Third Daughter (The Dharian Affairs, Book One) by Susan Kaye Quinn Read Free Book Online Page A

fact that you chose to train today with a blade that was famously used against the Samirians in more than one ancient war. I do believe this particular weapon executed my great-great-grand-uncle, the Duke of Indira.”
    “That’s a complete lie,” Aniri said, her smile returning. “You were never related to royalty.”
    “Your majesty crushes me!” Devesh clutched his heart in mock pain, stepped back, and whirled the blade in a circle that traced behind one shoulder and then the other. “But if you wish to train today, I believe less dangerous weapons would better serve your purpose.”
    “My purpose?” Aniri’s shoulders bent again, the full weight of duty dragging them down. “I’m not sure I’m disposed to training today.” He had come fully dressed to be her instructor, wrapped in linen leggings, breeches, and a stiff, woven jacket under his ironwork chest protector. The many small touches involved in Devesh’s careful instruction always lit a fire in her body. A painful reminder of what she had to lose in this decision between heart and duty.
    Perhaps that was Devesh’s intention.
    “I judge the princess to be in need of a vigorous, yet more graceful sport at the moment.” He returned the scimitar to the weapons table and hefted a foil blade instead. It was a gift from her father when she first took up the sport. It was far too heavy at first, especially the brass handguard, but she took it as a challenge, and it made her strong. Devesh held the sword flat across his palms and made a small bow with his head. “My lady’s favorite weapon, as beautiful and deadly as she is.”
    Aniri bristled, the flattery needling her more than usual, given Prince Malik’s earlier remarks. She lifted the blade with one finger at the balance point, tossed it in the air, then grabbed the dark wood grip. The slashing arc of her blade just missed the floor and finished with the razor sharp tip screeching across the Samirian crest on Devesh’s chest protector.
    His eyes widened, but he didn’t move. “Of course, I was hoping her majesty would be using the safety tip today, if I was to spar with her.”
    Aniri stepped back, and Devesh lunged for the sword table, coming away with a foil that matched hers except the hilt was ironwork instead of brass. He kept his distance while he added a rubber tip to the end of his sword. He tossed one to her, which she quickly caught and attached.
    She smiled, saluted, and took an engarde position, feet positioned at ninety degrees to one another, knees bent. She was shorter than him, which meant his reach was longer, but skill and practice compensated for the difference. She jabbed forward, forcing him back, since he had barely assumed a fighting position. Then he lunged, striking at her heart. She parried, the sing of their blades bouncing off the smooth stone of the training room. She attacked again, compelling him two steps back.
    “I was right,” Devesh said with a grin.
    Aniri approached, and Devesh retreated. She feinted again, and he shuffled a step out of her reach. “About what?” She looked for an opening, the split second between when he decided to attack and actually lunged with his blade.
    “About my lady needing some vigorous sport to lighten her mood.” He thrust forward, she blocked, but he advanced again and again, forcing her back several steps before he stopped.
    “And I suppose a courtesan is well trained to provide the kind of sport I need?”
    Devesh grinned, slightly dropping his fencing arm, which was exactly the minute distraction she hoped for. She struck for his chest and pinned him, her foil bending a graceful arc that landed in a point right above his heart.
    “Touch.” Devesh held his hands wide, not exactly looking displeased that she had landed a point. He didn’t outmatch her, but she usually had to work much harder for the first point.
    “You let me score.” Suddenly, the fight went out of her, like steam fleeing the automaton, collapsing