coming from a child, but then again, she’d been a strange girl from a young age. Circumstance could do that. “I did.”
“I ran.” The admission came with a drop of the gaze, as if ashamed.
“That was smart.”
“I was scared. Not smart,” Charlotte hotly retorted.
“If you were really scared, you would have stayed in that bed and let the demon get you. But you were brave enough to move. Thinking well enough to go where it couldn’t follow.”
Charlotte’s gaze gained a bit of shine. “I didn’t want to get hurt.”
“Which is its own form of bravery. You protected yourself. Nothing wrong with that.”
“You weren’t scared at all.”
“Oh, I was a little scared, but I’ve fought monsters before. The trick is to not let them win.”
“But they’re monsters.”
“And?” Casey smirked. “Always go into a fight assuming you’re going to win.”
Pearly white teeth glimmered—along with a few gaps from missing ones—as the girl giggled. “You sound like my papa.”
The comparison brought a wry twist to her lips. “Doubtful. I am far from royalty. Which is why I’ve been asked to be your shadow for the next little while.”
“Because I’m in danger.” The girl knew the reason why.
“Yes.” Casey had hated it when people lied to her as a child. She wouldn’t do it to the princess. “Your father is concerned for your safety.”
Charlotte cocked her head. “But if you’re with me, who will protect him?”
“Your father can hire someone if he needs to.”
“Papa doesn’t need help. He can fight. I’ve seen him dance with a sword and make it burn with fire.” The girl obviously suffered from hero worship. Casey doubted a king had much time to practice his blade and footwork.
“Then I guess he’ll be just fine.”
The girl leaned forward, her expression eager. “You killed a monster all by yourself. That means you can fight, too.”
“If I have to. Sometimes, though, if the odds are bad, I’ll run.” Not often, and she usually went back to finish the job—carting a bigger weapon. But Casey wasn’t about to tell a child she sometimes went searching for trouble.
“You don’t have a sword or a gun.” The princess eyed her, and Casey knew what she saw. Slim-fitting black pants, the material tough and impervious to most filth, making them great for travel. A jacket, form-fitting and lightly armored. The elbows especially. All of her gear was custom made to suit her.
“I prefer knives.” Casey flicked her wrist and palmed one.
“Oooh.” The girl went to reach but paused.
“Go ahead. Touch it.” Casey wasn’t a person to coddle the younger ones. At Charlotte’s age, she and Cam had escaped capture and managed to survive in the Wasteland. She held out the knife to show her. “Watch the edge. It’s so sharp you’ll never even feel it slicing.”
The little girl ran her finger along the flat part of the blade then curled her hand around the hilt and lifted it carefully. “It’s light.”
“But strong.”
“Why do you hide it in your sleeve?” The princess showed curiosity, and Casey appeased it.
“There’s a few reasons to hide them. For one, not everyone likes to see weapons, especially in places with lots of people like villages or bazaars or your city, I’ll bet. But I don’t like to go around unarmed. Danger lurks everywhere.”
“Papa won’t give me a knife.” Charlotte placed the weapon back in Casey’s hand.
“Is it because you’re a girl and he thinks you can’t learn to fight?” Casey sneered. She’d dealt with that machoism growing up. But it helped she’d had a brother who took it upon himself to bloody the faces of anyone who taunted her.
The child laughed, a ring of soft bells. “Papa is the one who teaches me, but he says I can’t have a dagger until I promise I won’t use it on Xarek.”
“Who is Xarek?”
The girl’s nose wrinkled. “A boy who likes to pull my braid. He wouldn’t pull it if he only had one hand.”
Bloodthirsty and precise. Casey gaped before grinning widely. “I do believe you and I shall get along famously.”
Charlotte pursed her lips. “Maybe. Do you like my papa?”
The question obviously had only one right answer, but Casey wasn’t sure which one it should be. Did the princess want her to like Roark? Or was a daughter ensuring her father remained unattached and devoted? “I don’t know him,” was her hedging reply.
“I hear the ladies all the time saying he is pretty. Do you think he’s pretty?” Such a serious query.
The truth? Yes, he did appear quite handsome, but not her