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I never imagined the man I sat beside, simply because he was good with a sword, would turn out to be the King of this entire land.
Yet there he was, slumming it with the rest of us instead of hiding away inside some big, fancy command tent.
Phil sat against the defending castle wall, his head tipped back against the cold stone and his sword resting loosely across his arms. Smoke still drifted over the battlefield beyond us, mixing with the smell of dirt, sweat, and burnt wood. Soldiers moved around the courtyard repairing what they could before the next attack.
And there sat their king.
A huge smile on his face, his crown abandoned on the ground beside him like some worthless piece of metal.
Phil spoke about one of two things.
Idiots who didn't deserve to be in power.
And his precious daughter.
He usually preferred the latter.
"She's waiting for me at home," Phil said, and somehow his smile grew even wider. "Getting to that age, as all princesses do. The fucking nobles are throwing themselves at her left and right." He shook his head, disgusted by the very thought. "I do worry, though. At this very moment, some idiot prince is probably trying to woo her." His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. "When there isn't a soul alive deserving of her."
I glanced toward him. Phil stared out across the ruined battlefield, but that stupidly fond smile hadn't left his face.
"Doubt any of them would see her through hardship," he muttered. "They see a princess, the crown, a pretty girl they can marry." His expression softened. "They don't know her."
I listened.
"What you need is a trial."
"A trial?" Phil asked, actually listening to me. Me, some poor bastard whose only real skill was swinging a sword. With his attention on me, I continued.
"Have them prove they actually like the princess. Give them something challenging, but not impossible. Something they'd only bother doing if they truly loved her."
Phil went quiet, genuinely thinking it over. Then his face brightened.
"I've always wanted my child to see the view from the top of her kingdom's mountain," he said thoughtfully. "But she's always been so frail... I shall have someone carry her to the top!"
I stared at him.
"A challenge," I repeated slowly. "Not impossible."
Phil waved his hand dismissively.
"Oh, she'll be perfectly safe. I'll have guards follow them in secret, of course."
"Phil."
He looked at me innocently.
"That mountain takes nearly a full day to climb."
"Exactly."
"And they'd have to carry your daughter."
"She's rather light, like a feather."
"Up a mountain."
"That’s right, mate."
I narrowed my eyes.
Phil's lips twitched.
"At this point," he said casually, reaching down to pick up his crown, "the only person who could accomplish such a task would probably be me."
Then he gave me this small, knowing smile. I squinted at him. And finally understood the point he was making. The trial wasn't supposed to find someone worthy of his daughter. It was supposed to make damn sure nobody ever was. Besides me.
“She’s a princess, Phil. I’m sure she has the same thoughts as anyone else. I’m a hybrid, unworthy. Besides, from how you speak about her, I’m sure she’s spoiled rotten.”
Phil’s head snapped toward me from where he sat in the field. His sword drawn to my neck.
“Don’t you ever speak about my daughter like that again.”
His voice wasn’t loud.
I stared at him.
Right. Do not piss off Phil by calling his daughter anything remotely negative. I had fought beside this man, watched him cut through soldiers without blinking, and somehow I had never seen him look this offended before.
“My apologies.”
Phil held my stare for another moment before nodding, accepting it completely.
If anything, Phil was rational. At least when his daughter wasn’t involved. He sighed, leaning his head back against the stone once more.
“You see, my daughter has a very dangerous type.”
“What?”
I immediately expected the worst. Some cruel noble, perhaps. A criminal. An enemy prince. Someone Phil would eventually ask me to help bury.
“Men.”
Phil was blunt.
I waited.
I thought I was supposed to laugh.
But again, Phil wasn’t smiling.
Ah.
Still, Phil had a tall order for any poor bastard who wanted to court his daughter. They had to be strong. Wise. Patient. They would join his kingdom, not drag her away to some unknown palace where Phil couldn’t keep an eye on her. They had to truly love her, and put her above even the kingdom itself if it ever came down to it.
Their love had to rival Phil’s. Which seemed rather impossible. And wasn’t she lucky, to have a father who cared so damn much about her?
Phil shifted beside me before suddenly reaching into his coat.
“And look!”
A picture was shoved directly into my face.
I leaned back.
Phil slapped a hand against my shoulder, grinning like an idiot. “See how cute she is? Like a rose!”
He finally pulled the portrait back enough for me to actually see it. I didn’t dare touch it. My fingers were still coated in blood, and I had a strange feeling staining a picture of Phil’s precious daughter would get me killed faster than insulting her had.
She was...
Pretty.
Princesses were expected to be pretty, I supposed.
But this wasn’t some formal royal portrait with a jeweled crown and stiff posture. She was sitting in the grass beneath a tree, a book open across her lap, completely absorbed in whatever she was reading. A few strands of hair had fallen across her face, and from the way she was sitting, she clearly hadn’t even noticed someone was drawing her.
Phil stared down at the portrait with ridiculous fondness. Then he looked at me.
“Is my daughter your type?”
Dangerous question.
Extremely dangerous question.
“I think she’s everyone’s type, Phil.” I tried to remain vague.
“Great! You should come by sometime.”
We both knew why that wasn’t exactly a reasonable invitation.
“I can’t. Hybrid, remember?”
Humans had their rules about that sort of thing. Hybrids stayed among hybrids. We fought their wars, guarded their walls, died for their Kings, but we certainly weren’t invited into royal halls for tea. Phil just grinned up at me. That was concerning.
I knew that look. There was already some sort of plan forming behind his eyes.
“Oh, phooey on those rules.” he laughed.
Instead, he looked between me and the portrait again, thoughtful. I should have known then.
Phil had taken a strange liking to me over the year. More than a king probably should have toward some hybrid soldier he met on a battlefield. He made me sit beside him, shared his food when supplies ran low, asked what I thought about battles and politics as though my opinion mattered.
Sometimes he even scolded me like I was one of his own. And now, looking back, I realized Phil wasn’t merely searching for someone worthy of his daughter.
He was searching for someone he trusted enough to call family.
Someone strong enough to protect her, stubborn enough to survive her father, and loyal enough that Phil would never have to wonder where his daughter stood in his priorities. And, apparently, he had already picked someone.
“Why don’t you two marry?” Phil said brightly. “It would work wonderfully.”
I stared at him.
Wonderfully for who?
Him?
Her?
Because I couldn't imagine his daughter being particularly thrilled to hear her father had found her a husband in the middle of a battlefield. And who would want to marry a hybrid, anyway?
I glanced down at the portrait once more. But she might be… worth it.
“I’ll think about it.”
Phil smiled.
Far too pleased with himself. And that foolish ‘I’ll think about it.’
Somehow, that turned into this.
The memory faded, and I was faced once again with a reality that still felt far too good to be true.
“This feels familiar,” I told the princess, holding her almost the same way I had when we first met.
That earned me a sleepy smile as she buried her face against my chest. The distance was different this time. Instead of carrying her up an entire mountain, I was only climbing the steps toward our bedroom.
“I’m not too heavy, right?”
I looked down at her.
“Light as a feather.”
Even with the added bonus of our child growing inside her. How could my wife and our precious child ever be anything close to a burden? I would carry them anywhere they wished to go. Up every mountain, across every kingdom, through any distance they asked of me.
These few stairs were nothing.
“I hope our child has your beautiful hair,” she murmured, rubbing one hand over the small curve of her belly while the other reached up toward me.
Her fingers slipped gently through my hair.
I huffed.
“Poor kid.”
She laughed softly against my chest.
But my arms tightened around her anyway.
Funny.
Phil had wanted a man strong enough to carry his daughter anywhere.
Turns out, I’d happily carry her for the rest of my life.