It had gotten better when he had been given the role he craved as a Royal Guard. He had taken the posting with the pantera noir and only went home to visit the Thorburns occasionally. They were good people, but it had become very obvious over the years that they didn’t really understand Mitch’s inner nature. They respected him, of course, and were proud of the man he had become, but they still didn’t quite understand him.
“Gina’s right,” the king finally said, extending a hand for a strong shake. “It doesn’t matter what name you go by, though I see your reasons for wanting to leave your old identity behind—both to safeguard your friends and former colleagues, and to honor your blood kin. It makes sense. And I give you your parents’ place in my Royal Guard. It is your birthright, and now that you are here, it is yours for the taking. If you want it.”
Mitch sank to one knee, beyond honored at the king’s gesture.
“It is my honor to serve you,” Mitch uttered the formal words, his head bowed.
“Then I charge you with my daughter’s safety,” the king commanded, surprising Mitch.
His first urge was to smile with satisfaction, but then he wondered, had the king meant more by his instruction? Had he just given Mitch implicit permission to date his daughter? Or was it what it sounded like on the surface? Mitch was confused.
“It is my honor to protect the tiger princess.” Mitch made the formal reply and rose. Gina looked thoughtful and a little miffed as she narrowed her gaze at her father. The king had a somewhat smug smile on his face.
“Now that’s settled,” Frederick went on as if something monumental hadn’t just occurred. “I think we need to talk about strategy. I assume from the performance I just witnessed that you’re back up to full strength?” His gaze shifted to Gina and back again. She was the doctor, after all, but Mitch knew his own body well enough to realize he was almost fully recovered from the poison.
“Almost.”
Paul Miller laughed out loud and drew Frederick’s gaze. Pinned by the older man’s stare, Paul spoke. “If that was his almost, then I’d truly hate to have to fight him at full strength.”
Chapter Eight
Gina felt a swell of pride. She knew full well that Paul wasn’t one to hand out compliments easily. The elder Millers had trained all their children and the children of the other families that had gone into exile with them to a high standard. They had been the best of the best when they’d left the tiger enclave, and they hadn’t let their skills or abilities fade over time. They still trained every day, as did their children.
Almost all of the progeny of those original Royal Guards had followed their parents’ inclinations. Only one or two of the younger generation didn’t have enough skill or desire to become Guards themselves. Such was usually the way with tigers. Most of the time, blood ran true. And the few that didn’t want to serve found other important roles in the Pride. They weren’t Alpha enough to serve and protect, but they had other qualities that helped their Pride survive and thrive.
The rest of the afternoon was spent discussing strategy and technique with her father, the Miller kids and their dad. Paul had called up to the house and asked him to come down to the barn at Frederick’s request. Mitch and his unique fighting style were the main topic of conversation. He was asked to demonstrate some of the holds, stances and other techniques he had been using during the earlier sparring practice.
And then, Gina watched in a little bit of awe as Mr. Miller and her father faced off against Mitch on the mats. Everyone watched in anticipation as the two best fighters of their small Pride took on the newcomer.
Things started slow and then built to a point where all three men were leaping, twisting and almost flying around the barn. It was two against one. Both older men—seasoned warriors—up against the younger. It wouldn’t have been a fair matchup for anyone else, but Mitch was not only holding his own, he was prevailing at times, making the older men really work for the small hits they managed on him.
The gymnastic abilities of all three men came into play as they bounded off the mats, the apparatus that had been left around the edges of the practice area and even the walls. At one point, Mitch swung up into the high rafters of the barn itself to avoid a concentrated attack from Frederick, only to land behind Tom Miller, striking a point off the older man.
This went on for a half hour or more until the door to the barn opened discretely behind the watchers. A gust of cold air heralded the arrival of Gina’s mom and Joan Miller. Both women seemed surprised by the main attraction everyone was watching with such intense concentration.