"K. D. Wentworth - Blade Runner" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wentworth K D)

world, and I revere that brief time we spent together."

Gerta snorted. "Better not let our eight young unmarrieds hear you say that. They're not m
into nostalgia."

He struck a noble pose. "I am not here to see the crown princesses, lovely though they m
be. My business is with Her Majesty, the Queen."

My hand flew to the pommel of my sword and curled around the comforting cold steel. I
smelled a rat. "Are you crazy? Everyone knows girls will be girls, but queens are supposed
settle down, and our king takes his husbandly duties very seriously."

He dropped to his knees in the street before me and raised folded hands in supplication.
"Please, name your price! I have to see the queen, and I'll pay anything!"

I grabbed a handful of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. "Stop that!"

He threw his arms around my armored chest. "I'll die if I don't get into the palace before
noon tomorrow. I'll do anything, even-" He pressed his cheek to my hauberk so that his voic
was muffled. "-marry you!"

"Marry me?" I shoved him away so hard, he stumbled and fell on his backside. "That's
disgusting, you little sewer rat. Nobody marries a blade!"

"I can cook," he said abjectly from the ground, "at least I think I could learn, and I could
massage your feet and soap your back." He looked up with tears in his tragic brown eyes.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"You stay away from my back, you little weasel!" I kicked dirt in his face and went for m
sword, but Gerta caught my arm.
 Her mouth was twisted in a grim smile. "Don't waste your anger on this trash." She thum
me on the shoulder. "Come on, I'll buy you another drink."

We left him scrambling to his knees, beating the thick road dust from his beautifully tailo
breeches.



Early the next morning, I became foggily aware that someone was singing "A Blade Wen
A-Courtin' " in my ear. Despite the polished quality of the performance, the sound stabbed
deep into my brain. I had apparently imbibed far too freely the night before and had a dim
memory of pulling the serving lad Barth down on my lap, fondling him quite thoroughly,
ordering drinks for everyone, then drawing Esmeralda for the sighs of admiration she alwa
invoked.

The singer reached the chorus and lifted his voice. Pain threatened to split my head in tw
and I flailed out. "Stop that, you little turd!"

The song never flagged. "-went a-courtin' and he did ride, oh, yes!"