“I told you, Nat. She’s not like the ladies of the court.” He picks up a wooden sword and flicks it straight at my head. I catch it in my left hand, an inch away from my nose. Lincoln grins. “It’s a shame that you missed her at the tournament. She was amazing.”

My skin flushes something fierce. “Thanks.” I turn to Nat. “I fought in the Arena since I was twelve.” I set the blunt point of the sword on my fingertip and balance it there. “Hand-to-hand combat, to the death.”

Nat points a meaty finger at Lincoln. “I won’t do it, no matter you’re the Prince and the young miss says it’s all fine and dandy. Ladies don’t stand a chance fightin’ a thrax and that’s the truth.” He stares at me and frowns. “Look at her, such a lovely young thing. You can’t be serious, my Prince.”

Humph. A lovely young thing that could snap your neck in four seconds or less. Showing this guy how girls can fight? Sounds like a challenge. My lips curl into a mischievous grin. I’m always up for a challenge.

Lincoln flips his sword into his right hand, his mismatched eyes finding mine. “Is that what you think, Nat?” He firms up his footing, his back arching into battle stance.

Nat crosses his heavy arms over his barrel-chest. “It’s not what I think, young Prince. It’s what I know.”

Peeling off my sneakers, I step onto the practice mats in my bare feet, the wooden sword gripped tightly in my hand. My heart thuds so hard, my pulse throbs through my throat and temples. At this point, I wouldn’t care if we were practicing open heart surgery, as long as I got closer to Lincoln. I hold the Prince’s gaze, giving him the barest of nods.

“Here’s what I know, Nat.” Raising his sword level with his shoulder, Lincoln lunges straight for me.

My mind clears as the Prince’s sword streams toward my head. Battle mode clicks into my brain. Lincoln’s no longer the guy I wanna kiss, he’s six feet of solid muscle streaming at me with a weapon and a plan.

Fortunately for me, his plan kinda sucks.

I lean over at the last second. Once his body slams into my side, my tail grabs Lincoln’s neck, flipping him over. He spins 360 degrees through the air, landing flat on his back with a thud. He looks up at me, raising his right eyebrow.

“You’re using wrestling moves in a sword fight, Myla.”

I sniff. “Says the guy on the mat.”

Arching his back, Lincoln springs onto his feet. My mind calculates the possible moves from this stance. The Prince lunges at me again with his wooden sword; I block his strike with an upward thrust. As he slices from different angles, I keep blocking.