you finally asked.”
I would not have thought that the King of Dwellen would allow such a thing as a servant girl fencing, especially while borrowing from the king’s personal store of equipment, but according to Blaise she did it all the time.
I didn’t believe her until she jabbed me in the crook of my shoulder before I even had time to flourish my weapon.
“Ow,” I said as she pulled her helmet over her face, imitating me.
The courtyard had warmed in the midday sun. I might have flopped on the ground and soaked it up were I not so busy dodging Blaise’s attacks. Still, there were bumblebees flitting between the tulips that decorated the grounds, and the breeze was ruffling the grass, and I couldn’t have been more content.
We must have looked ridiculous. Well, Blaise certainly looked ridiculous. The fae were so large, there hadn’t been a single adult fencing outfit for either of us to fit into back in the changing rooms. Blaise hadn’t seemed worried about it, and she’d tossed me an outfit, telling me it was made for fae children, but that it would most likely fit.
Fit turned out to be a loose interpretation of the word. The white fabric was snug, but whatever fae material it was made of stretched. So there was that.
Blaise’s hung off her slight frame instead of clinging to it, and the metallic mesh that shielded our faces while still allowing us to see one another left her looking like little more than a pale shadow.
A fast shadow. She moved in a blur of white and struck my belly this time.
I narrowed my eyes.
“Again?” she asked.
I nodded. This time when she struck, I was ready, and though I had few skills as far as sword play was concerned, I at least had the wherewithal to block her blow.
“Nice,” she said. “Where’d you learn that?”
“Put my stick in front of your stick. It’s not that difficult to intuit.”
To my surprise, she laughed, her pale face lighting up.
“You’re funny, Ellie Payne. I might not mind having you around after all.”
After that, Blaise seemed more willing to actually explain to me the rules, the moves, and even a few strategies she claimed to have developed herself.
After about half an hour of haphazardly defending her strikes and parrying, I finally landed a blow on her shoulder. “Nice!” she said. “You’re a quick learner.”
I shrugged.
I didn’t realize I’d be any good at hitting another person with a stick.
Then again, this was the first time I’d tried.
Hitting other people in a controlled environment turned out to be rather cathartic.
SWACK. I got Blaise one good time in the chest, and she coughed, a sputtering laugh spilling out of her. “Remind me not to put persimmon juice in your coffee,” she giggled.
When she landed a blow to my side that had me clenching my waist, breathless, I said, “Remind me not to make you read boring etiquette manuals.”
She laughed at that. “The only thing worse than etiquette manuals are the luncheons you’re supposed to show off your skills at.”
Apparently, she glimpsed my confusion through my mesh, because she explained, “My father was the king’s ambassador to the humans for many years. He wasn’t of noble blood, but the king treated him like he was.” A sad smile shadowed her face. “He used to dread dragging me to dinners when all the families were invited. I always ended up with pudding on my gown or a slice in my finger or a bug in my hair—though come to think of it, I can’t imagine how that was my fault.”
I frowned, lowering my sword. “What happened to him?”
She shrugged. “He died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And your mother?” I dared to ask.
“Also dead. But she died when I was too young to remember her.”
My heart sagged. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about my situation—betrothed to an imbecile who was in love with another woman. But at least I had my parents, my mother’s warm dimples and my father’s constantly consternated brow. Even the thought of them brought a smile to my lips.
I wondered if it still brought Blaise joy to think of her father—if it was bittersweet, or if the pain swallowed up all the good from her memories.
“Do you have anyone else?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No family. Well, not any worth mentioning. I hardly consider them family at all. At least I have Andy, though.”
I frowned, confused.
Noticing my expression and realizing that it must have been strange for a servant to consider themselves so close to a prince, Blaise explained, “He and Jerad were always fond of me as a child. They’d entertain me as best they could during dinners so my father could focus on networking with the other diplomats. When my father died, Jerad went to the king and asked for me to be placed in the palace’s care. I think Evander would have asked for it too, if he didn’t think his presence would foil the chance of Jerad’s request being granted. The king wouldn’t think of adopting me, of course, but he’s allowed me to stay on as a servant ever since.”
A pretty horrible servant, at that, I didn’t add. But things were starting to make more sense. Like how Blaise got away with doing little to no work. If her employment was out of respect for her late father—“OW.”
