The Scarecrow King: A Romantic Retelling of the King Thrushbeard Fairy Tale by Jill Myles Page A

swish.
    “Careful,” Aleksandr said, moving around to my side and out of my striking range. “First of all, let me show you how to hold it.” His hand slid down my arm and clasped over my hand, stilling me. “You’re grasping the hilt too tightly.”
    Irritation shot through me, hard and immediate. “I am not–”
    “Look,” he said, and his fingers brushed over my curled ones, tickling me. His body pressed up against my own from behind, and his chin touched my shoulder.
    I stiffened at the intimate embrace, my cheeks flushing. This was…decidedly improper.
    But his focus was on the sword in my hand, his fingers correcting mine. “You should hold it with one hand. Your grip needs to be tight here.” He touched my forefinger and thumb, brushing his fingers against mine. “And loose here.” This time he touched my pinky finger and ring finger. “This will allow you to direct the sword more.”
    I swallowed hard – for some reason I wasn’t thinking about swords nearly as much as I was thinking about his warm body pressed against mine. He smelled good – fresh and earthy and clean. How was that even possible after several days of camping? I smelled like sweat and dirt. It was not fair.
    My thoughts refocused as he released my hand and stepped away. “That’s better,” he said, his voice approving. “You’ve got a good grip.”
    Concentrating on the sword, I gave it a nudge forward, jabbing. “So I just use this to stab people, right?”
    “No stabbing,” he said, circling back behind me and returning to my side. His body pressed against my own again, and I couldn’t say that I was sorry for it – even if I was a little irritated with myself. With his hand, he guided mine closer, until the blade was parallel to my waist, the curved blade arching outward. “Feel this side.”
    With my free hand, I ran a finger along the curved inside of the blade. It wasn’t sharp at all.
    “A curved sword is not for stabbing. It’s for slashing at your opponent.”
    I wrinkled my nose at that. “Slashing?”
    “Yes,” he agreed, his voice almost amused. “Much cleaner than stabbing.” His hands moved over mine again, and he showed me how to do a swinging slash in a slow, fluid motion. “You move the blade like so. Slash and move away. If you stab, your sword can get stuck inside your opponent, leaving you with no blade and no way to defend yourself.”
    “How…pleasant,” I said in a prim voice.
    When his hand left mine, he stepped backward and nodded. “Give it a try.”
    I slashed, awkwardly.
    “Now again, and faster.”
    I did so. Once, twice. A third time, and it started to feel comfortable. Slashing at air was one thing, but I doubted that I’d ever be able to actually swing at someone else. That just wasn’t something princesses – ladies – did.
    “You’re good at that,” he said with a cheerful smile over at me. “With some practice, you’ll be able to fight with the best of them.”
    Not something I was particularly looking forward to. “I don’t need practice.” With a prim look back at him, I lowered the sword. “And I’m supposed to carry around your weapon while we travel? What are you supposed to use?”
    He pulled out a dagger and held it up, grinning.
    “You’re going to defend me with that ?”
    “Actually, it’s for you.”
    I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why are we having this big training if I’m going to be using a pig-sticker instead of a sword? That doesn’t make sense.”
    Alek grinned at me, as if he could tell that I was irritated and enjoyed my reaction. “Because it’ll do you good to learn how to swing a sword. And because you look so pretty when you move?”
    I threw the sword down and walked away.
    Aleksandr only laughed.
     
    ~~ * ~~
     
    When I’d sufficiently recovered from my snit, Aleksandr modified my leather belt and hilted the dagger there. It was quite a bit shorter than the sword, but Aleksandr still insisted that I practice my swings, and