My skin prickled. Had I wondered that out loud the other night? I’d been close when I’d stopped and saw the Sheriff out of the window, but I didn’t get the same tug as I did tonight. Perhaps he hadn’t been in his room.
Clement cleared his throat, a frown etched onto his face. The prince noted his expression and laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “My regular guards have the night off for their monthly debauchery. They’re keen to get started, and I do believe I am keeping them.”
I snorted before I could stop myself, clamping my hand over my mouth. I couldn’t picture either of them doing anything remotely risqué. Debauchery. I snickered, and Clement drilled me with a glare. Goddessdamn me, but he was so sexy when he was irritated. Perhaps he’d take that attitude into the bedroom. Throw me over his knee, give me a light spanking...
Clement snapped his fingers in front of my nose, and I jumped, wiping the disgusting grin from my face. His dark eyes glinted only for a second, but it was enough to send heat pulsing through me all over again.
“Okay, well, enjoy your evening, everyone.” I ducked my head and backed away. “I’ll smooth things over with Lilyanna for you.”
Clement escorted me to the door and said in a low voice that sent tingles feathering up my thighs, “The offer is open to you as well, Tam. If you’re open to debauchery.”
I hurried back down the corridor, unable to resist throwing a smirk back at Clement. Aiming straight, I ignored the smear of ash along the floor. Tempting as Clement’s offer was, this would be the perfect night to find the Sheriff. The guards were off duty, and the prince was holed up in his room. Lilyanna was shut in her own bedchamber in a fabricated huff. No one would know if I slipped out of the castle.
Most importantly, no one would be able to pin the crime on me.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE FIRST SCRATCH IS THE DEEPEST
I squashed my bedding outside Lilyanna’s door and then crammed one of the plump armchairs in front as well. It wasn’t much of a barrier, but it’d have to do. Hopefully, Clement wouldn’t be at the tavern tonight, or he’d spend the time admonishing me about leaving my post.
More importantly, I’d need to make sure no one recognized me or could associate me with the Sheriff.
My cloak had been freshly washed and hung from a solitary hook on the back of my door. It smelled faintly of roses, but still enough to make me gag. I slipped out and headed toward the kitchens.
The castle wasn’t fully silent. An energy hummed below the surface, the air thick and expectant. The walls were behaving tonight, no noises, no obstructions. It was as if the castle knew I would be returning and was content with allowing me passage to the outside. To freedom.
The penetrating cold air of the street hit me full in the face as I slipped out of the servant’s entrance. The guard paid me no attention as I huddled inside my cloak with the hood low and my hands wrapped around my body for warmth. My worn boots were silent as I padded down the cobblestone street, glancing up at the creaking wooden signs as I passed.
Every other house was a tavern of some kind. The first had a smoky-red glow to the window, a lipstick smeared sign reading ‘women only.’ Another had thick, mottled glass. The shapes inside were distorted, but strangely erotic as they glided around, merging into one another. A faint, seductive beat vibrated the floor as I passed.
The Diamond Nightingale was disappointingly plain. Like every public house I’d ever visited, the windows were dirty and smeared and the sign above clung on by only one hinge. But the comfortingly familiar smell of wood smoke, rich ale, and meat pies lingered in the air. My mouth watered.
A few meager coppers bounced around in my pocket amid the collection of small silver rings I had worn at the fayre. I slipped one on, tugged my hood lower over my face, and pushed open the door.
The roaring heat from the fire swarmed around me, rowdy conversations and the chinking of glasses suddenly booming into life. Games of dice were in full swing on the rickety central tables, men and women perching on the edge of long benches, craning their bodies over the die, their arms hovering ready to snatch their winnings.
Dice was a game of luck. I’d grown up playing and had lost years of earnings failing at it, until I realized that even luck could be forced.
I kept my hood over my face and walked to the bar. A glass with strong, brown ale was plonked in front of me, the liquid swishing up the sides, and I slid two coppers back across. Leaning against the rough countertop, I surveyed the room.
The Sheriff’s boots were the most notable thing about him. He changed his face regularly—hair color, beard, moustache, skin tone. I knew most of his disguises, but most importantly, I knew his addiction. The one thing he could never turn down. Information.
If I’d played it right in the market by setting myself up as the prince’s mistress, then he would be seeking me out tonight. There was no need to admit it had almost really happened.
I twisted the silver ring on my finger. It was heavy and irritating, causing my fingers to spread further than was natural. A cheer went up from the closest table. Three die each showed only one spot. A woman noisily raked the collection of coppers and oddities from the center of the table, scraping them into the gaping mouth of her purse.
The players shuffled around the circular table, a lithe man taking position at the head. His dark beard crawled down his neck, a full day’s growth coating his chin and cheeks. His eyes were bright, posture relaxed, and underneath the sapphire tunic, a perfectly honed torso waited. My pulse accelerated, my body flushing both hot and cold.
Clement.
He scooped up the dice, cupping his hand around them and blew. They rattled, clinking together before he threw them across the table. While his eyes followed their tumbling progress, I slipped away from the bar and squashed myself into the far corner.
His back tensed in a brief reminder of his usual erect posture and for a split second, I thought he’d sensed me. Then he sighed, stooping with relief. A few patrons around the table whistled. A young man sidled closer, his hand resting lightly upon Clement’s shoulder.
I lowered my face into my drink, unable to stop myself from glaring at that man’s hand. If he knew I was here, would Clement turn his attention to me? Perhaps have me blow good luck onto the dice, a faint blush painting his cheekbones beneath that enticing stubble as my lips brushed his knuckles and our gazes sparked...
No. I had to behave. Clement found me infuriating, or so he said. He’d probably flee back to the prince, ratting me out for leaving my post without setting anyone to watch Lilyanna. And I had a job to do.
