The Princess and the Warrior

## Mat POV

I was absolutely exhausted from today. First, I spent two hours with a client who was definitely more interested in me than in her interior design project. Then I had to go through the ordeal at city hall. I practically had to shout over the officials to get them to agree to hand over the dilapidated, abandoned lot behind my building and let me turn it into a recreational area for kids. It wasn’t until I declared that I would cover all the costs of developing the site myself that they changed their tune. Still, I hadn’t received official approval yet.

At the end of the day, I went to help the Perrs on their farm. That was actually the more enjoyable part, but I dug up the entire garden. I knew that if I left it unfinished, Mr. Perr would surely try to do it himself, and his age—he’s almost seventy—was absolutely not suitable for such an effort.

And now, as if that weren’t enough, my car broke down. It was a silly mistake—I simply forgot to fill it up. It was left on the shoulder about five kilometers from home, and I was marching briskly ahead. Did I mention it was pouring rain?

Suddenly, a loud crash reached me from a side street. It sounded as if someone or something had crashed into a metal trash can with great force. I didn’t hesitate for a moment. I turned straight into the dark alley.

What I found there instantly made my blood pressure spike.

A girl was standing in the middle of the alley. The first thing that caught my eye was her incredible ruby-red hair, cascading down and framing her face in the streetlamp’s glow. She was clutching her stomach tightly; her arm was battered, and blood was oozing from deep wounds. But what truly left me speechless was the sight at her feet—at least three burly, badly beaten men lay there.

Despite this, four more were already closing in on her. To make matters worse, each of them was holding a knife.

I didn’t think it through; I acted on impulse. With one fluid motion—a precise side kick—I knocked the weapon out of the first attacker’s hand, and a second later, as I bounced off him, I struck the second one right in the jaw. I don’t consider myself a killing machine, but to put it immodestly, I’m a martial arts expert and I’ve got some punch in my fists. And yet, those thugs didn’t even flinch, as if they were made of stone. That didn’t discourage me, though. I moved on to more aggressive combinations of strikes. The fight lasted much longer than I expected, and I really had to push myself, but eventually they, too, ended up on the ground.

At first, the girl was eager to help, but when she saw that I had the situation under control, she leaned heavily against the wall of the building. Her eyes were closed, and she was gasping for air desperately.

I stepped closer.

“Hey, are you okay?” I asked.

Then she looked up at me, and I simply drowned in her eyes. They were greenish-hazel, with a distinct hint of gold and warm brown, framed by incredibly thick lashes. She just nodded weakly, and then her body began to slump limply downward. I caught her at the last moment. Despite my own injuries—I could feel that those guys had really beaten me up—I lifted her easily in my arms.

“I’m taking you to a hospital!” I announced firmly, heading back to the main street.

“No… not there,” she croaked softly. “They might find me there.”

I looked at her face. At that moment, she seemed so fragile and defenseless that no one in their right mind would believe she’d just kicked the asses of three huge thugs. With no better idea, I made a decision: I’d take her to my place.

I live in an apartment building in a fairly average neighborhood, but thanks to the right connections, I managed to buy my dream apartment.

As befits an architect, I’d decorated it in a modern, minimalist style. The space was enormous and incredibly bright thanks to the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. The front door led straight into a spacious living room, which flowed seamlessly into an open kitchen, separated only by a stark concrete kitchen island. Off to the side was my home office and the entrance to the large bedroom, which led directly to a luxurious bathroom—though, for the convenience of guests, it could also be accessed from the living room. The real bonus, however—and my pride and joy—was the industrial steel staircase. It led up to the roof, where I had a huge terrace all to myself.

I laid her carefully on the bed in the bedroom and unbuttoned her jacket. A deep cut came into view. When I looked closer, I noticed many more marks on her body from sharp objects. Although I knew a thing or two about martial arts, I couldn’t identify what kind of weapon could have left such distinctive cuts.

