Hostile Engagement

By Jen Booth

Ailith slammed her staff against the straw dummy’s head, envisioning the man who’d asked her to marry him last night. The vibration traveled up her arms and into her spine as she readied another blow.

He’d ruined everything.

The Midsummer Feast was the only royal celebration where she didn’t have to wade through the pretentious mob of other nobles and instead could enjoy herself—alone. She’d traded her usual breeches for a gown of gold, for once looking like a woman of her station was expected to. After she’d made appropriately dull conversation, she’d escaped to the rose garden where she and her mother would roam together while all the other elite families flattered one another. Here, her mother had imparted lessons on what truly mattered—to serve their people, instead of expecting to be served.

He knew the place was special to her.

She’d walked the stepping stones through masses of yellow rose bushes, to the fountain in the center, then sat on the stone edge to run her fingers through the crisp water. Then he invaded her reverie by approaching her with halting steps and an expression full of dread.

Dread.

She whacked the dummy again. Riordan, the Dauntless Protector of the kingdom, who never showed fear and never refused, or lost, a battle. But the look on his face—was marrying her that terrifying?

“Ailith, we’ve been friends since we were born. If you marry me, we can strengthen the bonds already shared between our families,” he’d said.

He came to her sacred place to desecrate it with a proposal of convenience. A hundred stinging barbs tore through Ailith’s chest, but she’d stood and faced him.

“How dare you!”

Then she’d bolted back through the bushes, feeling his eyes on her back, not caring that she ripped her dress on the thorns in her rush to escape—before he saw what truly lay in her heart reflected in her eyes.

Her fingers now curled around the smooth, wooden staff. How could he ruin their friendship like that? How could he force her into a corner, bound by her own duty?

She drove the staff against the dummy again and again. Straw exploded from the seams.

“Ailith?” Riordan’s voice.

She froze, her staff in mid-swing. Not now.

“Why do I get the feeling that oversized sparring dummy you’re trying to behead is an effigy of me?”

She turned and scowled, then tossed the staff at his feet.

“Pick it up.”

“I won’t fight a woman, Ali.”

“Then you won’t talk to one, either. Pick it up.” She grabbed a second staff from the ground.

She didn’t understand why he looked like a lost puppy. Riordan bent for the staff, his gaze never leaving her. As soon as he had it, Ailith swung, aiming for his shoulder. He barely blocked in time.

“You’re angry.”

“You think?”

She danced a step back before swinging at his ribs. He anticipated this and blocked easily, the strength of his defense sending a wave of pain through her arms.

“You’re an idiot.”

“You just attacked me, so…” The corner of his mouth twitched.

Ailith pushed sweat-drenched hair from her forehead and leveled another swing at him.

He stepped to the side, and she stumbled before catching her feet.

“You ruined everything.”

His shoulders drooped. “Because I asked you to marry me? You could have just said no. Why do you have to make a dramatic show of it? A show that’s obviously in its second act now.”

“I’ll give you a dramatic show.”

She swept the staff toward his legs. It was a perfect sweep, and for an instant she regretted it. His staff met hers with a crack before he brought it up beneath hers and drove her backward. She pushed against him, straining, but lost ground until she felt the stone wall against her back. She looked up at him and glared.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “You act like I’ve done something wrong.”

“You said you’d never marry for politics.”

She pushed again, but he held her fast, pressing her staff against her waist.

“That’s what this is about?”

His eyes held hers as tightly as his staff held her in place. She wanted to look away but couldn’t. He had tiny golden flecks around his pupils, like a sunburst against blue sky that brightened when he was happy. Her energy and her will began to wane.

“Why, Riordan? Why would you reduce me to a political agreement?”

His face softened, and he released the pressure of his staff.

“If you’d listened, you would have heard me tell you that all the political advantages pale compared to how truly I love you. How I have always loved you. How I hope to make you happy for the rest of our lives.”

Heat rose to her face. “You could have led with that part.”

“And you could have let me finish.”

Her gaze fell. “You chose my special place to ask me, and I’ve just tried to maim you. Are you certain you want to marry me?”

“Well, I always did appreciate your warrior nature.” He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. But—” He hesitated. “Do you love me?”

She laughed, incredulous, as joy bubbled up inside. “I always have.”

He smiled, and the sunburst in his eyes grew brighter. “Then, can we figure out a better way of settling disagreements as husband and wife? It won’t do for the nation to hear their king and queen drew staves.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jen Booth is an author, wife, and mother who lives among the rolling hills and lazy bayous of north Louisiana. She believes that through stories, we find hope and courage—and maybe a glimpse of who we are meant to be. When not writing or homeschooling her children, Jen can be found outdoors, usually with her family, and often dreaming of dragons.

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