Page 33 of The Warlord’s Princess (Warlords of Tempest #3)

ASHA

Under the weave is a replica of Ramsey’s hut.

I take a step back and look up at him, nearly melting when his silver gaze fixes on me.

“I don’t understand.”

“Do you not see that it is a hut?” Ramsey says with a hint of smugness in his tone.

“I see that, but it’s too small for me.”

“That is because it is not a courtship gift for you, but for Harold.” He squats, takes Harold off his shoulder, and places it on the small hut’s stoop.

In my entire time on this island, I can’t recall an instance I’ve ever been so shocked.

A giggle escapes my throat. “You thought Harold needed a hut?”

Ramsey shrugs. “If he is to court his own lady vaeyark, he must have a place to bring her back to.”

People whisper, the women laughing, the men sounding confused.

I turn to Nori, who is hauling the basket over, as I’d requested her to do before the festival.

“You were in on this?” I whisper-snap.

“He asked for my thoughts?—”

“And you told him to build Harold a hut?” I chuckle out.

“Actually, no. I told him it was custom for a man to ask a maiden’s father for her hand in marriage.”

“Oh…”

“I gave it to him before the ceremony!” Elena enthuses.

“You knew about this?” Grixis snaps.

“Shhhh!” Elena scolds.

“Thank you, Nori,” I tell her as I grab a weave from the basket.

“I’d had a speech of my own prepared, but it’s not easy following grumpy Ramsey, so all I’m going to say is that despite his prickly attitude, his raw temper, and his disdain for the weak, I choose him and hope that he accepts this courtship gift. ” I extend the weave toward him.

“You seek to court me?” His brow scrunches, but he takes the gift, his features softening slightly as he unfolds it, if stone can be said to soften.

I nod, bringing my blue eyes to his silver. “Yes, I am courting you.”

Looking down at the blanket, he blinks. “It is me…” he whispers, his voice wrought with emotion.

He shakes it out and holds it up for all to see. Gasps sound from all around us, followed by excited whispers.

“It’s beautiful,” Elena whispers, gazing at the enormous blanket.

The dye made from the blue-shelled grensir shells creates glistening water over the threads. Looming in the foreground is Ramsey, his silver eyes seemingly looking alive, staring intensely out from the fabric at us.

Ramsey touches the image of himself, his fingers lingering over the stitches. “Never have I seen something as exquisite as this,” he whispers, his eyes scanning up to mine, his knuckles grazing my cheek, “aside from your beautiful face.”

I feel my cheeks flush with heat. The women sigh as they look on, and I know they’ll be talking about this night endlessly.

“I love you, Ramsey.”

“As I love you, my Little Vaeyark.”

Arwin giggles. “Looks like the princess has found her prince.”

“I told you to stop calling me that!” I scoff.

Ever since they found out I was the princess they thought was dead, a few have taken to calling me Princess Asha. Not in a mean-spirited way. Still, it annoys me.

A rhythm picks up on the drums, and the maidens grab the hands of men and start twirling in circles.

“Care to dance?” I ask Ramsey.

His lips form a thin line. “Eh…”

I grab the blanket, throw it in the basket, and pull him to the center, where we spin, twirl, and move our hips to the beat. Ramsey moves awkwardly, but seems to enjoy himself, as the other men do. The ones that let themselves, anyway.

“I’m sorry I said no to you,” I finally tell him, hoping he does not get prickly.

“Apologizing is weak,” Ramsey growls.

“But I have to. It’s hurt to be away from you, but I wouldn’t allow myself to believe that you could make me happy. And I still don’t know that you will, but I’ll be miserable if we don’t give it a try.”

“My love, I swear to you, I will make it my mission to put big smiles on your face every day.”

“You’ve already done a great job by making that hut for Harold.” I look at his shoulder, where the vaeyark is perched. “And you Sir, are a traitor.”

“He agrees with me that Penticari women are nonsensical, and made his choice.”

“We’ll see if he ever gets my crumbs again.”

Ramsey looks over my shoulder and chuckles. “Looks like smart Nori moves just as awkwardly as a Tempest man.”

I twist and watch as she and Dogan sway, hoping that she realizes how crazy he is for her.

“I can’t believe how much the village has changed since we got here. How accepted we’ve become.”

“You helped with that, as no man of Tempest has ever taken down a terragulf alone.”

“But it’s not like I killed it.”

“You are right. You stole my kill from me, and my glory. Still impressive, though underhanded.”

I giggle, lift to my toes, pull him closer, and kiss his cheek.

He pulls away, his expression troubled.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“You act most forward during courtship, which dishonors me.”

“Fine, then I’ll go back to the longhouse for the night.”

Before I can get three steps away, he grabs me up and swings me around, his lips pressed against mine as I’m returned to the earth.

The women gasp and sigh, like they’re watching a real-life fairytale romance play out right in front of them. And it feels that way to me too.

We eat too much in front of the dying fire, and with a harsh ribbon, the women mill back into the longhouse.

Dancing again, Ramsey wraps his arms around me, grabs my hips possessively, and leans down to whisper into my ear. “It is late, and I am most interested in a very different method of courtship.”

“Court away.”

As we begin the walk back to Ramsey’s hut—our hut—Grixis comes over, grabbing Ramsey’s upper arm and whispering something into his ear.

Ramsey nods, mutters something back, locking eyes with Grixis in such a serious way, it sends a shiver up my spine.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, saying a silent prayer to whatever god is watching over Melgrim to keep us safe.

Ramsey smiles down at me. “You need not worry, Little Vaeyark, as Grixis’s sharp words were meant only for me, scolding me for my mishandling of our joining many moons ago, when I demanded we return you to Penticar.”

“Yes, that was mishandled, and rather gravely, but I’ll let you make it up to me.” I bite my lower lip teasingly, and he swoops me up into his arms, walks past Harold’s new house, into ours, honoring my request.