“Course not.” The words are delivered flatly, but an unspoken threat simmers just beneath them. “But you’re not performers either. And I have a duty to protect my queens and kingdom.”
The fabric of the tent rustles behind me, and I feel Declan before I see him—his presence a low, controlled shadow in my periphery. His hand curls around my arm.
What is it with men thinking they need to touch me to make a point? I don’t need to be claimed to exist.
I jerk free, heat flaring in my cheeks. “I’ve got it,” I hiss, snapping my attention back to Dav. “We want to see Fortune.”
He blinks once. Then snorts. “You seek fortune? So you admit to being promised riches when you report back to Cups?”
“Notfortune.Fortune,” I say, gesturing to the page in my hand. “As in, capital F. A woman. Big, flowy robe. Sort of spoke in riddles. You know—Fortune.”
Dav raises a thick brow and glares over my head at Declan. “Your woman cannot handle her ale.”
“What, no, I’m not…” I pause, then exhale.
Love and light. Love and light.
I try again. “She’s real. I saw her just like I’m seeing you. She told me her name was—”
“Yes,Fortune. You said.” He crosses his meaty arms and throws another look over me at Declan. “Do you know this woman of whom she speaks?”
“I’m the one who saw her, and he doesn’t need to back up what—”
“I do not have time for your lies.”
“Or manners, since you keep interrupting—”
Dav takes a step forward, crowding into my space. “Get back in the tent,spy.”
He jabs me in the shoulder with one thick finger.
I stiffen, rising like a cobra, and jab him right back. “I.” Poke. “Am not.” Poke, poke. “A spy!”
His eyes go wide before narrowing into slices, his hand moving to his side. Steel sings as he yanks his swordfree. The blade glints in the light. My breath catches in my throat, stomach plummeting into my ass.
Before I can so much as scream, Declan steps between us and clocks Dav, a sharp crack of knuckles to jaw. Dav’s head snaps to the side, his grip loosening on the hilt of his sword as it falls to the sand.
Dav stumbles back, hand flying to his jaw, shock and rage twisting his features. He spits a mouthful of red-streaked phlegm at Declan’s boots. “You’ll pay for that,” he snarls. He retrieves his sword and sheathes it with a vicious snap. Then he turns on his heel and stalks off, favoring his jaw, and muttering a fresh string of curses with every step.
A bottled breath whooshes from my lungs, and adrenaline buzzes beneath my skin like bees in a jar.
Blood drips from the split in Declan’s knuckles and spatters the sand at his feet, bright against the sunbaked ground. His injured hand remains curled into a fist at his side even as he shakes out his shoulders and rolls his neck like stepping in to defend me was nothing.
It’s not nothing.
“Come on,” I say, quieter than I mean to. Reaching for his uninjured hand, I tug him back into the tent.
I drop to my knees beside the trunk at the foot of the bed, fingers diving into silk and gemstones, beaded masks and braided belts. I dig until I find something soft. A velvet scarf the color of spilled wine.
“Sit.” I nod toward the edge of the bed.
He follows my direction, folding down onto the bed the way a big cat crouches to observe a mouse. There’s tension in him still, muscles coiled tight beneath his skin.
I kneel in front of him and reach for his hand. His skin is warm. The blood is sticky.
I start to wrap the velvet scarf around his knuckles, trying to focus on the task. But my fingers tremble. I tell myself it’s from nerves. My brush with danger. The adrenaline crashing through my system. Anything but simply feeling his hand in mine.
After all the irritation and arguments, I shouldn’t care that he’s this close. I shouldn’t register every inch separating us like it matters. But I do.
