Sister Hetal scurries to the front of the group. “Kindred, Priestess Mita didn’t inform me you need to use the courtyard.”
“I don’t. I came to watch the wards practice.”
The girls whisper to each other, and Sarita scrutinizes my trousers. My former competitor in the sparring ring has not changed at all. Her shape is still soft yet firm, fit yet feminine. She and Natesa were good friends. From Sarita’s glare, she has not forgotten the last time we sparred. I gave her a bloody lip.
Pons, Ashwin, and Indah come up the side stairway from the lower level. The girls’ high voices pinch off at the sight of the Lestarian warrior with the partly shaved head, bare legs, and hairy chest. They are equally astonished by Ashwin’s good looks, and most of them blush.
“Girls, protect your innocence.” Sister Hetal covers the nearest girl’s sight, and the others shut their eyes. Sarita hides her face but peeks out at Ashwin from between her fingers. “Kindred Kalinda, the wards mustn’t see the men. Priestess Mita—”
“Would not presume to send away her prince.” I tug him forward, and Pons and Indah follow arm in arm.
“I thought you were avoiding me,” Ashwin says under his breath. I was, though at the moment I cannot remember why. His touch is like a sunrise on a frosty morning. “What are we doing here?”
“We’re introducing these girls to their ruler,” I answer and then raise my voice. “Prince Ashwin has come to view your sparring practice.” Sister Hetal blathers on about propriety and innocence. I direct my next statement at Sarita, who has lowered her hands to gawk at Ashwin. “Would you like to demonstrate your skills first or should we draw lots?”
No one moves. The younger girls still have their sight shielded, though many steal glimpses of the men behind Sister Hetal’s back.
“Kalinda, perhaps we should go,” Ashwin says, shifting uncomfortably.
“These girls have been locked away long enough. There’s a point when innocence becomes ignorance.”
“I-I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Sister Hetal blusters. “Priestess Mita must hear of this.”
She rushes off, and most of the wards lower their hands. Pons bows to them. His kind, wise eyes exude a surprising depth of vulnerability. He does not want them to fear him.
Ashwin chews his lower lip, still torn. “They’re so young. I don’t want to startle them.”
The girls hang on his every word, his strange tenor transfixing them. None of them flee or hide. They are sister warriors in the making.
Remembering how awkward it felt to stand before a group of men as a lone woman, I push a smile of encouragement at Ashwin. “They have never seen a man before, but they’re astute enough to recognize your handsomeness.”
Ashwin’s gaze slowly widens. “You’ve never told me I’m handsome.”
“No?” My voice mellows. “I should have.”
Sarita bows, a curt bend at her waist. “There’s no need to draw lots. I’ll demonstrate my skills for you, Your Majesty.”