Maira’s brother jerked Valenden close enough that the man’s spittle landed on his cheek. “You think you can do whatever you like because you're a prince? Fuck whoever you like?”
“Not because I’m a prince.” Valenden dangled limply from the man’s fist. “Look at my brothers. They’re both honorable to a fault. I fuck who I want because I’m adog—”
The burly man wrenched Valenden even closer to his face. “Keep your hands off our sister.”
The brother behind the first one rolled his shirtsleeves as though readying for a fight. Hexmarks for strength and speed showed on his forearms.
Valenden’s stomach turned. He haddefinitelyhad too much ale.
Before he could stop himself, his stomach lurched, and all that ale rushed back up his throat and splashed right onto Maira’s brother’s face.
The man’s face went slack with shock, terror, and rage. His hand opened, releasing Valenden, who immediately collapsed in the mud.
“Ow,” Valenden said, rubbing his backside.
Vomit dripped off the man’s face and chest. For a moment, neither he nor his brother said anything through their shock. Then, the man’s face hardened.
Shit, Valenden thought.
“I’m going tokillyou, prince.”
The man grabbed Valenden by the arm, wrenching him to his feet, and slammed a fist into his jaw. Pain bloomed throughout Valenden’s skull. Doubled over, he took a moment to catch his breath.
And then he swung his fist at Maira’s brother.
Valenden’s aim was off in his drunken haze, and the strike glanced off the man’s jaw of getting a direct hit. All three brothers fell on Valenden like they were wrestling a bull into submission. It was a storm of flying fists and raised knees. Valenden could hold his own in a fight even three sheets to the wind, but not when it was three-against-one.
In the end, he collapsed on his back in the mud, blood pouring from his nose, and he decided to stay down.
Maira’s brothers took turns spitting on him, then stomped away down the alley.
“Not a very befitting way to treat a prince,” he muttered to himself. “Or even a dog.”
Every bone in his body ached. He tested his arms and legs tentatively, relieved to find nothing was broken except, perhaps, his nose. Ah, well, it wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last time.
Light snow began to fall again, and he closed his eyes.
Maybe I’ll just die right here, he thought to himself.Freezing to death isn’t the worst way to go.
He was drifting off in his drunken delirium when footsteps splashed through the mud. A shadow fell over him.
He cracked one eye open, frowning.
Winter crouched over him, looking at his wounds with a mix of pity and disappointment. She poked at his ribcage. “Are you dying, prince?”
He groaned as a wave of pain bloomed on his side. “Unfortunately not.”
“Well, I suppose I should rescue you from the cold or face the king’s wrath. Come on.” She lifted his arm around her shoulder, then heaved to help him scramble to his feet. He winced as blood dripped down his forehead. Supporting his weight with one arm around his back, they hobbled together into The Whale. Inside, the fire roared in the hearth, leaving the room blessedly warm and dry. Winter helped him into the backroom, where she motioned to a bedroll.
“Rest here. I’ll get you a blanket.” She thrust a bar rag at him for his nose.
Valenden sank onto the bedroll, wincing at his aches and bruises, as he staunched his bleeding nose. He’d never seen the backroom of a tavern before. This one was filled with wooden kegs, a bucket of soapy dishwater and dirty mugs, and a collection of brooms. Everything was tidy and well-ordered, though cramped.
As Winter returned, he caught sight of a wicker basket holding some women’s clothes.
“You sleep here, in the tavern?” he asked as she tossed him a wool blanket.
She gave a defensive shrug. “When my father died, I had to sell our cottage to pay off the tavern’s debts.”