“I’m going to take off your jacket now, roll up your T-shirt, and clean your wounds,” I said aloud. I was aware that she might not be able to hear me, but I preferred to announce every move out loud so she wouldn’t mistake me for some kind of pervert.

Once the wounds were cleaned and bandaged, I covered her with a warm blanket and quietly left the room.

In the middle of the night, a sudden loud noise woke me up. I jumped to my feet from the couch in my study—it was far more comfortable than the one in the living room—and ran out into the hallway. The sounds were coming from the bathroom. I entered hesitantly.

My unexpected guest was struggling under the wide stream of the running shower. The girl was desperately trying to tear her wet clothes off.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” she cried as soon as she saw me, a strange desperation in her voice. “Help me get her clothes off. She has a very high fever.”

It was striking—she was speaking about herself in the third person, as if she were someone else entirely. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I reacted immediately and stepped into the glass shower stall with her.

I told her to sit on the tiles and helped her slide off her water-soaked jeans and socks. The sight of her bare, perfectly sculpted, tanned legs made my heart beat faster. She had perfect, slender calves. The real shock, however, came a second later, when I helped her take off her blouse. She sat in front of me wearing nothing but black lace lingerie. She looked out of this world, and the contrast of the dark lace against her fair skin was breathtaking. I thought it was an absolute blessing that an icy stream of water was pouring down on me from above.

“The bra, too!” She exclaimed, almost tearing the delicate fabric with her fingers.

“Is that really necessary?” I asked, my voice becoming unnaturally hoarse.

“You have to freeze your heart!” she shouted, breathing heavily.

“But you know you’ll be practically naked?”

“I trust you.” She looked me straight in the eyes.

I froze. Back in the alley, I would’ve bet my right hand that they were a different color. Now her irises shone like liquid gold. They were different, wild, incredibly mesmerizing.

“Give me a moment,” I blurted out.

I ran out of the shower stall, leaving her under the water. Taking advantage of the fact that the bathroom was connected to the bedroom, I walked over to the closet and pulled out one of my loose T-shirts. I also grabbed two fresh towels, and a moment later I was back in the bathroom.

The girl wasn’t sitting there anymore. She was standing in the middle of the shower stall, letting the stream of water hit her body directly. I froze at the sight. Drops of water cascaded down her skin, glistening in the soft light and perfectly highlighting every tiny curve of her athletic, perfectly proportioned body. Wet, dark ruby curls clung to her back, and the water traced lines across her silhouette that I couldn’t take my eyes off.

“How much longer?!” she asked irritably, shivering with fever.

I set my things down on the marble countertop next to the sink and stepped back into the shower. I stood right behind her. My hands slowly made their way to the clasp of her bra. I unhooked it gently and tossed the wet fabric into the corner of the shower stall. I wasn’t quite sure where to safely place my hands now—every spot on her bare skin seemed to burn with a living fire and awaken instincts in me that I was trying to rein in at all costs. Finally, I gripped her shoulders tightly.

After a moment, I felt her strength fade as she leaned her entire weight against my chest.

The closeness of her bare back and the icy shower created an explosive combination, and the fabric of my shorts, pressed tightly against me, painfully reminded me of just how strongly her closeness affected me.

After about twenty minutes, she spoke in a tired but calmer voice, turning her head toward me:

“Now... now it’ll be better.”

At that very moment, her body went completely limp, and she slumped into my arms. I lifted her carefully, wrapped her in a fluffy towel, and once her skin was dry, I gently slipped my oversized T-shirt over her. The whole time, I stubbornly avoided looking at her exposed body—it was the only thing I could do under the circumstances to preserve what little dignity I had left.

I carried her back to bed. For a long moment, I gazed at this mysterious beauty. A cascade of her ruby-red hair spilled across the pillow, creating a striking contrast with the white sheets. I reached out and gently tucked a wayward strand behind her ear.

“Sleep well, my beauty,” I whispered as I said goodbye and quietly left the bedroom.