The Iron Princess Read Online Free PDF

offered up her hand to the richly attired Duke of Saxony. A handsome man regardless of his years, the duke wore a black fox fur collar and a thick gold chain, signifying his prominence as a prince of Saxony, Bulgarian, and German lands. The man to his left was balding, fat, and red in the face. He was a count of somewhere important. Katia could not be bothered to remember because now she was too busy trying not to blush at the man to the duke’s right: Lothair.
    Even his name sounded powerful and commanding. She was certain that with his sword skills and the advantage of being born male, he would have a fine life of adventure. He would be able to accomplish great things with a name and an arm like that, increasing the besotted feelings that welled up in her.
Besotted?
That couldn’t possibly be what she was experiencing. She had never been besotted over anyone before. She was certain that it must be some other feeling—she just did not have a name for it.
    She had apparently swallowed her tongue on the first sight of Lothair’s distracting, deep green eyes. She was never shy or uncomfortable in the presence of her father’s endless stream of visiting nobles. What was wrong with her? Perhaps it was the onset of a stomach ailment. She curtsied and smiled, all the while berating herself.
Stop behaving like a stupid, moonstruck cow.
    “Daughter, this is our honored guest Duke Henry of Saxony and his counsel, Count Krister of Northum. And you have met his nephew, Baron Lothair of Hanseatz.” Before her father finished the introduction, her stomach was swarming with buzzing bees.
Could a person actually expire from embarrassment?
Being forced to look at Lothair in the presence of her father and these other men made her sweat. Could they all tell that she was having such an odd reaction to the young baron?
    The duke seized her hand and bowed over it. “Your humble servant, fair maiden. And may I say what an exquisite shade of rose you are wearing for us this evening.” Katia could feel herself growing redder with every passing second.
    “You are most kind, your grace,” Katia replied in Saxon.
    “She speaks our tongue? Magnus, you never made mention to me.” The duke slapped her father’s shoulder and laughed. “Dresses like a boy in the day, pretty as a blooming rose in the eve, and speaks the tongue of the highborn. You raised a champion to be sure, my friend.”
    “I have nothing to do with her aptitude with language,” Jarl Magus said with a brazen grin. “Katia’s grandmother speaks an unreasonable amount of tongues. Although why she would want to speak any other than Swedish is beyond me.” He shrugged, appearing carefree and light of heart. “Young people—you know how they get with their misdirected interests.”
    The two men laughed like a pair of sailors. They’d probably been drinking all afternoon. Katia had no idea whether this was a good development for her or not. It would certainly be easier to get her armor returned if the jarl continued to be in a merry spirit.
    “Come, my friends, let us feast and toast our newly forged agreements,” her father said.
    Katia followed them up the steps to the high table to take her assigned seat. She worked hard to resist the urge to turn her head and stare at the young man that walked by her side. She felt slightly light-headed, and her every fiber was painfully aware of the closeness of her escort.
    Lothair pulled out her chair and she sat, her heart hammering faster than seemed healthy. He shoved her chair in abruptly and claimed the iron-framed chair next to her. He had not spoken one word to anyone. His handsome face was expressionless, which she supposed was an expression in itself. She stole sideways glances at his high, sharp cheekbones and square chin, all unapologetically masculine features.
    After the jarl honored his guest with a long-winded welcoming speech, the feast was served. For what felt like hours, Katia sat listening to the varied