It happened fast, but Rafe saw it in slow motion…Tempest turning toward him and bringing her sword down as if to cut off his head. Before he could even think of ducking, Jeremy grabbed his sword off the ground and blocked the killing cut.
The sound shocked his ears, the clash of metal against metal.
“Not bad,” Tempest said. She wore the slightest smile. “Might be our Red. Might not. Let’s keep going.”
“Back up, Rafe,” Jeremy said.
“What? No. You can’t—”
All at once the other six women, still on horseback, pulled their swords and pointed them at him. Rafe froze, looked at Jeremy, who only took a breath.
“Guess they can,” Jeremy said.
“Disarm me,” Tempest said, “and I’ll know it’s you. Only you ever could.” She pushed her sword into his blade.
“Tempest, it’s been fifteen years.”
“Then pray you have a good memory.”
She fell back but only to strike at him again. Rafe had no choice but to watch as Jeremy parried blow after blow from her sword. It seemed a dance of sorts, and both fighters knew all the steps. Their swords crossed again and again, metal glinting, sparking. Rafe watched in terror and awe as Jeremy wove and ducked and spun out of reach of Tempest’s blade. Then he suddenly changed tactics, going on the offensive, pushing her to fall back. And they must’ve been enjoying the dance, as they kept breaking into a smile.
Although he knew nothing about sword fighting, Rafe could tell they were equally matched, both masters, both shockingly strong and agile. This was Jeremy? Rafe looked at him with new eyes. No, not new. The same awestruck dazzled eyes that had once watched Jeremy playing piano in his mum’s music room.
“I don’t want to do this,” Jeremy said to Tempest. They were both breathless, sweating hard.
“Yes, you do,” she said. She swung her blade low and Jeremy put his sword tip onto the ground to block it. As soon as her blade crossed his, he raised it in an arc, using his superior height to knock it out of her hands.
The sword landed on the ground with a soft clatter.
“All right, I did want to do that,” Jeremy said, panting. He sheathed his sword. “Now do you believe me? Jeremy? Red? Hello? Hugs all around? Wait, I forgot. Valkyries don’t hug.”
“One hug,” she said. “Since it’s been so long.”
She smiled and stepped forward as if to hug him, but without warning, she pulled a knife from her sleeve and pressed the point against the center of his chest.
Jeremy slowly raised his arms a little higher.
“This hurts my feelings,” he said.
“Now I know it’s you,” Tempest said. “You always let your guard down too early.”
“It’s a personal problem. I’m working on it.”
“Work harder.” She put her knife away again, then held out her hand. Jeremy took it and she gave the slightest smile. “Stand down, Valkyries.” The other six women sheathed their swords at once. Still wary, Rafe knelt and picked up his bow and quiver from the ground.
“Jay?” Rafe said. Jeremy turned to him. “Who the hell are you?”
Jeremy grinned and the grin turned into a grimace. He wiped sweat off his forehead. Rafe tried to stop staring at him, but it seemed mostly impossible even with seven heavily armed Valkyries, whatever those were, surrounding them.
“Obviously, I left a few things out. I’m a—”
“Dismount!” Tempest ordered.
The Valkyries leaped lightly off their horses and onto their feet, then put their right fists over their hearts and bowed their heads toward him.
“Your Highness,” they said in unison.
He stared at them, then looked at Jeremy for answers. “Wait. What’s going on?”
Jeremy said, “So that’s what I forgot to tell you. Slipped my mind.”
“What slipped your mind, Jay?” Rafe demanded. “What?”
“That’s you. They’re talking to you,” he said. “In Shanandoah, you’re a prince.”
Storyteller CornerIntroductions
Very eventful day, yes? Magical kingdom. Jeremy in a sword fight. Emilie’s disappeared. Rafe’s just found out he’s royalty, which is the least of his problems, as he needs to know where Emilie is, and also, he can’t seem to stop looking at Jeremy (don’t blame him), which he’s finding both confusing and annoying (also don’t blame him). Under these circumstances, I assume no one wants to wait for elaborate introductions. The seven women on horses are known far and wide as the Valkyries. They’re the queen’s cavalry and her guard.
Tempest is their leader, already described, but no matter how glorious you imagine her, she is even more so in person.
The other six are as follows:
Ember—redhead, temper to match
Winter—she’s the pale one with white-blond hair
