Embers (Blaze Series Book 3) by Erika Chase Page B

coat, a white shirt, and black breeches. The uniform clings to his
lean, muscular frame, and I can how broad his shoulders and chest are. His
heavy black boots flatten the snow as he walks closer to me, his eyes searching
the woods for any further threats.
    A golden sunburst stands out on his shield,
behind it a blue so deep it looks like the depths of the sea. I’ve seen the
symbol before but I can’t remember where. It gleams in stark contrast to the
white and gray and faded brown of the frozen forest.
    His hair is dark blond, cut much longer than
fashionable. A day’s worth of stubble shades his jaw, reaching up to the high,
sharp lines of his cheekbones. He stands head and shoulders and then some above
me . . . or he would, if I was standing.
    But it’s his eyes that catch me. They’re the
deep green of the spring forest, and they sparkle with fierce life.
    He stands over me, concern furrowing his
brow.
    “Can you stand?” He reaches one hand out. I
take it, hesitating, and feel the warmth and strength of his grip. He lifts me
easily to my feet.
    I stare at him. I can’t think of a single
thing to say. He raises an eyebrow.
    “Wolf got your tongue?” he asks. His face is
serious, but only for a second before he grins. “Sorry. Bad joke.”
    I blink.
    “I . . . I have to thank you,” I manage to
say. “You saved my life.”
    He sheathes his sword where it hangs easily
by his side, like he’s used to drawing it at a moment’s notice. “Indeed I did.”
He stretches, as though saving me from the wolf was just his warm up for the
rest of his day. “I try to do one gallant thing before breakfast every day. It’s
good for the appetite.”
    “I see,” I say slowly. As far as I know,
it’s customary for soldiers and heroes to be humble in their accomplishments,
not effortlessly arrogant. But my head is still swimming, my senses running
hard and fast. Part of me can’t believe I’m safe, and nervous energy squirrels
through me, making me shiver.
    “And it’s nice to just have done someone a
service,” he continues, as though serving is not something he’s done every day
of his life as a soldier. “I’ll do you another and let you know it’s foolish
for a serving girl to be out in the woods alone.” He eyes the simple gray dress
and coat I’m wearing, what I always wear when I go out walking. While my
stepmother likes to admonish for it and declare that any other princess would
wear proper attire, at all times, I can’t stand the thought of wearing the
tight formal gowns on my walks.
    “There is a guard close by,” I say, slowly.
“But he stopped to eat. I got sick of waiting and just wandered off a little.
The wolf caught me by surprise.”
    “Foolish,” he says again, and suddenly he’s
standing close to me. All the easy laughter is gone from him, and suddenly his
face is hard. His emerald eyes are cold. My breath halts. Have I escaped one
danger only to fall into the hands of another?
    His lips are close to my ear and if he moved
a fraction closer, his body would be pressing against mine.
    “And dangerous,” he whispers. I shiver at
the feel of his breath against my neck, a soft breeze on my skin. “Anyone could
be out here.”
    But then he leans back on his heels, and
gives a tiny bow, something he is clearly not used to doing. 
    “Luckily for you,” he says, “you have me to
keep you safe. Allow me to introduce myself. Captain Alexander Farrell, of the
personal guard of Prince Sebastian of the Summer Islands.”
    The way he stands, the commanding lines of
his posture, the easy set of his shoulders . . . of course this man is a
soldier. I’ve seen his type all my life, coming and going from the castle, full
of themselves and their own reputations. And no matter how much they might
laugh and joke, their hands are always near their blades.
    He looks at me, waiting for me to speak.
    Does he think I should I tell him how
impressed I am? That isn’t going to happen. My
gratitude gives