Page 56 of Tricky Princess
Ellea pressed her lips together, trying not to smirk like an idiot. That was her famous crown prince.
“Well, let’s go check on them anyway. Maybe we can catch something.”
Florence gave her a sideways glance. “Or…you want to make sure she catches something.” Ellea rolled her eyes, and Florence scolded, “That was like a billion years ago. Literally.”
Ellea snapped her mouth shut hard enough she felt her teeth crash.
“Still,” she grumbled. “I’d like to see her try.”
Florence rolled her eyes and picked up the pace.
The sound of clashing swords came before the thuds of fists on bodies. It seemed the entire court had come to watch two of the princes battle it out in the outside training area. It was large and open, nestled between a thicket of trees and the castle. There were about a dozen separate sparring rings. A few soldiers were there, practicing with swords, shields, and what looked like an axe. It was quite a sight.
Ros had managed to find pants and shoes, but he was shirtless, and his hair was pulled back in a bun again. She was really liking this look—a little too much. She felt her skin heat at the sight of him landing a blow against Duhne’s ribs. They were both covered in dirt and sweat, but there was no blood. And the tattoos, Gods, how they moved with him. The black ink along his spine flowed from the crescent moon on his neck. And the two wolven ears poking above his pants shone bright in the sun.
“Where was this strength when you were bent over the table by your woman like some kind of submissive brat?”
Ellea couldn’t help the curl of her lips, smiling wickedly as the surrounding males “oohed” with mock hurt. She wondered how that news had gotten out as she began fanning herself with her book. The women from the gardens showed up, standing right next to her.
“Oh good,” the pompous one said. “He’s still here.”
The female had a name, of course, and Ellea knew it well. She had been trailing her for four days since she was so wrapped in Belias. But calling her “the pompous one” was fitting, especially as she dramatically waved at Duhne and Ros. Neither of them noticed.
Ros hadn’t answered his insult, only smirked and signaled him to continue. They traded blow for blow for another twenty minutes. Duhne kept throwing insults and Ros kept knocking him down.
“Speaking of the troublemaker herself,” Duhne said a bit loudly, staring at Ellea from across the ring.
Ros had dropped his hands, following the direction of Duhne’s stare and leaving the perfect opening for Duhne to punch him square in the jaw, knocking him on his ass.
“That’s for taking so fucking long and leaving me with your annoying little trickster,” Duhne teased, standing over him as Ellea ran up to inspect how bad the hit was.
Ros was on his elbows instantly, glaring at Duhne, then running his eyes up and down Ellea.
“Hi, Ellea,” Duhne said, wiping sweat from his brow.
Ellea wound her leg between his, easily knocking him on his ass next to Ros.
“That’s for stealing Ros this morning,” Ellea scolded.
Florence groaned in the distance. “Don’t ruin the dress!”
Too late.
Ros hooked her behind the knee, forcing her to fall on top of him. She giggled like a ridiculous girl, feeling his sweat seep through the thin fabric.
“Good morning, princess,” he said over her lips.
He kissed her soundly as catcalls and whistles sounded around them.
“Good afternoon, handsome,” she answered, kissing him again.
Duhne got up, and spat a “fuck off” before storming off.
They both ignored him as he made his way past Florence and disappeared around the castle.
“It wasn’t the type of first morning back together I had hoped for,” Ros said, caressing her back as they continued to lay there.
Looking into his eyes in the bright noon sunshine, she remembered how easy it was to get lost in the hazel depths. The green reminded her so much of the trees around his cabin, and the gold seemed to glint stronger here. The colors swarmed with mischief, and in case the hardness pressing against her leg didn’t tell her enough, they darkened with need.
