“That’s not ideal.” Von groaned at my back. I hadn’t realized he and my brother had followed.
“Yes.” Dorsan’s voice was steady and flat, but his bright eyes gave up his discontent. “You see, after she indulged, My Lady confessed why she did not wish to return to the palace after the Lady Frigg took her through the townships. She apparently grew rather emotional—strange for her—when she saw you with your mistress. Now, to avoid embarrassment for both Natthaven and your house, I hope you?—”
“My mistress?”Dammit. Skadi likely saw Oldun touching me. I dug the heels of my palms into my eyes. “I do not have a mistress, you sod, and she is not an embarrassment to any house. Show me what tavern she’s in. Now.”
Chapter 23
The Mist Thief
Brän was rather disgusting.
I could not stop drinking it. Once it burned through the ache in my chest, peeling away memories of Jonas entangled with others, I poured horn after horn.
Somewhere in the haze of my mind, I knew this was my doing. I laughed and tipped a horn back. Pain always seemed to come from my own hands.
The tavern was lively. Rawhide drums pounded in one corner, a skald stood on a stool chanting fanciful tales to the crowds. The laths reeked of sweat and bile, but most of my senses were dulled from the beautiful,beautiful, disgusting brän.
“Princess, I think that’s enough.” For the third time, Frigg tried to pry the horn from my fingers.
“I thought you wanted me to enjoy Klosh . . . Klockglas.” I snickered and tried to tip the drink to my lips.
Damn Frigg got the drop on me and snatched the horn when I let my second hand fall away.
“Look, I’m not here to unravel whatever this is”—Frigg gestured to me—“but I think you might feel better once you return to the Black Palace, sleep, then speak to Jonas.”
I blew out my lips, rising when the drums took on a different tune. “I don’t want to speak to him.”
“Skadi, where are you going . . . wait,Skadi.”
Frigg hissed when I turned away from our small corner and approached a long, heavy oak table filled with men of all kinds—brutish and wild, long and lean, some with knives on their belts, others with sharp, handsome features.
Not the strong angles of Jonas’s face, but they’d do.
I nestled between the shoulders of two men and slapped my palm onto the table. “Hello, alver clans.” I flashed a grin. “Have you ever met an elf?”
A few rumbles rolled down the table.
“No, sweet. Can’t say I have.” Three seats down, a man with a beard braided down to his heart winked. Handsome enough, but there was more of a natural brutality in his eyes than my prince’s.
A shudder danced up my arms. I’d be wise to step back.
Instead, I drifted down the table, running my fingertips over his shoulders. “Now . . . now you have.”
“You’re the princess they brought back to the palace?”
I snorted and took a swig from his drinking horn. “A little pet.”
“Hmm. Not satisfied with our prince, sweet? Or is the bed too crowded?” His hand slid around my waist.
The urge to pull back caused me to stumble. He mistook my retreat as drunken steps. Against his chest, I could breathe him in. All wrong. He smelled all wrong. Sweat and ale, leather and wood. Not the smoke and heat and forest pine of Jonas.
“I better go.”
“Ah, don’t go.” He drew me back to the table. “As you said, we’ve never seen an elven. Music is bright, you are beautiful, show us an elven dance.”
Before I could follow my steps, I was atop the table. Cheers and chants shouted for the elven princess. Drums thudded like blood in my skull.
“Skadinia.” Frigg tried to shove through. Most of the men were on their feet now, shouldering her out.
