Page 7 of The Warlord’s Princess (Warlords of Tempest #3)

ASHA

“Did you see her during survival training?” Arwin sneaks another glance at Amber and giggles. “She actually looked like she was getting into it when typically she won’t lift a finger.”

“It seems the greater woods have changed her.”

“Hopefully, for the better. I can’t believe they have her tanning the hides.”

“Just so long as she isn’t bossing me around,” I mumble under my breath.

“I was sure she was going to come back coupled with Ramsey, but I heard he was cursing about her. Did he say anything to you?”

“Oh, yes. Ramsey often chatters with me. Last night, we literally stayed up all night talking about who was better for Fiona, Gaerth, or Ulof.”

Arwin giggles louder, doubling over and grabbing her belly.

Speaking of Ramsey…

I lift my arm. “How do I smell?”

“Didn’t you bathe earlier?”

“Yes, but do you smell anything?”

She sniffs, wiggling her nose. “Did you use the men’s soap?”

“Yesssss…”

She gags. “Why would you do that?”

“Just tell me if I smell like anything other than soap.”

“No.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Good.”

“I wouldn’t say that. You smelt better after survival training, when you were all sweaty.”

I decide not to tell her I agree with her.

“So, it’s dye day?” she asks, looking at my purple and green fingers.

“Yes, it’s one of the reasons I came to find you.”

Arwin sighs. “And here I thought we were friends.”

“Exactly, and friends help each other.”

“What do you need?”

“I’ve mixed a few dyes, but I hadn’t realized I needed more of those orange flowers you found for me.”

“Would you like to grab some now?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it. I was hoping to be done with it all before Ramsey came back tonight.”

We walk just outside the village, a couple of feet past the treeline.

Arwin gestures to a bush where several tiny orange flowers bloom from purple stems. “There they are.”

I extend my basket out to her. “Can you pick them for me?”

Her brow pinches. “Why don’t you?”

“I don’t want to work up a sweat.”

“I don’t either.”

“But I really don’t want to.”

“I fail to see why that’s my problem.”

I sigh, my shoulders slumping. “I smell bad.”

“Yeah, because you bathed using the men’s soap, which is overpowering and smells like mud and tar.”

“I had to.”

“Mind telling me why?”

“Last night, Ramsey got pissed because he could smell me.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure it wasn’t Harold he was smelling?”

“Harold is so small, he only smells a tiny bit, and it’s not bad. It’s musky.”

“Then maybe Ramsey is just trying to break your spirit.”

“Why would he do that?”

She shrugs. “It’s a tactic some men employed back in Penticar to make maidens more likely to go to bed with them.”

“Well, I can tell you right now that Ramsey has absolutely zero desire to be within a hundred feet of me.” I tilt my head to the side, confused. “But why would a woman bed a man who insulted them?”

“It makes them desperate for approval, I guess.”

An icy ribbon jets past, and I shiver.

“That’ll wake you up?” Arwin grumbles, rubbing her bare arms.

“Look, I know I have no right to ask this of you, but could you please pick the orange flowers so I don’t work up a sweat and further offend Ramsey’s delicate senses?”

“Fine.”

After gathering the flowers, I head back to Ramsey’s hut to finish making the orange dye.

Unfortunately, it’s not empty.

“Why must you take so long with your weaves?” Ramsey barks. “And why do you have tubs full of color all over the place, on my own table? Your concern should be with surviving the cold, not vanity.”

Don’t let him think you’re weak…

“The green dye wards against insects,” I snap back, “and the lighter dyes break down the fabric to make it more flexible.”

He hesitates for a moment before mumbling, “Strong in different ways, they say. Yet if they were strong, they’d make their own place to work.”

“Were you intending for me to overhear that?”

His upper lip sneers in contempt.

“If you haven’t noticed, my people are working hard to ensure our survival. It’s not that we refuse to build a place for me to weave. We don’t have time. Grixis says the cold season will be upon us soon, and that it’ll be brutal, so grumble all you want, but it won’t make me move any faster.”

For a long moment, Ramsey is silent, and I wonder if I’ve gained some respect.

Just as I’m about to continue with my work, his brow pinches, and he leans forward, his silver eyes narrowing on my shoulder.

“Is that the same vaeyark?” he snarls, his mouth twisting with rage at every word he utters.

I look to the side and see Harold sitting on my shoulder, which is stupidly bold of him.

I turn, bringing my shoulder away from Ramsey. “Don’t worry about him.”

Ramsey circles me, quick as a cat, bringing his face inches from Harold.

I bring my hand up to shield my small friend.

“I am going to make you eat every single rodent you bring into my home!” he growls.

“You can’t hurt Harold!” I snarl, rage making me brave. “He’s a part of my tribe!”

Ramsey takes a terrifying step forward. “Is he, now?”

“Yes—and he pulls his weight!”

“Tell me, weak Asha, how does tiny Harold the vaeyark pull his weight?”

“He provides me with fur to use as a brush to paint with.”

Ramsey’s teeth grind, and I pull Harold from my shoulder, hiding him behind my back.

“Why don’t you just leave for the day, and when you get back, the dyes will be gone and you’ll never have to see Harold again.”

His eyes widen. “Are you suggesting I leave my own house? The one I built with my own two hands?”

Don’t show him you’re weak…

“If you’re going to get all emotional, then yes. Go, take a walk, breathe a little.”

“How dare?—”

Knowing that if I continue interacting with him, I’ll start cowering in fear, I kneel on the floor and begin plucking the orange flower petals to grind for the dye.

