Page 80 of The Discount Damsel

Lord Frederick B. Smith was accompanied by one of those desert guides, though he had carried his own pack across the desert unlike Lord Thespian. His clothes and gear were more fashionable than functional, but it was evident he was no stranger to the spear he carried in his kid-gloved hand. From the sunlight gleaming off his oiled, styled hair and the pitted but sharp edges of his weapon, she knew he was a man who prided appearance as well as skill. Though which he prided more, Millie couldn’t tell. Time to find out.

As she’d seen the lusty tavern wenches of the lower city do when she’d snuck out of the castle a time or two in her youth, Millie leaned out over the balcony in such a way that popped her breasts nearly clear overtop her corset and called down in her best lowborn accent, “Oye, you ma ’Ero come ta rescue me, eh? Where’s yous come from, then?”

“Uhhh,” Lord Gregory sputtered. He cleared his throat and adjusted his cravat. “Forge Valley in Merle, Y-Your— Pardon me, are you Princess Mildred Angelique Tisane of Amberly, yes?”

Millie took an imaginary swig from the corked amber bottle. “You see anutha towah ’round ’ere, luv? O’ course I am.”

Lord Frederick rubbed the heel of his hand over his shellacked hair, confirming his coiffure hadn’t been mussed by the desert crossing as he contemplated the truth of that statement. “I just, um . . .”

Millie dug a wedgie out of her crack and took another swig.

“Pardon me, but are you sure?”

“The Tisanes all got a birfmark on their left butt cheek.” She waggled her backside suggestively. “You askin’ ta see mine? Naughty.”

“And is that ale you’re drinking? It’s nine o’clock in the morning.”

“Ya know of sumfin better ta do in the desert than stayin’ ’ydrated? Let’s ’ear it, then.”

Lord Frederick glanced first at his desert guide, who shrugged, then around him at Sir Eustace behind his desk with his chronicle opened to a fresh page. A fluffy white cat lounged in his lap, blue eyes slitted.

“Don’t look at me.” The ministry official pointed his quill at the tower. “Your business is that way.”

The dandy lord from Merle cleared his throat a second time and blinked against the sun. “Erm, well, if you are Princess Mildred Angelique Tisane of Amberly, then I suppose I should get on with the rescue.” He didn’t seem thrilled by the prospect.

“Before ya go doin’ that”—Millie pulled a piece of paper from her reticule and unfolded it—“might if I ask ya a question or two?”

He shifted uncomfortably in the sand. “Go on.”

“Tha’s a luv.” She paused, hearing footsteps behind her, then read off her list, “Are ya experienced at all in sailin’, navigation, knots, nautical terminology, swimmin’, or pickpocketin’?”

“Pickpocketing? Certainly not!”

“An’ tha others?”

“Forge Valley is landlocked, Y-Your—” The man certainly struggled to use the proper honorific, unable to correlate the woman he saw before him and the one described on the Discount Damsel Protocol flyer. “No, my lady, for there is no need to be.”

“Well, that’s very unfortunate indeed,” Millie said, refolding her list and replacing it in her reticule.

“Hey! Where did your accent go?”

Millie ignored him and tightened the laces of her corset. Untucked the hem of her skirt, too. The desert wind had done a marvelous job drying her hair, so she twirled it up into a bun and secured it with the ribbon, a few stray locks whispering about her cheeks. “I’ll give you one last chance, Lord Frederick B. Smith of Forge Valley. Are you sure you’re not familiar with any of those skills?”

“No! And who are you?”

Mutineer Millie grinned down at him, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” She straightened and flicked a dismissive hand. “Alright, boys. He’s all yours.”

A menacing red dragon with a proper set of large dragon wings leapt over the balcony railing with a roar and a fireball.

CHAPTER 36

AN INTERRUPTED SEDUCTION AND A CRUCIBLE

Miss Penelope Shrewsbury lifted the knocker on the study door and let it drop unceremoniously from her hand to elicit the loudest, brashest bang possible. It was her own personal way of alerting the sorcerer inside of what to expect in the upcoming encounter.

The griffin rider was pissed.

But she knew how to get even.