He pinned me by my neck to the tree. Struggling for breath, I clawed at his arm to no avail.
“Stay in this swamp forever then, if you so wish. Dead.” He raised his sword, pressing the tip to my chest.
I wasn’t ready to die. For the first time in my life, I felt excitement for my future instead of dread.
The word “no” never meant anything to Reizon, but I yelled it anyway, as loud as I could with his hand crashing my windpipe.
“No!”
I stabbed two fingers of my right hand into his gorgeous gray-blue eyes as hard as I could.
He howled in pain. His hand with the sword jerked, the blade slicing down my belly.
A terrifying growl came from behind Reizon. A wild predator’s jaws opened wide. And a set of blade-sharp teeth closed around Reizon’s neck.
CHAPTER 13
GRAT
There was no sleep for me that night. I didn’t even bother going to my house, heading straight to Burul’s instead.
“Aww, there’s my favorite orc! I’ve missed your happy grin, Grat,” Olga cooed when I entered the tavern and plopped my ass on a stool by the bar.
Despite the late hour that was heading into the early morning already, the place was still busy. Every table was fully occupied, with not a single chair to spare, which was fine by me. I had no problems getting drunk on my own at the bar.
“Ale?” Olga asked, reaching for an empty stein.
“Not tonight. I’ll have some of that killer stuff Burul distills from potato skins.” I tipped my chin at the dusty demijohn in the corner with a cloudy spirit inside.
Olga tilted her head, squinting at me sympathetically. “That bad, huh? Lady troubles?”
“More like ‘princess troubles,’”rushed through my head, but I said nothing out loud.
Olga hauled the demijohn out of the corner and filled a thick, six-faceted glass from it.
“Here you go, honey.” She shoved the glass my way.
The concerned note in her voice scraped against my nerves. I didn’t need her pity, or anyone’s pity for that matter. I was just fine.
I tipped the glass, sending the cursed liquid down my throat, but could only stand taking one gulping swallow at a time.
“Argh,” I grunted with a shudder. “I forgot how strong this shit is.”
“Here, have a pickle.” Olga sent along the counter a saucer with a chunky, juicy pickle on it. “It’s the best for chasing it down.”
I bit into the pickle. The burn of alcohol seared through all my senses, including the heartache. But it hardly made me feel better.
Chewing on the pickle, I stared blankly at Olga, who was filling eight steins with ale from a barrel. Her two long, dark-green braids were tied with two mismatched ribbons, each of which reminded me of the one I gave to Khala.
“Nice ribbons,” I croaked, swallowing the sour pickle.
“You like them?” Olga beamed, twirling the end of one between her fingers.
“Is either of them a courting present?” I asked.
She giggled. “Both are.”
“And who’s going to be the lucky guy?”
