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And just for a second, she pictured herself wielding her own twin blades of Naarvian steel.

The royal stables were immaculate and ten times the size of Thezmarr’s. The building was alive with stableboys tending to the horses and servants polishing tack. It smelt of sweet hay, manure and leather.

‘You have ten minutes,’ Hawthorne told her. ‘Be ready.’

‘We’re to ride through the night?’

‘Does the dark scare you, Alchemist?’

Thea’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m ashieldbearernow. And no. Nothing scares me.’

‘Then you’re even more of a fool than I thought.’

‘I’m no fool.’

‘No?’ Hawthorne rounded on her. ‘I have never seen suchrecklessbehaviour in all my life. Do you have any semblance of a brain in that thick skull of yours?’

‘I —’

‘That was a rhetorical question,’ he snapped, his mask of stone slipping. ‘You threwa knifeat the King of Harenth. What would you have done if you’d been mistaken about the poison?’

‘But I wasn’t.’

‘You didn’t know that. I saw your face.’

‘Isaved the king’s lifetonight!’

‘You risked your own on a whim.’

‘I saved a ruler of the midrealms. Isn’t thatyourjob?’ she yelled. ‘I protected one of the last remaining magic wielders to exist. Didn’t you feel how strong he is? Imagine if it was gone? Another royal wiped from this realm, their magic with him?’

Hawthorne baulked. ‘You felt it?’

Fury blinded Thea. ‘Of course I felt it. I know I’m just an alchemist to you, but I’m not a moron. Their magic came alive in that throne room! And as for my own life, why do you care?’

Hawthorne hesitated a moment before he started on her again. ‘By the gods, Idon’t,’ his deep voice grew louder, the flickering torchlight making his eyes molten silver. ‘There is nothing I want more than to berid of you. You’re a danger to yourselfand to others.’

That familiar current of anger surged in Thea’s veins. ‘Sowhyare you here?’

‘Orders,’ he ground out. ‘You know that. You were placed under my protection. I didn’t ask for it. I certainly didn’twantthis, but I am responsible for you. I hope to never be so again.’

‘On that, we agree,’ Thea retorted.

‘At last, some common ground.’ Fury laced every word, and the Warsword shook his head as he walked into the stables.

But Thea wasn’t done. She charged after him. ‘I presume you heard King Artos give me express permission to trainandto bear arms. I want my dagger back.’

‘Gods, you must have a death wish,’ Hawthorne muttered in disbelief.

‘It’s mine,’ Thea argued. ‘I want it back.’

‘I want a hot bath and a naked beauty to feed me grapes,’ he snapped. ‘Alas, we don’t always get what we want.’

Thea didn’t think, she swung her fist.

Only to have it swallowed by his hand. In a blur of movement, faster than she could process, the Warsword spun her around, trapping both her hands behind her and shoving her to the wall. The stone was cold against her face, against her heaving breasts beneath the thin shirt.

Hawthorne didn’t release her. The pressure behind her increased as he pushed her harder into the wall, his chest now flush with her back, his voice hot in her ear.