“Harlow?” her mother slurred. “What are you doing here, darling?”
Harlow crossed the bar in three huge steps, elbowing a patron out of her way, and yanked her mother off her barstool. “You need to come home now!”
“Why? What’s the matter?” She blinked wide eyes at Harlow as if she truly had no idea what was going on. Everyone was staring. The bartender seemed especially concerned and shot her a warning glance.
“Come outside with me to talk.” Harlow tugged at her mother’s upper arm.
Lemetria gave her a disarming smile. “Wouldn’t you rather have a drink? I can introduce you to some fine young men. I wouldn’t say any of them are marriageable material, but they might be fun to practice on.”
“Eww.” Harlow bristled. “Mom! Outside now!”
“Oh, all right.” She huffed and followed her out into the late afternoon sun. “Now what seems to be the problem?”
“The problem is, you have a husband and a house, and both are falling to pieces. You need to come home with me.” Harlow folded her arms over her chest.
Lemetria snorted, her hand waving wildly through the air. “Who says? Darium is more than capable of taking care of himself, as are you. Just look at you. You look delightful, darling. Living in Swilton hasn’t knocked the bloom from your flower at all.”
“Stop trying to charm me, Mother. It’s not going to work. Dad is not okay. He’s in some sort of deep depression. He barely moves from his chair. And the house is an absolute wreck. There’s nothing to eat.”
“If you don’t like it, Harlow, do something about it. You can shop. You can clean.” Her mother flipped a hand in the air and raised her chin as if she couldn’t be bothered with what was happening in her own home.
Harlow huffed. “No, I can’t. I’m busy earning the dragmars to pay for the gallons of tribiscal wine flowing down your gullet every day.”
Lemetria growled, swaying a little in her drunkenness. “Well, isn’t this an ungrateful surprise? How many years did we support you, Harlow? We gave you the best of everything when we had it.” Her eyes flicked back toward the bar. It took a lot to get a dragon inebriated, but Harlow did not miss the red in the whites of her mother’s eyes or the haze of distraction in her pupils.
Harlow released a deep breath. “Mom, I am helping out, but it’s more than one person can do. I need your help. Dad needs your help. I mean really needs you. He’s not himself. Please come home.”
For a second the clouds parted, and her mother looked at her as she used to, with love and empathy. She reached out and placed one hand on her shoulder. Harlow thought for sure she’d made it through to her, that she’d come home now and be the mother she needed her to be. But the softness in her face changed to something hard and cruel.
“Harlow, our situation is utterly hopeless. I admire you for trying to make a life for us in that horrible place. I do! But it’s a losing proposition. Do yourself a favor.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Find a man who will marry you. With your looks, you could have anyone you set your mind on. You’ll never want for anything. Leave us behind. We’re never making it out of Swilton, but you might.” She turned, straightened her collar, and walked back into the Silver Sunset.
All the air whooshed from Harlow’s lungs as if she’d been socked in the gut. Both her mother and her father had suggested the same thing, that she should save herself by finding a husband. She staggered to a nearby bench and sat, leaning her elbows on her knees, mindfully drawing in a breath. Her hands trembled as she buried her face in them. She would not marry for financial gain. The thought of having to cook, clean, and spread her legs for someone she didn’t love just to live in a bigger house seemed utterly ridiculous to her. She’d flee to Rogos before she’d entertain the idea.
The bench groaned as someone flopped onto it beside her. Labored panting met her ears, and the scent of smoky male sweat filled her nose. Not unpleasant. Woodsy, like the forest, with a hint of dark spice. Brow furrowing, she removed her hands from her face and sat bolt upright.
“Marius?” She said his name softly because the male looked as if he might die if she startled one extra beat from his heart.
He seemed to see her for the first time, his strange silver eyes widening slightly as he tried to sit up straighter and pull himself together. “Harlow!” The arch of his brows told her he hadn’t noticed her before. His cheeks reddened, perhaps from embarrassment or from whatever physical exertion had brought him to this point of near death.
“Are you okay? You look like you need a healer.” She inclined her head in the direction of the apothecary across the street. It had once been Aborella’s but now was run by a witch named Blingsworth, who’d moved from Darnuith after the war. He wasn’t nearly as helpful as Aborella had been but was good for the occasional tonic.
“Fine. Just fine.” He wiped a hand over his face and smoothed back his white hair toward the ponytail at the nape of his neck. He straightened on the bench. Goddess, even in his current worn state, the man was incredibly attractive. That face was all angles and cheekbones, and a woman would have to be dead not to take notice of the muscles that had formed on his arms and chest. When she’d seen him last, at the coronation, she’d found him fetching, but now… It looked as if he’d packed on a hundred pounds of muscle since that night. Sweat had soaked his tunic, and it clung and molded to his pecs and biceps.
She crossed her legs at the ache that began at the sight, then cleared her throat to dislodge the thickness that had formed there. When she spoke again, her voice came out like a squeak. “What brings you into Hobble Glen?”
The question wasn’t a particularly hard one, but he blinked at her as if he wasn’t sure how to answer it. Was it the way her voice had sounded? Goddess help her, he could tell she was smitten by him. Humiliation threatened to knock the air from her lungs again.
“I… Uh… I…” He looked away from her, taking interest in his shoes.
She licked her lips and waited. When he didn’t answer, she tried her best to make a joke. “Is it a secret mission for the palace? Are you working with the Guard now?” Aaaand she was a complete idiot. What if he was? He was the brother of the king after all. Now he was in the awkward situation of having to sidestep her question if she’d hit too close to home.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “You don’t need to answer that. I was trying to be funny.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “It’s that obvious I don’t belong in the Guard, eh?”
She flustered beside him. “No! Not at all. I just assumed as the king’s brother you’d be on more exciting missions than to Hobble Glen, not to mention that if you were on a mission, you couldn’t admit as much to the likes of me. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”
He snorted. “I’m not on a mission.” He wiped his hands on the thighs of his breeches. “If you must know, I’m… exercising.”
