“Which is all the more reason for me to be on the battlefield. I can help. I want to help, and you’re not going to convince me otherwise.” I push past his hand, still splayed out open in front of me, and stomp through the rain.
He catches up with me easily.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I prepare myself for what I know he wants to say next. It always comes to this. If I were a male, they’d have no qualms about my joining the guard. The number of times I’ve considered cutting off my hair and binding my breasts to fit better into the idealistic version of me they would actually accept is painful to admit. I pin Eryk with a glare, begging him to try me.
Instead, he holds open the worn wooden door of the tavern for me, and says, “Why don’t you find a spot with the others, and I’ll grab us some drinks?”
“No, thank you. I’m going to find Phil,” I tell him, and my body relaxes as I melt into the crowd. I don’t wait to hear his response or watch the way his face drops at my dismissal.
“Rina!” Phillipa shouts from behind the bar. She clinks together two small glasses full of clear liquid that I’m hoping will help me forget my troubles for the night. My best friend hands one to me.
“To whoever ends up in your bed this evening.” Phillipa flashes a shit-eating grin and wags her eyebrows.
“To not throttling you for being such a prick,” I tease, raising the glass toward my friend. We tap them together and touch the bottoms to the bar top before throwing the burning substance down our throats.
I allow the liquid to sink into me, already dulling the sound of my own thoughts, but Phillipa winces and reaches for a cup of something else to wash away the taste.
I roll my eyes at the theatrics, knowing full well Phil only put water in her own glass. She doesn’t drink, too much at stake to let her guard down. The males around here will pounce at any sign of weakness, and Phil owning this bar all on her own doesn’t sit well with them.
Phil’s bar is my favorite place to spend evenings after working long hours in the healer facilities and getting my ass kicked in the training grounds.
Here I can people-watch to my heart’s content with the added perk of avoiding my mother. If I’m extra fortunate, I might find myself in the arms of some lover or another, chasing distraction and release, even if it’s fleeting.
Scanning the building from my spot on the barstool, I find the musty place is almost to capacity. Filled to the brim with all kinds of fae.
Some are huddled together in different corners, chatting and gossiping away. The younger crowd is on the dance floor. A few different groups of the Queen’s Guard have formed; a quick glance tells me they’re separated by rank.
The crowd is electric, but it’s an odd sort of energy. Unsettling. I swirl a finger over the smooth, milky stone in the rounded pommel of my dagger. With its black decorative hilt and black blade, the weapon is as deadly as it is beautiful. It’s the only thing my father left behind that Mother didn’t throw out orsell. She hates that I carry it around, but it’s my most prized possession.
“New blood?” I shout over my shoulder at Phillipa as she hands a tray of overflowing mugs to one of the serving girls.
“A new wave of soldiers from Voxxtera just rolled in for the tournament.” She nods toward the corner filled with faces I don’t recognize. “Seems odd there’s so many of ’em, if you ask me.”
“Probably something to do with the Rhiza. Makes sense to send reinforcements after all that’s happened this week. Besides, I’m sure they’re all excited to witness the queen’s tourney.” I drum the tips of my fingers on the sticky bar.
Queen Daphne is no fool. Her sensibility is chief among the reasons I adore and wish to serve her in any way I can. She’ll get the rebels straightened out. She has to. Surviving the Smog is one thing, our people shouldn’t have to worry about being murdered any time they leave their homes.
Restlessness takes hold, and I head toward the dance floor. Acutely aware of the attention my movements garner, I keep time to the lively, jovial songs the group of minstrels are playing.
Unbridled joy fills my soul, and I attempt to lose myself in the reverberation of sound. My long, braided plait bounces and curls as I sway my hips.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a familiar hand reaching toward me. Thick, bruising fingers press into my skin. Without thinking, I grab the assailant by the wrist, twisting their arm as I maneuver myself to stand behind the poor soul. I pull my dagger from its sheath and bring it to his throat with my left hand.
Eryk stills in my hold. His damp golden hair and the way his oversized, strong body feels as he surrenders to me have me buzzing.
“Captain. You would do well to keep your hands to yourself,” I whisper venomously in the fae’s ear. The bar has gone silent,and all eyes are on us. A few of the soldiers edge their way in our direction, hands hovering over their weapons.
“You are so deliciously tempting. I can’t help myself,” Eryk jokes with a whisper, swallowing hard over the dagger. So fucking persistent. I’m not convinced he’d even know what to do with me if I ever did give in, but this game we play is one I happen to enjoy.
I release him, and he turns to face me, holding the spot where the dagger had been.
“My body is not a pastry. Do those lines work on other women?” I tease.
“Was that really necessary?” he questions, dropping his hand back to his side and watching me carefully as I put my dagger away. “I only wanted to dance with you.”
The noise of the bar starts back up as the band begins to play once more, and people return to their conversations, uninterested now that the potential for violence has subsided.
“I’m not in the mood for you tonight, Eryk. Leave me alone.” I turn on my heel, heading back to the bar, but freeze when his hand touches my shoulder.
