The Prince's Rogue (Golden Guard Trilogy Book 2)

  Raylynn sighed. Her friend was going to give the princeling severe indigestion. Scorpion tail was hard on stomachs that weren’t used to its trace natural poisons. Those same poisons made it a great ration, however, as the numbing quality staved off gnawing hunger longer than a full meal when it was most needed.

  “You’ll do no such thing.” Raylynn put the idea to bed before it could so much as squint open its eyes.

  “But I want to try it!” Baldair protested, none the wiser.

  “No, you don’t.” Raylynn kicked the small of his back lightly. “Now, up with you.”

  “Better heed mother,” Anya teased. “She’s scary when she’s mad.”

  “I’ve no doubt.” Baldair stood with a laugh that made Raylynn’s eyes narrow; she was dangerously close to becoming a joke to him.

  Rather than risking further embarrassment in front of her friends and family, she headed away from the orb-like glow of the great fire and into the darkness. Away from the immediate proximity of the flames, the night surrounded them quickly; Raylynn’s eyes adjusted to the light of the moon and stars.

  She looked over her shoulder to make sure he was following. “You surprise me, prince.”

  “Do I?” Baldair caught up with her in a few wide steps.

  “You seem relaxed around magic flames.” She gave a nod to the fire burning in a divot of sand without any source of fuel. “I thought Southerners were supposed to hate sorcerers.”

  “Jax, one of the Golden Guard, is a Firebearer.”

  “The one who wasn’t the little Le’Dan?” She thought back to the two men he’d been with when they met.

  Baldair hummed in affirmation. “My brother, too.”

  That she knew.

  “Where are we headed?” He took advantage of her silence to shift the conversation.

  “Back into the dunes.”

  “Why?” He kept asking his questions, but he didn’t stop following her. Raylynn wondered how far he would follow before she had to give him an answer.

  “I am going to give you one final chance.”

  “To do what?”

  “To best me.” Raylynn gripped the hilt of her sword. The mere thought of combat began to shift the sounds of the world. She heard his footsteps like a drumbeat, the clanking of his scabbard like a bell.

  “You’re going to duel me again?” Baldair was clearly taken aback. “Now?”

  “If you wait, I may change my mind.”

  The prince stopped as she did, not a step before. He was a quick study, faster than he likely gave himself credit for. When her mother had led her through the desert for years, it had taken Raylynn far too long to learn how to follow. She had been as stubborn and headstrong as a child as she was as a woman, and the notion of following a leader without question—doing things on someone else’s terms—while maintaining her own autonomy was difficult to accept. She wondered if he already felt it—if he respected her as a leader. Because if he could do that, it meant she had nothing to worry about should there ever be a time she chose to follow him instead.

  “It’s simple, same rules as before. Best me, and I will tell you everything and join your guard.” Prove to me you’re worth it, she wanted to add.

  Baldair regarded her thoughtfully. The curve of his face, coated in stubble and moonlight, finally betrayed a motion of affirmation.

  They drew swords, metal singing sweetly against the night air. She noted, for the first time, that his wider blade had a sort of resonance that thrummed below the hum of her thinner one. They were different, but a sort of unexpected harmony lingered between them.

  The air grew heavy with tension before they moved. The song of the sword came to her, loud and true. Every minor movement struck a chord in a melody she’d never heard.

  It was as if the song she had been trained to love had begun to sing not just for her, but for them.

  18. Baldair

  He watched carefully as she drew her shadow from the night. The reflection of the stars dripped across the flat of her blade. She held herself in perfect tension—the model swordswoman.

  Her grip on the hilt gave her flexibility to parry both right or left attacks. The blade’s length allowed her to hold it low, guarding against blows to the hips while still being able to catch a swing toward the neck or head. Even her clothing had no doubt been carefully curated over the years to fit her combat before her person. A miss-match of leftover armor, likely purchased or pilfered as was necessary, resulted in a fitting suit that was uniquely hers.

  A smile tensed the muscles in his cheeks. He didn’t want to let her see it; the last thing Baldair wanted was this woman to think he was mocking her when the truth was anything but. Am I another found thing that befits her, pilfered along the way?

  Let it be so. It was a simple sort of decree that had the echoes of his princely tutors screaming from the back of his mind that he was an Imperial Prince and could be owned by no one. But if he was going to be claimed by anyone, he wanted it to be her.

  Raylynn was unlike any woman he’d ever met before. She was a mirror to all he was, but better. The qualities he lacked she possessed, and those he treasured she had in spades. The more he looked at her, the more he fell into those dark eyes, the more he knew it all to be true.

  No doubt impatient with his introspection, Raylynn was the first to move.

  Baldair stepped back, parrying her probing attack. He caught the blade on his guard, pushing it aside and pulling back. Raylynn regarded him warily, those same dark eyes narrowing before she swung back for another strike that lacked bite.

  He had been watching her, and not just the way her leggings fit the curve of her hip. He had been watching her steps, the way her feet turned, hands shifted. He had never watched a woman so closely and had never known a body so well without really knowing it.

