The Match Makers
By Malissa M. Kent
Copyright 2011, all rights reserved
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“I’m here to rescue the princess,” the prince said when Rasp opened the door. The young man was stereotypically handsome—the tall and dark kind—and had a perfectly polished sword pointed at Rasp’s chest.
Rasp could already hear the scuttling from deeper inside the house. “I’m sorry,” he said sweetly. “There’s no princess here.”
The prince frowned. “This is the Hunting Forest of Aimreux, is it not?” he asked, shifting slightly. His sword caught the light of the noon sun, nearly blinding Rasp.
“By the brothers, get that out of my face!” Rasp spat, hitting the flat of the blade with one hand to force it down. The prince let the point drop to the ground, though his alert stance didn’t waver. Rasp sighed. Might as well get on with the formalities. “Indeed, this is the Hunting Forest of Aimreux.” He stressed the correct pronunciation: em-ruh. “And what is the most important part of that name, boy?”