I pull my gaze away from the man who holds the power to banish me from this safe haven.
“Can I get two servings—four servings of bacon and a coffee?”
Four should be enough.
My stomach growls in agreement.
The bartender’s dark eyes narrow on me.
“What the hell’s coffee?”
My arms fold across my chest as a few people look my way, their eyes scanning up and down my body. There’s not a lot of space. Too many arms are pushing into me. A buzz of conversations circles the metal room, magnifying the sound into an insufferable noise.
“Can I just get that bacon please? And something to drink.”
His depthless eyes appraise me, drifting down to my cleavage before coming back up to my lips. If there was more space I’d flash my wings out to their fullest and demand the fucking bacon. But now is not the time to pull the angel card.
“You want some Dusting?” He leans in to me, pressing himself against the bar to close the distance. I step back. My brows lowering in confusion.
“Dusting?”
A knowing half smile tilts his lips, and it makes me take another safe step away from him. “Faerie Dust. You put it in drinks to … get you through your day.” His eyes are shining with anticipation.
That doesn’t sound like coffee. Okay it kind of does. It sounds very appealing actually.
“I—”
“Get her some food and water and not a damn speck of Dusting,” Mesa rants, slapping the back of his head as she storms by.
He scowls at her. Dark eyes flash a glare at me before he stalks through the kitchen door. Mesa passes me a small smirk as she takes an order from the man next to me.
Moments later, a white plate piled with bacon clatters onto the bar top and the scowling fae stares me down. I pick a piece of the greasy goodness up and munch on it as I hold his gaze.
“What?” I finally ask with a mouthful of bacon.
Gods above, are all fae men total assholes?
“That’ll be three callions.”
“Call—what?” Is he wanting money? Fae money? Three callions? I don’t even have three dollars, my friend.
I hurriedly shove another bit of bacon into my mouth as he starts to pull the plate away from me. Is bacon theft something Concord would gather his lynch mob for?
“She’s with Ryder. Ryder’s paying for her,” Mesa tells him as she passes, her long braids sway with every step she takes.
Ryder’s paying for me?
Of course he is. In every realm a hotel room costs money.
How did I not think about this?
How is he paying for all this?
I leave the rest of the bacon and push my way through the mass of people.
When the prince wakes up we’re going to have a talk. I mentally prepare my lecture, his replies, and my sarcastic comebacks as I climb the teetering stairs.
The bantering thoughts keep my mind busy. A yawn pushes through me just as my wrist twists the knob to our room. The door is hardly even open before he’s yelling my name.