  Raylynn lunged.

  He dodged.

  She twisted one way.

  He went the opposite.

  She batted at his blade, and he disengaged.

  “Why aren’t you attacking?”

  He smiled, then. She didn’t see things the way he did. That was fine, he decided then and there. If she needed words, he would give them to her. “Because I’m letting you lead.”

  Raylynn stilled. Her hands went slack, a modicum of the tension in her shoulders dissipating.

  “If you don’t fight,” she said, caution in her voice, “you can’t best me, and I will never be your guard.”

  “Is this the task you intended for me?”

  “It’s the task I’m giving you,” she insisted. An odd quiver to her voice alerted him to a tempest raging beneath the surface.

  Baldair straightened away, and did something he had always been taught never to do: sheath his sword in front of an armed opponent. But with Raylynn’s sword tip at the level of his nose, he did so. Her hands tensed again, her shoulders lifted back at attention—her whole body was ready to strike. She was forcing aggression to override confusion.

  “Surely you noticed.” He took a step forward. “But we are engaged in two duels at the moment.”

  “Two?” She kept her sword locked in place, its point now just a hair’s breadth from his face. “All I see is you about to lose one.”

  “And win the other,” he murmured.

  Baldair wasn’t prone to quiet. It seemed an unnecessary tedium. But in that moment, he didn’t want to break the air between them with any more words than necessary. He didn’t want his voice to reach her before his hands could.

  He settled one palm over hers at her sword’s hilt. She didn’t ease her grip or back away. His fingers curled lightly, tenderly; she would have her control, as he knew she desired. She would have every chance to fight him away if she did not want him there, and he would make sure his movements conveyed the fact.

  But she didn’t.

 
Her eyes searched his face, reading and understanding a truth that it seemed her mind had yet to fully admit. Baldair smiled in earnest. He had seen it before she did, and because of it, he had bested her.

  His hand touched her cheek, gently then firmly smoothing over the roughness of her skin, battered by sand and wind and sun. His fingers dipped into the tangles at the nape of her neck, wrought in gold. She was as sturdy and world-worn as she first appeared, and all the more beautiful for it.

  Baldair closed his eyes and held his breath, committed to seeing through to the end what he had started. Her lips were chapped and tasted of sweat; he was sure the shadow on his chin scratched her in a less-than-ideal way. Still, she didn’t retreat.

  He felt the moment when she returned his kiss. With a gentleness he had yet to see from the woman, her lips slotted against his as though she’d long predicted the place they’d fit best. He couldn’t suppress the sigh of contentment, of relief, that escaped his throat.

  He had known many kisses. He had wielded them as tools to accomplish tasks and achieve results. He had accepted them and played into the fantasies of others with them, willingly giving what so many young ladies at court seemed to desire. But this was different. This was the first time he had kissed a woman.

  Reminding himself that this had been a calculated “attack” on his part, Baldair broke away. Raylynn’s eyes were waiting the moment his opened. Where a girl would have stood breathless and blushing, she merely assessed him thoughtfully.

  “You didn’t best me with the sword,” she said finally.

  “I didn’t,” he had to admit. “But you never specified that I had to.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “And I may never.” He would not be so proud to deny what was so clear to both of them. “I may never win you with the sword. You move as though your hands are wrought from the same iron as your blade.”

  A blade she was now sheathing.

  “I will not wait a lifetime to best your blade before I have you in my company. But I will fight, in a different way, to earn the loyalty of the woman who holds it.”

  Raylynn’s face was impassive, her eyes betraying nothing. She nearly reminded him of Aldrik, and Baldair was forced to push the notion aside before it distracted him from his mission.

  “All of this,” he continued, “on your own terms, of course.”

  She thought this over a long moment and then closed the gap between them. Baldair thought she was as likely to punch him in the gut as kiss him. So he was well and truly relieved when she decided on the latter.

  Her fists closed around the collar of his shirt, and she pulled herself toward him. The confidence was appealing in a way he’d never known, and Baldair let her lead them, his mouth moving gently, answering the questions put forth by her lips, tasting what pieces of herself she submitted for his inspection. At the same time, his hands gripped her hips with all the force he possessed.

  The coy smirk she wore when she pulled away was all the confirmation he needed. “Very well, princeling. You lose in the duel of the sword. But in this duel…” Her palms ran down the front of his shirt. All at once, he realized it had been a near-record amount of time since he had last touched, and been touched by, a woman. “…I may permit you victory.”

  “Then I picked the right duel.” He held her fast, with no plans to release her. “Because this victory tastes far, far sweeter.”

  She barely let him speak the words before she kissed him again.

  19. Raylynn

  The prince was young—younger than she usually went for. Young ones were always so eager, so hasty, so hurried. It was like striking a flame; the moment it caught, they wanted to let it burn everything, patience be damned.

  Raylynn had gone through her years of rutting like dogs in heat with the first man who showed an interest when she was in a mood. She had served her time to those eager fingers and explorations with all the determination of a sorcerer just uncovering her magic. Now, she was in no hurry. She knew the theory—all the ways the bits and pieces could fit together. Now, what she delighted in was seeing how those bits and pieces fit with each unique partner.

