After, all he was a king.
Sighing, I drew up my legs to my chest, resting my chin on my knee. I was in one of the alcoves, attempting to do some homework so I could keep up with my classes, but I was spending too much time thinking about Royce and what he had shared with me last time we were together. He had asked if he could trust me and I wanted him to think that he could.
I wanted to trust him.
The problem? Royce was a king. I had learned my lesson about trusting a king before.
Yet here I was, starting to have some pretty interesting feelings for another king.
“Ugh,” I said, resting my forehead on my knee. For some reason, I couldn’t stay away from any of them. Was that the royal blood in me?
Did I like being treated like I mattered, only to be cast aside for some bigger plan?
Well, I sure didn’t want to let Royce go just yet. He was the complete opposite of Arthur: cocky and full of himself, unapologetic and crass. He called me pauper, though I was starting to grow used to his nickname.
Arthur had been far too nice at first, and I hadn’t known what to think of him. At least with Royce I knew where I stood.
I thought I did until last week, when he had pulled me against him, and my body had reacted thusly. Did I want Royce? I wanted to say no, but I would be lying to myself.
I did want Royce. I was curious about him, about what made him tick and what he was like outside of the crowd of followers that he had garnered.
I had started getting glimpses of that king.
My cell buzzed and I grabbed it from the bed, unable to keep from smiling as I saw a text from the object of my thoughts.
So, he hadn’t forgotten about me after all.
**
A few hours later, I hurried down the hall, taking a familiar path to the training room where I had met Royce the first time. I had dressed for training, choosing a pair of yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt to ward off the chill that had settled in the castle. Under that I had a thin tank top that would allow for agile movement during training.
I wasn’t going to lie; I was excited about the prospect of seeing Royce and training. After weeks of Arthur’s torturous training on etiquette, I was happy for the change in scenery for a while.
Slowing my steps, I touched my high ponytail before walking through the doorway, finding Royce’s back to me as he did some pull-ups on the bar in the corner. I silently crept in, watching as he finished his last set. His back and shoulders were chiseled with thick, corded muscle, though it was not hard to see the thin scars marking his skin.
Blood marks, from his sword fighting.
I gasped, unable to help it, and he dropped from the bar, turning to face me. His stomach was also dotted with them, though it didn’t take away from his gorgeousness.
“What?”
Realizing I was staring, I looked away. “Sorry.” My cheeks had to be on fire.
Royce came into my direct view a few moments later and I was relieved that he had put on a shirt. “You ready to start?”
“Sure.”
Royce walked over to the wall and selected two swords, far different than the one he had shown me the last time. “These are training swords,” he explained, handing one to me. “We will start with them.”
I took the sword, testing its weight in my hand. “It’s light.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, that’s the point.” He moved into a stance before me, one that I had seen when he was fencing. “You have to stay on the balls of your feet at all times. Sword fighting is about agility as much as it is about swinging this sword.”
Okay, so we were all business right now. I mimicked his stance, attempting to get used to the feel of the sword in my hand. It was hard to do both at the same time.
“Lesson number two,” Royce said lightly, tossing the sword from hand to hand. “Don’t overthink anything. You need to clear your mind, pauper, or you will miss a key move that could cost you your life.” Royce then grinned. “Or a cut.”
“How many cuts do you have?” I asked as I practiced my stance.
“I lost count at one hundred,” he answered honestly, moving into another stance.
I followed him, my muscles starting to scream from the unusual activity. “That’s crazy, Royce.”
He gave me a shrug, pointing his sword in my direction. “Grip the hilt tightly in your dominant hand, Anna. Make sure that you keep your thumb tucked or you will break it.”
I did as he instructed, touching my sword to his. “I’m ready.”
Royce grinned. “Not so fast. We are starting slow.”
For the next hour, Royce showed me how to do basic sparring, the sword jarring my arm with every clash. I knew I was going to feel this in the morning but honestly, I was having way too much fun to care. Royce was proving to be a very patient teacher, really good at helping redirect me when I did something wrong.
After a little while, I was meeting his moves match for match, my swings becoming surer as I gained confidence in what I was doing.
“Good,” Royce said as I parried another one of his thrusts, sliding my sword over his. “Keep your sword out in front at all times. If they charge you or start to push you backwards, come at them again. Don’t let them back you into a corner.”
“You’re really good
