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“What's wrong?” I ask, wondering what I’ve done now.
They all continue glaring, and I finally realize they aren't focused on me. They're staring at Rivet, and the poor blacksmith looks like he wants to shrivel up and die. Actually, he seems to be baring his neck in a strange way that reminds me of a puppy showing its belly. Which kind of annoys me. They’re intimidating enough to the guy; they don’t need to start glaring at him too.
“Take off the shirt,” Prince Drogo commands, his voice almost a growl of anger.
I stare at him in confusion. “My shirt or his shirt?”
Now, he does growl. “His shirt. Off of you. Now.”
I don’t know what their problem is, but I decide to do as he asks. Rivet doesn’t look in my direction as I remove it, but I press it into his hands and touch his arm. “Thank you for loaning it to me.”
“Why exactly did he loan you his fucking shirt?” Prince Drogo snaps, and Rivet shrinks back even more.
I cast him an angry look. “I spilled water on myself. What’s your problem?”
“He knows better,” Prince Drogo says firmly.
I look at Prince Rinan for help, but he looks angry too. When our eyes meet, he says, “He does,” and that’s it. Not a single thing to defuse the situation.
Are these shifters just completely stupid? Do they find any little thing to be angry about?
“What are you doing here in the first place?” Prince Rinan asks, eyes still glued on Rivet.
I wave my arm in front of the table full of swords that we made this morning and frown at them. “I'm making swords.” What's their deal?
Prince Arlys eyes me, then Rivet, then the table, then me again, like he doesn’t believe me. I swear if they spent just a second getting to know me, instead of being angry with me all the damn time, they might just learn something about my likes and dislikes, and they’d know why I’d want to be in the town forge. Instead, they either avoid me or act like assholes, without ever learning a thing about me.
It’s frustrating.
What’s worse, I don't know what the hell is happening. They all just seem angry and ready for a fight. I turn to see Rivet, and he’s looking absolutely terrified. If I thought he seemed upset before, I swear now he looks like he might throw up at any moment.
“And you had to sneak out to… make swords?” Prince Drogo asks, sneering the last word.
Sneak out? “I hardly snuck out,” I say, folding my arms in front of my chest.
Prince Arlys and Prince Rinan exchange a look and then glance toward Prince Drogo. They all seem to be on the same page. The problem is that I have no idea what page that is.
“She wasn’t in bed when I woke up this morning,” Prince Drogo accuses, a gruff note to his voice.
Why would I be? Were we supposed to wake up and cuddle? Was I supposed to make him breakfast? He hates me, and no matter how kind he was after my dream, or the obvious attraction I'd felt poking me in the back, he was obviously only in the bed with me because of an obligation. Why would I stay in bed with him?
“I didn't think you'd mind me leaving before you woke up. You’re only there because you have to be, right? It’s based on the rotation you three have.” They look upset, like I shouldn’t have said that in front of Rivet. I sigh. “You guys are going to have to give me the rules to this messed-up game of yours. I mean, should I stay in bed with you after you spend the night? Do I just lie there and wait to see what you do?”
I look at each of the princes, but even Prince Rinan looks upset, while Prince Drogo continues to scowl. Why are they so mad? I don’t know what their problem is.
Prince Arlys turns to Rivet. “Can you step out while we speak with our wife for a moment?”
Rivet looks relieved enough to pass out right there, but instead he scurries quickly out of his own shop. When he’s gone, the three shifters visibly relax. Which is, again, strange. Why was Rivet upsetting them so much? The man is harmless.
The sword Rivet had placed in the forge before they’d entered is orange within the coals, ready to be worked on. If I leave it in there, the steel will become molten and worthless. It's like I can hear the sword begging for a purpose, to be wielded, not thrown away as scrap, so I grab Rivet’s gloves and put them on. Prince Drogo growls behind me, but I ignore him and use the tongs to take out the glowing metal. Ignoring the three men behind me, I close my eyes and listen to the metal, to its whispering. It wants to never go dull and to give the wielder good instincts in battle.
Releasing a slow breath, I use my free hand to shape and sharpen the blade. It takes longer one-handed, but I don’t slow, weaving magic within every inch of the metal until I carve the symbols along the blade. It hums with magic, with a mission. I open my eyes, happy with the result.
As I put the blade in the water to quench, steam rises all around me. I wait until it’s cool enough before taking it out. After placing the sword back down, I remove the gloves and wipe my hands on a nearby towel. I feel proud and happy, the way I always feel when working with metal. But when I glance at the princes, they’re staring at me oddly. Something they seem to do a lot.
Prince Arlys clears his throat. “So, that’s what you’ve been doing? Making weapons all day?”
I sigh. “I already said that. Besides, what did you think I was doing here in a forge?”
