Magician by Raymond E. Feist

she’d been slapped. Her lower lip trembled, and she seemed on the verge of tears again. “I will not be spoken to in that manner, boy.”
    Pug’s eyes grew large, and he stepped toward her, gesturing with the wine bottle. “I nearly got myself killed trying to keep you alive,” he shouted. “Do I hear one word of thanks? No! All I hear is a whining complaint that you can’t walk back to the castle. We of the keep may be lowborn, but at least we have enough manners to thank someone when it’s deserved.” As he spoke, he could feel the anger flooding out of him. “You can stay here if you like, but I’m going …” He suddenly realized that he was standing with the bottle raised high overhead, in a ridiculous pose. The Princess’s eyes were on the loaf of bread, and he realized that he was holding it at his belt, thumb hooked in a loop, which only added to the awkward appearance. He sputtered for a moment, then felt his anger evaporate and lowered the bottle. The Princess looked at him, her large eyes peeking over her fists, which she held before her face. Pug started to say something, thinking she was afraid of him, when he saw she was laughing. It was a musical sound, warm and unmocking. “I’m sorry, Pug,” she said, “but you look so silly standing there like that. You look like one of those awful statues they erect in Krondor, with bottle held high instead of a sword.”
    Pug shook his head. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Your Highness. I had no right to yell at you that way. Please forgive me.”
    Her expression abruptly changed to one of concern. “No, Pug. You had every right to say what you did. I really do owe you my life, and I’ve acted horribly.” She stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his arm. “Thank you.”
    Pug was overcome by the sight of her face. Any resolutions to rid himself of his boyhood fantasies about her were now carried away on the sea breeze. The marvelous fact of his using magic was replaced by more urgent and basic considerations. He started to reach for her; then the reality of her station intruded, and he presented the bottle to her. “Wine?”
    She laughed, sensing his sudden shift in thought. They were both wrung out and a little giddy from the ordeal, but she still held on to her wits and understood the effect she was having on him. With a nod she took the bottle and sipped. Recovering a shred of poise, Pug said, “We’d better hurry. We might make the keep by nightfall.”
    She nodded, keeping her eyes upon him, and smiled. Pug was feeling uncomfortable under her gaze and turned toward the way to the keep. “Well, then. We’d best be off.”
    She fell into step beside him. After a moment she asked, “May I have some bread too, Pug?”
    Pug had run the distance between the bluffs and the keep many times before, but the Princess was unused to walking such distances, and her soft riding boots were ill suited to such an undertaking. When they came into view of the castle, she had one arm draped over Pug’s shoulder and was limping badly.
    A shout went up from the gate tower, and guards came running toward them. After them came the Lady Marna, the girl’s governess, her red dress pulled up before her as she sprinted toward the Princess. Although twice the size of court ladies—and a few of the guards as well—she outdistanced them all. She was coming on like a she-bear whose cub was being attacked. Her great bosom heaved with the effort as she reached the slight girl and grasped her in a hug that threatened to engulf Carline completely. Soon the ladies of the court were gathered around the Princess, overwhelming her with questions. Before the din subsided, Lady Marna turned and fell on Pug like the sow bear she resembled. “How
dare
you allow the Princess to come to such a state! Limping in, dress all torn and dirty. I’ll