Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
I sidestep the thrust aimed for my chest, pin his arm to my side, and yank him toward me to add as much force as I can to the punch. My fist collides with his nose like a thunderbolt, blasting his head backwards and taking his legs from under him in a single instant. He slams to the ground, head bouncing off the carpet. His hand goes limp and the Blade thumps to the carpet. Unconscious.
“First blood,” I say down to his unconscious form.
“Roark!” cries Elizabeth, who rushes to my side and hugs me tightly.
I put an arm around her, not wanting the embrace to end. “You feel good,” I say.
She pulls back, frowning at me. “Don’t you dare try to make light of this. You could’ve been killed.”
“I’m not going to let anyone put their hands on you if you don’t want it, Princess. I don’t give a shit if it’s a prince or a servant. No one touches you without permission.”
She sighs, smiling a little. “So you’re not just my prince now, you’re my bodyguard too?”
“Don’t you dare try to make light of this,” I say.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Very funny.” She pauses, shivering a little.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She nods. “It all happened so fast. He kept trying to get me to come away from the party with him. I refused politely and then even a little rudely. He finally just grabbed my arm and yanked me in here. I wasn’t sure what would happen if I screamed, and before I could decide, the door was closed. I thought--that--I thought he was going to…”
“You’re okay now,” I say, brushing her hair aside and kissing her forehead. The door I kicked open doesn’t give anyone from the dance floor a view of us from where we stand in the room, so I know it’s safe.
“Thanks to you,” she says. “Why couldn’t it have been you?” she asks.
I grin. “Couldn’t what have been me?”
“The one I was supposed to marry. Everything could be perfect if it was you and not him.” She suddenly looks away and her cheeks blaze with red. “I’m sorry, I am probably freaking you out. I don’t mean--well, I just, ugh. Please pretend I didn’t say--”
I silence her with a kiss. She freezes when my lips meet hers, body rigid, then she melts into me, kissing me back until I pull away with a small smile. “Better if we don’t push our luck,” I say, nodding toward the open door. “But you’re not freaking me out. Not at all.”
She bites her lip, still not making eye contact for a few seconds until her embarrassment seems to have passed. “Now, what are we going to do about the passed out prince whose bleeding all over this carpet?”
“We leave him to bleed. He’ll live.”
“Won’t you get in trouble for this?”
I laugh. “No. Duels are a common way for gentlemen to settle disputes. If both parties agree to the terms, anything that happens within those terms is outside the reach of the law, even when royalty is involved.”
“This is how gentlemen settle disputes?” she asks in disbelief.
“Of course. What would you propose instead?”
“I don’t know. Maybe talking about it? I just don’t see how beating each other senseless proves anything.”
Titus sucks in a surprised breath, eyes fluttering open. He starts to sit up, but I drop to one knee and punch him again across his jaw, knocking him back out.
“Sorry, what were you saying?” I ask.
Elizabeth shakes her head. “You’re a barbarian. You know that, right?”
“Perhaps it’s time I show you my cultured side, then. Let’s go out there and dance.”
“Is that a good idea?” she asks. “What if Titus finds out?”
“I hope he does,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “Come on.”
I lead Elizabeth out to the dance floor with her small hand in mine, noticing the way we draw scandalized looks. We leave a trail of turned heads and pairs of whispering couples as we pass to an open space at the far end of the room. The song is slow, so I pull Elizabeth close by the small of her back, my hand nearly spanning her entire back.
She looks up at me with wide, searching eyes. “What are we doing?” she asks.
“Dancing,” I say, gently pressing her head into me so that her cheek rests against my chest. “That,” I say before adding more quietly, “and probably starting a civil war.”
“That’s not funny, Roark,” she says.
“I wasn’t joking.”
I half expect her to pull away, but her hands only tighten around me and she presses herself to me more firmly, rocking back and forth with me was we step to the rhythm of the slow music coming from the band.
“This all still feels like a dream,” she says into my chest, voice barely audible over the music. “This place. These people. Not being constantly insulted by my family. You,” she adds after a short pause.