A thief. Just what she needed.
Nymiria could have glamoured herself, but ever since she left Yaar, the thought of sporting a glamour made her feel as if she were wearing a corset tied far too tight. She’d attempted it a few times when she and Oran were on the run, but the only good it ever did was leave her breathless and sweating, a trembling and sobbing mess.
She finished her drink without so much as a peep, silently wishing that her silence would draw less attention to herself and that the barkeep would forget that she was even there.
Alas, she had no such luck.
The moment she slid from the barstool and her feet touched the ground, the barkeep’s slate-colored eyes were connecting with hers. At first, he seemed as if he might just ask for her coin, but then realization dawned in his eyes, a sneer etching its way across his already brutal features.
“I know you…” He drawled, the hand that still held the drying cloth started moving slower. “You were Yaarborough’s little whore—the cunt that got my back slashed to bits over a fucking tea cup.”
Had she done that?
Nymiria’s brow furrowed, lips parting as she tried to remember the exact moment, only for her memories to form a wall of steel around them, enclosing them in darkness. “I-I don’t know what you mean.” She stammered, already pacing backwards.
“I saw you. That night you were ordered to kill the duke. You let your glamour fall,” he chuckled, slowly making his way to the opening at the end of the bar. “You were humping the little bastard, tits out, and when you saw me, you demanded that I leave.”
She eyed him, anger pulsing to life inside of her anew. “Did you?”
He shook his head. “No, I didn’t. I watched the little prick come in his pants and then I watched you slit his throat.”
Now, she remembered.
“You left out onesmalldetail.” She sighed, flicking her hair over one shoulder. With the memory of what the bastard had done fresh in her mind, she offered him a wicked smile of her own, her eyes dropping to the front of his trousers. “It seems thatyou are forgetting something. But, perhaps, that memory was far tootiny. Lackluster. And perhaps I would have remembered you, too, had your…” She smirked, pointing directly at his manhood. “Been a bit more impressive. But, good gods, you werepumping awayat the little prick, weren’t you?”
The pale blue of his skin was growing darker, a rumbling growl mixing with the heavy breaths that moved his whole body.
Seeing it should have made her fearful, but Nymiria only felt sheer, undiluted amusement. “It was never about a fuckingtea cup, you fool. It was about you being a disgusting little bastard!”
The beast of a man barreled towards her, his footsteps seemingly shaking the entire pub. Nymiria let out a wild laugh, welcoming his first attempt at a swing. She moved forward and dropped low, her hip smacking against the stone flooring as she slid. The creature followed her movements, his growls growing louder and gaining more and more attention from the patrons of the tavern. Nonetheless, Nymiria watched him stagger and scramble after her, back in the direction of the bar.
Without a moment of hesitation, Nymiria climbed onto the countertop, releasing a wild laugh into the air before she threw herself at him. She landed with her knees driving into his shoulders, her hands gripping at his tusks. The beast swatted and snarled, yelping when she gave one of his tusks a rather rough tug. He gnashed his teeth at her, large hands coming up to grip her hips.
“Nothing but a fucking whore. A filthy, dirtywhore.” He spat.
Nymiria used his tusks as leverage as she moved around to his back, hooking her legs under his shoulders to make moving more difficult for him. Once secured, she raised her fist high and used every ounce of anger in her body as the driving force for the first punch she delivered to the back of his head.
He stumbled, but still did not fall. The second punch brought him to his knees, knocking Nymiria off of his shoulders. Sherecovered quickly, shoving herself to her feet and going for him before he could regain his balance.
Her fist connected with the side of his head with a crack that echoed through the tavern. The man’s body fell forward, taking an entire table and a couple of chairs with him. Dust billowed out from underneath his large body and once it settled and she was left with nothing but bleeding and bruised knuckles, Nymiria finally looked up at the patrons.
They stared at her with wide eyes, pale-faced and mouths wide. She glanced down at her skin, hoping that she wasn’t glowing. Thankfully, those markings along her arms and legs were still silver.
Before she could offer them a single apology, the door to the tavern opened to reveal seven guards dressed in silver armor. And all seven of them were looking right at her.
Chapter 6
Aziel hadn’t had the delight of visiting the dungeons underneath Thorn’s new palace, but now was as good a time as any to take a gander. Especially since Thorn was the one who sent him there.
He walked behind the guard to the large iron door that led into the bowels of the castle. Unlike the palace in Yaar, this dungeon was adequately lit and clean. It was not drowning with rats, nor the stench of fecal matter. In fact, it smelled of herbs and fresh linens.
Dignity.
The dungeons were not reserved for their most gruesome criminals, as Aziel preferred to handlethoseon his own. No, these dungeons were for the petty criminals—the thieves that were still not acclimated to a life without struggle, the rowdy drunks that needed a night to sleep off their drinks, and the goddesses that enjoyed getting into fights at taverns in the late hours of the night.
The guard paused in front of the third cell, signaling to Aziel that they’d finally arrived. He dismissed the guard with a polite nod of his head and watched the guard leave before he finally turned to face the small white-haired woman who was glaring at him from her cot.
“What did you do?” He asked, desperately struggling not to laugh.