  And it had been so long since she last had a partner in this arena. She had grown picky in her mid-twenties, so much so that she had actually begun to contemplate who she’d deem worthy. It seemed she’d settle for a determined prince.

  She’d forced him to walk, not run, back to one of the vacant abodes—always kept ready for the wanderers like her in the Nameless Company who would show up on the horizon out of the blue. She clutched his hands in hers as they eagerly fumbled with the latch of her belt, the ties of her jerkin. She did nothing more than kiss him until his heart slowed some and his breathing encompassed what little space stood between them.

  But that same breathing was her undoing in its own way, as it filled the air like a quiet symphony. She had granted him this victory, but, in truth, he’d earned it. So she made no motion to stop him when his fingers smoothed to palms, gripping her breast. She gave no pause, flowing from one movement to the end, lending her own pleasant hums and huffs to the song they were building to a crescendo together.

  The prince lived up to his reputation, she discovered. He was no stranger to a woman’s body. Raylynn not only had no teaching to do, but her hands could potentially learn a thing or two from the creative ministrations of his. It was enough, for now, and she found herself able to stop him when she was finished.

  He acquiesced with a frustrated groan, a noise she discovered she enjoyed a little too much. Guilty for delighting in his torture, she repaid the service in kind—bringing him to release.

  They lay sweat slicked and satisfied as the remnant of pleasure released its grip on their bodies. Raylynn heard the shifting of the blankets underneath his head as it turned to face her. She waited several seconds to see if he would speak, before bringing her eyes to him.

  “I want more.”

  She laughed at the end of her exhale. “I know you do.”

  The prince rolled half atop her, his mouth on her neck. He sucked sweetly, biting tenderly, licking away the mark.

  “Not tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so.” Raylynn watched him carefully as he pulled away. There was trace disappointment—but nothing outrageous.

  “On your terms.” The prince smiled, propping his head up. With his free hand, he took her fingers in his, bringing them to his mouth. “I want nothing from you that isn’t.”

  “You learn quickly.”

  “Thank you.” The prince’s scruff roughed her knuckles. “But this is one area which I have always believed should be entirely on the terms of my partner.”

  She hummed softly. “Who knew such an honorable man lay beneath the one they call ‘Heartbreaker’?”

  He laughed, easing down, the warm glow brought of his climax settling on him like a blanket. “You know that name?”

  “And others.”

  “And you will still join my company?” he asked eagerly.

  “As long as it pleases you.” A strange statement to have come from her mouth.

  “Then may I never not please you.”

  She looked for a trace of deception in his statement but found none. It was all the reassurance she needed. The lines had been crossed; there was no looking back now. For better or worse, in her own way, she had followed in her mother’s footsteps and thrown in her lot with royalty. But she would make this path her own, and doing so first meant she had to finish the route her mother had walked.

  “There is something I must do first, before I join your company.”

  “I should have known it wouldn’t be so easy.” He spoke with a small smile, as though delighted—rather than put out—by this new challenge.

  “Yes, you should have.” It was still all too easy to admonish him. Easier than it should be, given he was h
er prince.

  “What must you do, and how may I see it accomplished? Is it this infamous task?”

  “I will kill the man who slew my mother and regain her sword,” she vowed aloud for the first time. Her blade was not the one she wore on her hip, and it was time to reclaim her birthright. She had committed the truth to the gods above and the blade her mother had taught her to wield. She had started a new verse of the song of her sword.

  “Very well. You shall, and it will be by your hand,” the prince agreed. “But first, tell me why these men sought your mother’s death and now so clearly seek your own?”

  Raylynn took a deep breath. The truth was partially unknown yet, even to her. But what she did know, she would impart. There was no going back now when it came to the prince.

  20. Baldair

  He had never had a woman refuse him sex before. In bed. Naked. After he had already taken her to orgasm once.

  Raylynn never stopped daring to break the mold.

  Now he had to bring his thoughts back to the head that sat on his shoulders—no small task around the woman. She was seeking vengeance on behalf of her mother, which was something Baldair could support. But if he was to do so as a prince or as a man, he needed more details. He needed to be certain that hers was an honorable mission, not some misplaced vendetta.

  “How much do you know of the Knights of Jadar?” she asked.

  “Not much.”

  “Southerners and their lack of world history,” she muttered. He was unable to disagree. He drew lazy circles around her navel with the tip of his finger. It didn’t seem to distract or bother her in the slightest. “Many, many years before Mhashan fell into the hold of the Empire, there was a mighty ruler—King Jadar. His love for his people was only matched by his ferocity toward everyone who stood against his kingdom. His youngest son, the spare to the throne, developed a group of swordsmen and other combatants and called them knights in his father’s name.”

  “The Knights of Jadar,” Baldair stated the obvious. “The Golden Guard will not be like these Knights,” he vowed, suddenly realizing he was asking her to join one noble order when her mother had been slain by another, not-so-noble one.