I tilt the bottle back and drink.
A lot.
At first, it’s sweet, like warm cinnamon, and it’s probably why I gulp two swallows. The burn hits me a moment later, and I pull it back from my lips, sputtering—but not before a third swallow makes its way down my throat. I have to wipe my mouth in a way that is certainly not ladylike. Asher is watching me, but his expression isn’t daring now. In the flickering firelight, his gaze is full of heat.
To my right, Ky is watching me, too. His eyes are gleaming and fixed on my mouth. Warmth crawls up my jaw, and I have to lick the last of the liquor off my lower lip. Something in his gaze instantly tightens.
Oh.Oh.
I shiver, but it has nothing to do with the chill in the air. I’m definitely blushing now.
For an instant, the soldiers are silent, and their eyes go from me to the king to Asher and back. Their moods have been lighter since we’ve eaten, bolstered with confidence now that they’re back on their own soil. I can’t tell if they want to tease or if they want to start trouble.
The temptation for mischief must be too strong. Callum grins and says, “You won’t haveanytrouble sleeping outside if you keep drinking like that.”
I laugh a little, abashed—but pleased. “Well, I think I’ll need a good bit more before I use the trench.”
That makes them all laugh, including the king, and I smile. When I turn to pass the bottle to Asher, he takes it with one hand, then reaches up with the other to brush a damp line of whiskey off my cheek.
“Don’t betoobrave,” he murmurs.
The touch is brief and his fingers are cool, and I’m sure that’s meant to be a warning. But I’m so aware of him to my left and the king to my right.
Especially since none of the soldiers are grinning now.
I force my eyes back to the fire. This whiskey has struck a match to my insides, and I’m not sure what to do with it. I didn’t realize it was possible to feel so hot and cold at the same time. Do they hate Asher? Do they hate that he touched me? Is this part of their loyalty to their king, as if I somehow suddenlybelongto him?
I don’t like the track of these questions.
Asher doesn’t take a sip at all, and he just continues passing the bottle, half-rolling onto a knee to hold it out to Roman. The soldier seems ready to reach for it, but Nikko, beside him, smacks him on the arm, and Roman goes still.
“What’s wrong?” Nikko says to Asher, his voice rough and quiet. “Too good for our whiskey?”
Asher hasn’t withdrawn the bottle, but his eyes narrow. “No.”
“Then why don’t you drink?”
At once, everyone’s focus tightens. Asher’s gaze flicks around the circle, his finger tapping against the glass of the bottle.
“Maybe I want to keep my wits about me,” he says.
“Why?” says Garrett. His voice is casual, but his eyes are sharp. “Worried something will happen?”
For the first time, I realize thatwemay have stripped our armor and gear, but most of the Incendrian soldiers haven’t. There are still plenty of weapons, plenty of armor, plenty of ways for this evening to turn from lighthearted banter into...something very bad. My heart gives an uncertain beat in my chest, and I glance at the king, wondering if he’ll intervene or call his men to order, the way I’ve seen him do several times now.
He doesn’t. He pulls meat from a bone and watches. His golden eyes are shadowed and intent.
Callum whistles, low, through his teeth. “Is Stripes nervous?”
“No,” says Asher. He looks coiled and dangerous, like a snake waiting to strike. The bottle is hanging loosely from his hand, and I watch him carefully set it on the ground.
I’m regretting that healthy swallow of whiskey right now. It’s churning up my insides.
“Hey, Nik,” says Garrett. “Didn’t he offer you a rematch?”
“He did,” says Roman.
Asher hasn’t moved, but his body is practically vibrating with violent potential. I wonder if they can see it, if it’s adding to the heightened tension, or if I just know him so well that it’s only obvious to me.
