His first thought had been that Fort had stolen it from some drunken knight who’d put it outside his room while he was whoring or taken it from the dragon catacombs. That had made the most sense, especially given the fact that Fort was a thief.
Besides, no one in their right mind would ever believe Fort was capable of taking a dragon’s head in a fight.
Then Fort had explained he’d done it while the dragon had been drugged and was sleeping in its bed. After a few cups of ale, he’d then confessed that he hadn’t even been there when it happened. That another dragon had killed it and then given thehead to Fort so that it’d look like a dragon slayer had slain the beast.
Hadn’t even been there...
Coward.
Bink had no respect for such repellent creatures, but he did have uses for them, and Fort had been an aboveaverage flunkey, most days. Especially after he’d introduced him to the dragon who’d given him the skull.
Right now, they were here to see a centaur rebel prince to negotiate for another conspirator of Bink’s.
He curled his lip at the human. “Stop arguing, Fort, and do what you’re told.” After all, thinking wasn’t Fort’s forte. That was where Bink came in.
Hopefully, they wouldn’t have to flee here in the middle of the night as they’d been forced to do after Fort had stolen a knight’s sword two months ago.
Or after Fort had accepted the dragon’s skull. They’d barely made it out of Indara with their lives. Not an experience he wanted to relive anytime soon.
Patting the top of his head to make sure all his spindles were down, Bink then smoothed his jacket. They were meeting a prince, after all. No need in looking like the street trash they were.
“How do I look?”
Fort shrugged. “Like an imp?”
Troglodyte. Why did he bother? He needed to find a better class of accomplices.
Which was why they were here. He wanted to hobnob with the rich and noble. To be with the class he should have been born to, not run around with the wannabe riffraff.
Grimacing at the oaf he could barely stand, Bink turned about and snapped his fingers for Fort to follow after him, like the dutiful dog he was.
The majordomo opened the heavy wooden door that led into a posh office where the centaur prince sat on a brocade cushion behind a lowtothefloor, ornate, gilded desk. Royalty bled from every pore of the prince’s body. He moved with grace and dignity that Bink envied. Wealth clung to him like a second skin. It wasn’t just evident in his mannerisms, but in the stylish cut of his navyblue jacket and the gold thread and trim.
Yet it was the desk and gold gryphon quills that held his attention the most.
Bink could just imagine how much he could sell those for in a market, then caught himself. He wasn’t here to steal. He was here to strike a deal.
Make a bargain to end all bargains.
Forcing himself to bow, he hoped it looked like he was posh, too, and not a groveling beggar from the street. “Your Highness.”
Bink glanced under his arm to see that Fort continued to stand behind him, looking around the paneled room like an unsophisticated goon. Clearing his throat, he used his eyes to convey to the moron that he needed to bow as well.
“Oh.” Fort finally caught on and duplicated Bink’s actions.
Oh dear God...
He prayed he didn’t look likethat. Fear that he did so made him straighten up immediately and tug at his coat again. “May we approach, Highness?”
With dark hair and beady eyes, Prince Lorens cast a speculative look at him, then to Fort. “Depends. Do you have what you promised?”
“Why else would we be here?”
That caused a weaselly smile to curve his lips as the greedy centaur rubbed his hands together in glee. “Then show me my army.”
Bink pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket and approached the desk slowly. He set it down in front of the prince who looked it over and then scowled.
“What’s this?”