“Are you ignoring me?”

I continue my work, refusing to look at the furious blue man.

“I can hear your heart racing, Little Vaeyark. I know you are afraid.”

“Are you speaking to me or Harold?” I ask.

“Unbelievable,” he growls through clenched teeth. “Now, not only do I have to smell you, but now there is the scent of the dyes.”

My eyes snap to his. “I don’t smell.”

“Yes, you do.”

Of all the insults he’s ever slung at me, that I’m weak and feeble and a little vaeyark, this is perhaps the most offensive.

“Not only did I take a bath this morning, but I even used your smelly man soap to clean myself with—so I smell exactly like you!”

“Except that you don’t.”

I lift my arm again, taking in the scent of the herbs the men use, which create a stomach-twisting scent that Elena is urging the men to rectify.

“You’re right—I do smell. I smell terrible because you guys would rather smell like rotting wood than flowers.”

“Tempest, help us,” he mumbles under his breath.

I finish making the orange dye, trying to avoid Ramsey as much as I can, but the hut is small, and he refuses to leave.

In fact, he stands in the middle of the floor, forcing me to move around him.

Trying my best not to look weak, I force myself to look at him from time to time, as I move to grab things for the weave, but the sight of him affects me in ways I don’t quite understand.

The fear, I get. He’s a jerk that’s nearly two feet taller than me and he doesn’t hide the fact that he thinks I’m unfit to breathe.

But every once in a while, I feel a hint of something downright scandalous. It sends a shiver up my spine and stirs my blood, quickening my breath and turning my nipples to pebbles.

It reminds me of how young maidens would watch as their favorite knight competed in tourneys. Their cheeks would flush, their hand trembling as they handed the esteemed knights their favor.

I never really cared much for them, but that was likely because I knew my fate would be far different from the other maidens’. That mine wouldn’t end with a chivalrous husband and a happily ever after.

Because my father sensed my weakness long before Ramsey did.

With the dyes mixes, I distribute the threads among them.

“They will have to soak for half the day, then I’ll string them up outside and bring herbs into the hut to help rid it of the scent.”

“Will those herbs rid my hut of your scent?”

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Tell me, Little Vaeyark, what am I doing?” he says smugly.

“You’re making things up to make me feel bad.”

A puzzled expression washes over his handsome face. “I do not have to lie to find ways to insult you. There are more than enough deficits to choose from.”

An unexpected giggle escapes my throat, because while Ramsey might be a jerk, he’s admittedly funny.

“You mock your own weakness?”

“No, I’m mocking yours.”

He blinks back at me, his blue face going pale.

Now I’ve really done it…

No point in backing down now.

“You can’t control your emotions, and that makes you just as weak as me. Maybe even more so.”

“That is not true!”

I gesture to him. “Really? Because look at you? You’re a mess, and all because I’m using your hut to weave blankets and clothing for my people.”

“I am not a mess. I’m outraged that your people depend so on mine.”

Interestingly enough, the more we banter, the braver I feel.

“But weren’t you also dependent, at one point? When you were exiled, were you not given tools to get by with? We had nothing, save the rags on our backs.”

“Tread carefully, Little Vaeyark, for no one can force me to allow you into my home.”

“Go ahead—kick me out. I’m sure one of your tribe mates will thank you for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying that I’m sure someone would love to help me out.”

“None of my tribe mates would sully their lines with a lesser such as yourself!”

I tilt my face to the side, trying my best to appear innocent. “Are you sure of that?”

Doubt clouds his features. “Of course I’m sure.”

“Interesting.”

“Why is that interesting?”

“It’s just that a lot of your men have offered me assistance when I go out to look for flowers to make dyes with,” I lie, hoping the fear of his tribe mates mating with me, a lesser, will make him more agreeable to me staying.

“Who would do that?”

“You know what? Never mind.”

“No, tell me which of my tribe mates wishes to dip their quill in lesser ink!”

I double over, giggling for a long minute before standing back up and placing my hands on my hips. “How…poetic of you.”

A vein pops out on his neck, allowing me to see his pulse.

A part of me feels bad, because he did my tribe a favor by bringing Amber back, only to be greeted by someone occupying his hut.

But was her rescue really a favor?

A knock sounds on the door and Ramsey storms to answer it.

Gaerth is on the other side.

“Why are you here?” Ramsey looks like he’s about to pounce.

“The men are gathering to hunt.”

“I do not care to hunt today.”

“You care not to hunt?” Gaerth’s voice rises in question.

“He wants to spend time with me,” I interject, hoping it’ll get him to leave.

Ramsey turns toward me, his face awash with horror.

Gaerth places his hands up and backs away. “Say no more.”

“I do not want to spend time with you!” Ramsey bellows. “I merely want to make sure you do not let a family of vaeyarks move in.”

“Why would she do that?” Gaerth asks, clearly confused.

Ramsey starts searching the floor, lifting my weaves and calling, “Come out, you little vaeyark—show yourself!”

Harold pokes his little head out from a log of wood, and I pray he goes overlooked because I honestly don’t know what Ramsey would do to him.

Gaerth steps inside, placing a hand on Ramsey’s shoulder. “Perhaps you should come with me. The air will be fresh, and the hunt will liven your blood.”

Ramsey searches through my weaves, sighing when he comes up empty-handed.

“Come, the day is still young,” Gaerth urges.

Ramsey nods and sucks in a breath, exhaling it slowly. “Maybe a hunt will clear my mind.”