“Not anyone? Ever?” She didn’t want to believe it, but with what she knew of his parents, it was sadly not even surprising.
“No one. And I’ve never said them either.”
Bard. She wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her face to kiss him. Hoping he could feel just how much she loved him.
He pulled away, his lips hovering so close she could feel his warm breath on hers. “Tell me again.”
“I love you, Tor.”
“Gods.” He threaded his fingers through her hair and tilted her head up toward his. “I love you too.” And then he kissed her again.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Reece satin his usual corner ofThe Cup, nursing his third ale and wondering whether yeast, malt and water could be considered food. The roasting pork that had been cooking over a spit for the last several hours smelled divine, and his mouth watered at the idea of salty meat and rich gravy. But he was down to his last few groats, and he’d had to choose—food or ale—and ale had won.
How else was he going to make his fucking beast shut the hell up?
Reece lowered his head to the table and let out a low belch. It wasn’t as if anyone else gave a shit what he was doing. He should have taken the purse Mathos had offered. But at the time he’d been filled with righteous indignation mixed with just enough self-hatred that he’d told Mathos to stuff it.
He couldn’t quite decide if the fact that Mathos hadn’t come back since then was a good thing or a bad thing.
He was so tired of what his life had become. A dismal room within smelling distance of the Fish Street Dock. Only a few dirty streets from the flower market where his mother had eked out a miserable existence for them both… until she’d died and he’d learned was real misery was all about.
And here he was again. The full fucking circle. Gods, it was pathetic. At least his savings were enough for a room. And ale. But arguably not for much longer. Ten years in the king’s army didn’t amount to much in the end. Especially if you started as an infantry sapper.
Still, he’d made it all the way to the Hawks. Handpicked by Tristan himself on the northern battlefields. And then a Blue Guard. That was something. Wasn’t it?
A throat cleared beside him, and he opened one eye to see Visker, the tavern keeper, lowering a heavily loaded platter to his table. Juicy pork with thick slices of bread slathered in butter, roasted carrots, cabbage, and a large ladleful of rich gravy steaming gently over it all. Gods, it smelled amazing.
He pushed himself up and gave Visker a suspicious look. He’d spent enough time in the tavern to know the innkeeper by name, sure, but he also knew Visker didn’t do handouts. “What’s this?”
“Lad from the market came in, paid for the food, told me to give it to you—with this.” He passed over a small, folded note. It was heavily sealed—not that a seal would make all that much difference to anyone who really wanted to read it.
“What lad?” Reece asked, ignoring the note.
Visker wiped his hands down his apron before shrugging. “Dunno.”
“Why would he give this to me?”
Visker rolled his eyes, not bothering to answer.
Reece looked down at the food even more suspiciously than he’d looked at the innkeeper.
The older man shrugged again. “I served it myself not one minute ago, same as all the other food in here. Might as well eat it.”
Reece nodded slowly and then picked up a slice of bread and took a bite. It was warm, slightly chewy and everything he’d imagined. Gods.
“You going to read that?” Visker asked, nodding toward the paper.
“No.”
Visker huffed and walked away, and Reece tucked the offensive note into his pocket to think about later.
By the time he’d finished his meal, sobriety was rearing its head, and the irritating rumble of his beast had returned.
Fuck it all. He had fully intended to drink enough to keep it quiet—at least long enough to stumble back to his dirty little room—and for the love of everything holy, try to finally get some sleep.
His beast twisted in displeasure, flicking an irate shiver of deep indigo scales up his wrist.Can’t sleep with no one to watch our backs.
