Page 77 of The Truth-Teller's Bargain

“What an interesting development. When Olympia dragged me to this festival, I never expected I’d leave with such a prize.”

Fear had gripped her heart in its icy claws. Did he know about the bounty on her head; that whoever returned her to the queen earned her hand in marriage? She doubted Reingard would be interested in such an arrangement—he’d made his feelings about her very clear.

“I’m not leaving with you,” Alethea replied, pretending she was half as brave as any one of her companions or the soldiers following them. “Leave me alone, Reingard.”

“What’s wrong?” he inquired, his tone deceptively casual. He crossed his arms, and she tried to take another step but bumped into the food table. His wolfish smirk made her stomach knot as he leaned down toward her. “I just want to catch up with an old friend.”

Alethea recoiled. “We’renotfriends,” she retorted, her voice laced with defiance.

“No, I don’t suppose we are,” he said dismissively.

Alethea’s fear grew at the menacing look in his eye as he stared down his nose at her.

“Who did you tell?”

“Who did I tell aboutwhat?” she spat.

In a surge of rage, Reingard swiftly closed the distance between them, his fingers latching onto her arms, ensnaring her in his viselike grip. “Don’t play coy with me, you stupid girl. Youknowwhat I’m talking about. Who did you tell!”

Alethea tried to yank herself away from him, but she wasn’t nearly strong enough to escape his punishing grip. She tried to think of anything she could do to get away, but she knew any attempt to hit or kick him would not only prove futile, but it would also likely escalate the situation.

“Reingard Delaney. You have until I finish speaking to release your hold on her, or I will break every bone in your body.”

She’d never been more relieved to hear Nakir Hasan’s voice. His eyes were a cold fury, his tone deadly.

For a moment, she feared Reingard’s pride would keep him from complying, but either he cared about his personal safety or he wanted to see who would dare to speak to the Crown Prince of Azmarin this way, because he finally released her, letting go as if touching her had somehow tainted him. Alethea slinked away from them both, wishing she could disappear entirely.

Reingard regarded Nakir for several seconds, sucking air through his perfect teeth. “So it’s true. The last Hasan. You’re not nearly as terrifying as they say you are.”

The gleam in Nakir’s eyes begged to differ. “That remains to be seen,” he corrected, arms crossed. “You’ve erred egregiously. Alethea deserves an apology for the way you’ve treated her. You’re going to give her one.”

Reingard’s laughter echoed through the air, entirely devoid of warmth. “You may know my name,” he taunted, his tone lacedwith condescension, “but it doesn’t seem like you understand who I am.”

In the face of his arrogance, Nakir remained composed, his eyes reflecting a steely determination. “I don’t care what youthinkyou’ll be one day, but I do know that you won’t be much of anything any longer if you do not comply.”

The comment was just close enough to a confirmation that Alethea had shared her prophecy about Reingard with Nakir. The prince’s face reddened as he stared between them. Everything happened in a blur when Reingard reached for his boot, where he’d hidden a blade. He brought it in a flash toward Nakir, who reacted with incredible reflexes and deftly stepped out of the way.

He caught Reingard’s wrist and shoulder as the prince’s misaligned attack sent him toward the ground, slamming the man’s elbow the wrong way across his knee. Alethea gasped at the terrifyingsnapas Reingard immediately started screaming. She could hardly look away as he gawked at his now disfigured arm, elbow bent back at averywrong angle.

Nakir’s voice was eerily calm as he stepped away with a feline grace, sidestepping the prince, who stared at his broken limb in horror. “Now... everyone knows bringing a weapon to a Revel of Nysos invites violence into your future.”

Castle guards swiftly descended upon the scene, efficiently confiscating the blade from Reingard’s trembling hand and gathering the pale prince, their grip firm yet not unkind. Alethea could only stare in horror as Reingard was led away, his arrogant façade shattered worse than his arm.

She slowly became aware of someone speaking to her.

“Are you hurt?” Nakir was asking her, his hand hovering over the small of her back, as if warring between wanting to comfort her and respecting her need for space.

She couldn’t shake the image of Reingard’s arm snapping from her mind. She shook her head, attempting to dispel theunease that had settled in her chest. She busied her trembling hands by twisting her wild curls over her shoulder nervously before glancing around the Revel. Everything was suddenly so loud and overwhelming, all at once.

She needed a drink.

Alethea snatched a golden goblet from a passing server, the vessel cool against her palm, promising respite in its depths. Without a second thought, she brought the rim to her lips and took a hearty sip, the rich taste of the wine flooding her senses. She didn’t see Nakir’s concerned face until after her long dreg.

“Thea,” he said quietly, clearing his throat. “That was ambrosia.”

Oh.

“Worship structures vary widely, yet most deities operate within the same hierarchy: temples, priesthoods, and the occasional Dedicated soul whose oath forms a permanent link to the god.