“You have her,” she spits back without looking up from the dirty dishes she’s stacking.
“King Kael Thorne,” he says with an air of authority, nodding in greeting.
She looks thoroughly unimpressed—almost inconvenienced—as she stares him down. “Gellesk’s paid your tab for the night. Help yourself to the casks. Roasted meats will be served soon,” she explains, and turns on her heel, unfazed by Kael’s title or presence.
“I suppose she’s of the belief that titles are inconsequential, then?” Ronyn jabs, leaning over the bar and grabbing a tray of tankards. “Humility is a virtue, Your Highness,” he adds sarcastically.
Kael jerks around, incredulous and gobsmacked. “Ronyn, you wouldn’t know humility if it pierced you right through the heart,” Kael counters.
“Even fatal wounds can’t stop me, Kael—you know that,” Ronyn strolls away in lazy arrogance. “You see, there are those of us who are born to wield our charms—me, for example. And there are others who are born to succumb to them—you, for example. Humility just isn’t on the cards for me.” The grin that spreads across Ronyn’s face is feline—antagonizing.
Kael shakes his head at Ronyn’s blatant attempts to bait him, steals a tankard from his tray and swaggers toward an empty table on the far side of the rebels’ bar. He takes the seat at the head of the table and stares Ronyn dead in the eyes. “I only have one question,” Kael drawls, “how the fuck have you not been smothered in your godsdamned sleep already?”
A laugh rips from my throat—a hearty laugh that surprises me. I look around to see the rest of the group doubled over in the same gut-shaking laugh.
Ronyn laughs, too. Propping a boot on the farthest chair from Kael, and resting an elbow on his knee. “A fair question, given my uncanny knack for pissing people off,” he allows, but his face drops slightly. Enough for the dynamic to shift. Enough for the others to notice. “My charm is a survival skill, really. Saved my hide more than any arrow ever has. It’s the only reason I’m still standing today,” he admits in a rare show of sincerity.
Seren’s arms wrap around his torso, pulling him into her.
Because despite his flagrant obnoxiousness, there’s a man who bleeds red like the rest of us. A man who’s lived the same life of survival as the rest of us. We’ve all developed methods of coping—distancing ourselves, vices, fury, timidness, sarcasm. Really, we’re a group of people who hurt just the same.
Therion clears his throat, cutting through my thoughts. He raises a glass of potent liquor—Rubi’s brask if I had to hazard a guess. “To charm, humility, and pissing people off!” he roars, and we each raise a tankard in agreement, before swallowing down the liquor that burns all the way to our bellies.
“Now, let’s drink until we have to find the old bat and get the fuck out of this shithole,” Rubi declares, and it earns another eruption of cheers from our group.
We settle into a steady rhythm of drinking ale from full tankards, roasted meats filling our bellies, and conversation thatreminds me that the world exists beyond our plans—that life doesn’t stop because injustice exists.
Kael’s fingers entwine with mine under the table, and I relish his affection; his claim.
The scrape of a chair dragging across the floor interrupts the moment, and Rubi sidles between Kael and me, chair clanging to a stop, and plonks down, disheveled and unhinged. “The entire pleasure parlor heard youraffections, so don’t bring that shit to the bar. Okay?” she bites, staring at our clasped hands, wild hair falling over her face, her glass tonics clinking together at her belt.
Kael chuckles rough and low. “Didn’t know you had such delicate sensibilities, Rubes.”
She sucks down a long pull on her tankard, slams it down on the table, then waves us toward her, as if coming in for a secret. “There is quite literally nothing delicate about me whatsoever. I do, however, have a plan,” she whispers conspiratorially.
I lean in a little closer, intrigue getting the better of me.
But Kael, he throws his hands in the air. “I’m out. As your king, I don’t want to know. As your friend, I look forward to the spectacle,” he announces quietly. Apparently he knows what this is about.
He walks away muttering under his breath about getting another drink.
But Rubi pulls me close. She unhooks the leather pouch at her belt, uncinches it, and reveals a handful of dried herbs.
I look around, searching for prying eyes. “What exactly are they?”
Her voice drops low, her eyes narrowing. “Crow’s Hood,” she whispers.
“And?” I push.
“These are the ones that made Teddy strip naked and act like a duskprowler,” she giggles, barely able to stifle the laugh lodged in her throat.
“Well, I don’t fucking want them. Put them away, Rubes!” I admonish.
“Not you, El. Teddy! He needs to loosen up. He’s all ‘war awaits us’ and ‘sound strategy saves lives,’” she pitches her voice low in mimicry. “The man needs to let go. Have a bit of fun. Let loose and enjoy the music!”
I fight a smile at her impression of Therion. “You cannot drug your own brother, Rubi,” I warn through a suppressed smile.
She waves a hand dismissively. “Icandrug my brother. I probablyshouldn’tdrug my brother. But there’s a difference, no matter how small,” she rebuts.
