Jonas laughed, and I felt as though my world had been turned upside down. Cutthroats, heists. What was this place?
“Oh, let it be.” Inge kissed her husband’s cheek. “You’ll need to forgive Jak, Princess. He takes it rather personally if someone does not praise my every piece.”
“Hervor damn near insulted you, sweet.” Jakoby drew a long puff of his smoke.
Jonas rolled his eyes and shook his head. “We ought to be on our way. Inge.” The prince waited until the woman met his gaze. “My wife won’t ask for it, so just make her the dress. I’ll send you the penge for payment tomorrow.”
“Best of luck, Princess,” Frigg called after us when Jonas urged us down the path. “He really is a horrid amount of work!”
She snickered with a bit of wickedness when the prince shot a crude gesture back at her without turning around.
Dorsan kept a pace behind us, hand never falling from the hilt of his blade, but his gaze kept watch on the few towers near the gates.
Men leaned out the windows, less formal than the elven guard, more from curiosity. They murmured to their watch partners, some gnawing on strips of jerky or roots, then pointed down at the road.
I felt like a damn spectacle.
Near the gates to the inner town were three black coaches with silver edging along the side panels.
“Seems my family has abandoned us.” Jonas propped his hands on his waist as the first coach peeled away into the crowds.
A crack of leather lurched the second coach forward.
“Jonas. This one’s open.” A thick-necked man stood beside the door.
He wasn’t alone. The man with silver eyes who’d been taunting the alver king winked and spun a knife in each hand with unnerving precision.
The prince tossed the packs on his shoulders into the cab. “I don’t believe you’ve met any of the Kryv yet. Dorsan, if you see them lurking, I assure you they aren’t here for assassinations.”
“Unless that was our plan,” the man with knives said. “Keep you comfortable all your life, then strike.”
I laced my fingers in front of my body. “The Kryv? Is that what you call the guard?”
“No.” Jonas let his thumbs hook around the top of his belt. “The Kryv are a guild, so I suppose they might be comparable to inner circles of other kingdoms.”
“Only a little more wretched.” The man winked and tucked his knives into sheaths on his thighs.
“I don’t understand.”
Jonas folded his arms over his chest. “When my father greets the Otherworld, he will not wish to be remembered as a king. In fact, he’d come back through the gates to slit our throats if we try. He will want to be remembered as a thief, scoundrel, and guild lead of the Kryv.”
I scoffed, as though it were a jest, but I was the only one. “You speak true?”
The silver-eyed man leaned a shoulder against the side of the coach. “We don’t jest about our glorious past of heists and schemes, lovey.”
“This sod is Raum,” Jonas said, clapping him on the shoulder, then turning to the brute of muscle and leather “And this berserker, here, is Lynx.”
The other man dipped his chin and murmured a soft, “Princess.”
“You’ll see the Kryv about. Ignore their poor manners and watch your jewels.”
“How dare you.” Raum pressed a hand to his chest, disgust curled on his lip. “I won’t be thieving from the princess.” He turned to me. “Not unless she deserves it.”
I cracked a knuckle, wholly unsettled.
Jonas did not hold the same disquiet, merely chuckled, then held out a hand for me. Warmth from his palms scorched under the chill of my fingertips.
The dark centers of his eyes flared as he handed me into the coach and heat flooded my veins. For a pause, we merely stood there, nose to nose.
