It wasn’t him, but maybe it could be.
He gave Sebastian a final nod. “When it’s done.”
Quentin snapped the reins and the wagon lurched forward. Through the palace gates, into the city streets, and eventually onto the road winding through the darkest depths of the jungle beyond.
The fire crackled,drowning out the quiet rumblings of the jungle.
Quentin leaned back on his hands, straining to see the stars through the thick canopy. They’d made good time that day. The bustle of Elyren faded away behind them quickly, swallowed up by the trees. The wilds reclaimed the world beyond the city walls, the road they followed the only mark of civilization as they’d wheeled away.
He’d pulled them off the road when the sun was about to set, using the last lingering light to make camp and ready the fire. A few oil lamps dotted their small clearing, flickering eerily against the towering trees.
He tried not to think about the guard’s warning about what lurked in these jungles.
Instead, he set his bowl on the mossy earth, clapping his hands. Delaynie shot him a glare, even as she daintily picked over the last few bits of the stew he’d made. She’d been quieter than usual, giving him only one-word answers to his usual prying questions. Her eyes had scanned the jungles, as if she were looking for something but wasn’t sure what.
Quentin pushed to his feet. “How about a drink?”
Delaynie scoffed. “Is that wise?”
“No. Probably not. But they gave us six flagons of wine, and we can’t let that go to waste.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Theygaveus six flagons…or youstolesix flagons?”
Quentin waved her off. “I didn’t steal anything. I stocked the cart, like they said I could.”
Delaynie rolled her eyes, taking another bite. Quentin took that to be as much of an acquiescence as he would get. He strode to the wagon, digging around beneath the canvas, pulling a flagon from under a bag of fruits. He grinned, lifting it in the air and sauntered to Delaynie. He dropped it at her feet, and she watched him with a raised brow as he settled against the stump, uncorking the flagon.
He lifted it, tipping it to her. “A game, little wolf?”
She wanted to say yes; he could see it there, right in the delicate bow of her mouth. The way amusement danced in her eyes.
It hardened and she turned away, brow furrowing. He tried not to let himself deflate as she pushed the last few bits of her dinner around in the bowl, quiet and contemplative.
Surprise raced through him when she pushed her shoulders back, set the bowl on the ground, and faced him. “Fine.Onegame. And only because I’m not sure I can sleep out in these woods without a little wine.”
Quentin fought against the urge to beam up at her like an idiot. Fought to keep his smile to only a smirking half-grin, the kind that made it seem like he always knew she would say yes.
“Excellent.” He took a swig of the wine, passing it up to her. She took it, a question on her face.
“You haven’t told me the game yet.”
“I know. This first sip is just because we can.”
Color stained her cheeks. She tipped the flagon back, taking a deep pull of the sweet red before handing it back to him.
“So, the game,” he said. “We each guess something about the other. If we’re right, the other person has to drink. If we’re wrong, we drink.”
“Who loses?”
His grin turned a little feral. “Whoever refuses to answer first.”
She took the bait of the challenge perfectly, just as he knew she would. Her chin lifted, holding that regal set to her posture as she folded her hands in her lap and nodded. He settled himself in, getting comfortable against the moss-covered stump.
And sure, maybe he moved a little closer to her in the process. What was a man to do?
He opened his mouth, about to speak, when he was interrupted. “I’m going first.”
Quentin blinked in surprise, then chuckled. “All right, little wolf. Whatever you want.” He spread an arm wide. “I’m an open book.”
