I raise my arm. “Hello!”
Nat pauses and waves. “Hello there!” He has a square face with a round nose, mismatched button eyes, and grizzled chin. Both his barrel-shaped chest and stocky limbs are firm with muscle. Like Lincoln, he wears compression pants, only his are paired with an olive green t-shirt.
With his opponent distracted, Lincoln drops onto his knee, swinging his free leg against Nat’s shins. The elder man falls, hitting the mat face-first with a thud.
Lincoln hops to his feet. “Always stay mindful of the battle, Nat. You taught me that.” He jogs to the edge of the mats, pulls on a white t-shirt and waves in my direction. “Hello, Myla!”
“Hi. Sorry I’m late.” To whatever weirdness this is.
“No problem. It gave me and Nat a chance to practice.” He gestures to the older man beside him. Nat’s back on his feet and smiling. “I don’t believe you two have officially met. Myla, I’d like to present Nathaniel Archer, my Master at Arms.”
“Master at Arms?”
Nat half bows. “That means I teach the young Prince how to fight demons, milady.” He has a gravelly voice with a cute cockney accent.
Lincoln winks. “And stay alive in the process.” He steps up to the edge of the mats, then pauses. Our gazes lock; energy zings in the space between us. We share a slow and warm smile. I missed you too, Lincoln. I ache to wrap my arms around him.
Nat steps between us. “I’m also here as royal chaperone.” He clears his throat. “In case any ladies should stop by what’s officially a boys-only work out.”
I tilt my head to one side. “You’ve never had a chaperone before, Lincoln.”
His smile droops. “We’ll get to that in a bit.”
“Good.” I’ve zero desire to hear about the Earl of Acca right now. There’ll be plenty of time for that nightmare. Later.
Lincoln rubs his palms together, his full smile returning. “I’ve a surprise for you first. Nat here will teach you how to fight with something besides your tail.”
My heart feels like a balloon about to float to the ceiling. “Really?” I race up to the edge of the mats and bob on the balls of my feet. I’ve never had actual combat training.
Best. Surprise. Ever.
Nat sets his hands on his hips. “Now, be fair, my Prince. I never agreed to attack the young Miss.”
“I told you, Nat. She’s not like the ladies of the court.” He picks up a wooden sword and flicks it straight at my head. I catch it in my left hand, an inch away from my nose. Lincoln grins. “It’s a shame that you missed her at the tournament. She was amazing.”
My skin flushes something fierce. “Thanks.” I turn to Nat. “I fought in the Arena since I was twelve.” I set the blunt point of the sword on my fingertip and balance it there. “Hand-to-hand combat, to the death.”
Nat points a meaty finger at Lincoln. “I won’t do it, no matter you’re the Prince and the young miss says it’s all fine and dandy. Ladies don’t stand a chance fightin’ a thrax and that’s the truth.” He stares at me and frowns. “Look at her, such a lovely young thing. You can’t be serious, my Prince.”
Humph. A lovely young thing that could snap your neck in four seconds or less. Showing this guy how girls can fight? Sounds like a challenge. My lips curl into a mischievous grin. I’m always up for a challenge.
Lincoln flips his sword into his right hand, his mismatched eyes finding mine. “Is that what you think, Nat?” He firms up his footing, his back arching into battle stance.
Nat crosses his heavy arms over his barrel-chest. “It’s not what I think, young Prince. It’s what I know.”
Peeling off my sneakers, I step onto the practice mats in my bare feet, the wooden sword gripped tightly in my hand. My heart thuds so hard, my pulse throbs through my throat and temples. At this point, I wouldn’t care if we were practicing open heart surgery, as long as I got closer to Lincoln. I hold the Prince’s gaze, giving him the barest of nods.
“Here’s what I know, Nat.” Raising his sword level with his shoulder, Lincoln lunges straight for me.
My mind clears as the Prince’s sword streams toward my head. Battle mode clicks into my brain. Lincoln’s no longer the guy I wanna kiss, he’s six feet of solid muscle streaming at me with a weapon and a plan.
Fortunately for me, his plan kinda sucks.
I lean over at the last second. Once his body slams into my side, my tail grabs Lincoln’s neck, flipping him over. He spins 360 degrees through the air, landing flat on his back with a thud. He looks up at me, raising his right eyebrow.
“You’re using wrestling moves in a sword fight, Myla.”
I sniff. “Says the guy on the mat.”