Page 69 of The Discount Damsel

Ignoring the murderous look of the apprentice in the corner, Millie turned this way and that to show off her new training shorts as she twirled up her hair and secured it with her hairpin. “I don’t see what the fuss is all about. The man has dozens of them, and I sacrificed my only pair to distract that barbarian because someone wouldn’t let me pack a suitcase before kidnapping me. Besides, pirates are known for commandeering things upon occasion, aren’t they?”

“Usually not a man’s underwear,” Sir Roger said, a ruddy blush upon his cheeks.

“Well we all have to start somewhere, don’t we?”

“Indeed.” He cleared his throat, cast a tense glance at the fuming apprentice. Bradley slowly sat back down in his seat. “Is that a hilt I see sticking out of your, um, front?”

Millie glanced down at her cleavage. “Yes!” She withdrew her cinquedea letter opener from its makeshift sheath in her corset. “Since my dress pockets were full of snacks, and I’m not wearing a belt, this seemed the logical place to keep it. A lady must be prepared for anything, you know.”

“Agreed. Now lunge.”

While the princess returned to her training without a second thought, the apprentice continued to stew. He couldn’t believe the breach in privacy. Picking the lock to his bedroom door and hogging the bed and using up all his bath bubbles was one thing (or three), but stealing his underwear? She was worse than a tula. She was a raccoon! And not an ounce of remorse when confronted about it. No, no, she was owed use of his personal effects because she had sacrificed hers in defense of the dragon.

While it made sense, Bradley refused to acknowledge it. So he brooded as he glared down at Small Magicks. The entry told him something about something that he couldn’t concentrate on because that princess was sweating in his underwear. Sweet mother of pearl, he’d have to burn that pair.

Was nothing sacred to pirates?!

Bradley flipped the page and tried to focus on anything but what was happening in his periphery. Thinking about how a princess was currently filling out a certain pair of boxer briefs in all the right places was certainly not conducive to lifting his curse and thus not worth his time. Besides, he loathed her. And someone he loathed should not look that⁠—

The apprentice slapped himself across the cheek, earning a startled look from the other occupants in the room.

“Fly,” he grumbled and hunched further over his book.

When Millie’s posture started to wobble, and Dirk was just a worm slithering pathetically across the floor, the hedge knight called for a halt. According to the hourglass, they’d lasted only twenty minutes.

“Tomorrow, you’ll make it thirty,” Sir Roger announced. “Now let’s stretch and then we’re done for the day.”

“You’re not going to teach us any fighting techniques?” Millie looked up from where she slumped on the floor like a fallen soufflé. “Any strategy?”

“How many fingers am I holding up, girl?”

“Uhhh . . .” She had to blink three times for Sir Roger’s hand to come into focus.

“Exactly. Like your brain would retain anything I taught you. And I’m not one for wasting my breath.”

“Not even one little technique? Sir Roger, please, this day has done nothing but laugh in my face. I need one little win.”

He scratched at the white stubble on his chin, thinking. “Fine. One little technique. Or a three-in-one, I suppose. If you’re ever restrained by someone and want to get free, stomp on his instep, bash him in the groin, and throw an elbow into his nose.” He mimed the strikes for her.

“Should I aim for the tip or the bridge of the nose?”

“Girl, no matter where on the nose you hit, it’s going to hurt. The point is to injure or startle your captor enough for you to get free and then run away.”

“But—”

“Shush. We’re stretching now.”

Millie, who had never stretched a day in her life other than reaching above her head upon waking after a long night’s rest, found the practice diabolical. There was no reason why her muscles, which were already on fire, had to then sting. Or her joints to pop like jubilee fireworks. It was a Herculean effort indeed to haul herself up off the floor, but she managed and brushed the sand from her bottom and knees.

“Sir Roger, if you are not otherwise occupied for the remainder of the day, would you accompany me in my search for more appropriate training attire? Something that would dissuade sand from discovering the most inconvenient places? After experiencing the rigorousness of your training, I do believe my current outfit is a touch too avant-garde⁠—”

“That’s not an outfit,” he was quick to clarify. “Those are a lady’s unmentionables. Even the shark women of the Orca Archipelago don’t go about their spearing and decapitating in such a state of undress. They train in leathers. Bikini-style, to be sure, but professional bikinis.”

Millie had no idea what a bikini was and was immediately intrigued. “Do you think there are some bikinis in the tower?”

“I hope not, but I’m sure we’ll find something suitable. That blouse and wool skirt you wore yesterday could suffice, except you’ll be sweltering in it mid-morning, and the work ahead of you is hard enough. You need silk or linen.”

He dug the Anti-Fainting Noshables out of her dress pockets and handed her the waterskin. “Like I used to tell my girls before they married and moved out”—he paused to sigh—“let’s go shopping.”