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BLOOD TURNED THE WATER in the bowl pink as Regulus wrung out the cloth. He turned back toward Dresden.
“I mean, I thought about telling her.” Regulus scrubbed at the blood on his ear, looking at his reflection in the small square mirror propped against the side of the tent, its bottom edge resting on his cot. “But then she kissed me...” He sighed, remembering the taste of her lips, the feel of her body pressed against his. Nothing in his life had ever felt as right as holding Adelaide, kissing her. “It didn’t seem like the right time.”
“How is that not the right time?” Dresden threw out his hands in annoyance. “You were sharing secrets!”
“And what was I supposed to say?” Regulus plunged the rag back into the bowl of water. “‘Oh, you’re a mage? I owe a life-debt to a sorcerer. You know, the corrupted, evil version of you? He completely owns me and runs my life and people I care about will die if I don’t do his bidding.’ In what world is that a good response to being healed or kissed by a beautiful woman?”
“That’s...okay, that’s a valid point. But this could be good. You said it yourself. The sorcerer is a corrupted mage. Maybe a mage can undo what a sorcerer did.”
Regulus rubbed the wet rag through his hair. “I wondered the same thing, that’s the only reason I told you. I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone she’s a mage.” He smiled wryly. “But I know you can keep a secret.”
“I suppose I am something of an expert.” Dresden stroked his beard.
“But not even the others. No one.”
“I get it. But...you don’t look like you took a beating. Won’t Carrick notice?”
Regulus tossed the cloth back into the bowl. “I’ll be wearing armor. It was dark, so not as if he could have seen my injuries to even know what to look for.” He pulled off his shirt and threw it on the ground. “Well, that’s a perfectly good shirt ruined.”
Dresden crossed his arms and leaned back on the stool, using a tent pole as a backrest. “Don’t go too easy on Carrick tomorrow. The world would probably be better off if his neck snapped when he gets knocked off his horse.”
“I’m not a murderer.” He wiped dried blood off his arm. “Besides, we might not even face each other.”
“If he’s as good with a lance as he is with a polearm and a sword, you probably will.”
“I don’t think it’s about the tournament for him.” Regulus pulled on a linen undershirt. “It’s about Adelaide. He thinks he can win her over if he defeats me. He’s fixated. Maybe I should let him win. If he wins and realizes Adelaide still doesn’t want him, maybe he’ll find a new obsession.”
Dresden frowned. “Didn’t you say she told you to beat him? To ‘throw him off his horse?’”
“She was angry.”
“And you’re not?”
“Of course I’m angry!” Regulus sat on his cot. “But it drew Adelaide and I closer together, so it worked out. Carrick is just a spoiled noble brat. I’ve dealt with his ilk all my life.”
“Sure, but the last time someone tried to murder you, we became mercenaries.”
“That was different. And he didn’t try to murder me.” Regulus kicked off his boots. “I probably should let him win. But you know as well as I do, I can’t. It’s not who I am.”
“Thank Etiros.” Dresden stood and stretched. “I was worried falling in love had addled your brain.” He exited the tent.
Regulus laid back. Yes, he had a growing hatred for Carrick. But right now, all he could think about was Adelaide. How beautiful and brave and kind she was. Her kiss. Why dwell on hate when he had so much to love?
