Page 52 of Blood of the Fairest

I turn right like he says—but then I quickly wheel back around to eye everything hanging on display through the ornate windows of a dress shop on the corner.

I'm so busy examining the styles, fabrics, cuts, and embroidery patterns to get a feel for Isenmere's current fashions that it takes a second to realize someone is talking to me.

"Oi! I said, you there. Plain one!" a no-nonsense woman calls from the open door.

Plain one?

I guess for a kingdom that worships beauty and pride, it makes sense that they're so obsessed with appearances.

Still, I'm almost starting to feel bad for this poor shoemaker. I'm sure he couldn't help being unmemorable as fuck.

"Are you going to stand around gawking forever?" she demands. "I'm closing up shop for the day, so if you've got a pretty wife or a daughter to shop for, browse quickly or come back tomorrow."

"Where do you get your dresses made?" I ask in the man's voice.

"We have our own seamstresses, of course. Finest in Isenmere! They even sew for the nobles," she brags.

I think back to what I saw those noblewomen wearing when I fired Schultz. It was better than the queen's clothing, but still…

"Fairest," Eris prompts from the mirror hanging on the door the woman is holding open. He looks exasperated. "I hate to interrupt your impromptu shopping, but that spell won't last forever."

Right. Priorities, I guess.

Thanking the woman, I follow Eris's every direction until I turn onto a street at the edge of Isenhold. I appreciate that not a single person bustling past spares me a second look as I weave my way to the mirrored door of the tavern, which has a carving of a colorful bird perched above it.

Stepping in from the chilly spring evening, I find myself surrounded by chatter. The tavern is busy but not crowded, with well-groomed villagers and less-primped travelers clustered around oak tables covered in food dishes and mugs of mulled wine. Someone plucks a stringed instrument in the corner. Overhead, a stained-glass chandelier scatters ruby, amber, sapphire, and emerald light across the patrons' faces.

I scan through them, but Merrick isn't here.

Shit. Was Eris confused by the description I gave of him?

Someone else pushes past me into the tavern, quipping that I should get out of the way. I move to stand off to the side—and then I spy a set of stairs at the end of this room.

Maybe there are more tables upstairs, and that's where Merrick is seated? I don't see anyone else going up there, though.

"Verena," Eris's voice calls me from somewhere.

Before I can figure out which reflective surface he's in, a chorus of booming male laughter echoes from a corner table.

My attention snags on the full-figured blond bombshell of a tavern maid standing next to them. She can't be older than nineteen and is clearly uncomfortable, her blue gaze darting between the four men. She says something with a tight smile and turns away.

One of the men reaches out to squeeze her ass hard enough to make her jump and swat his hand away.

The other drunk men at the table just laugh louder.

Absolutely the fuck not.

I'm already marching toward the rowdy table that everyone else in this tavern either hasn't noticed or is more likely just ignoring⁠—

But before I can step in, a supermodel straight off the pages of Vogue beats me to it. She's just barely taller than I am, with rich mahogany skin and dark eyes sparkling with indignant rage. Dressed much like the other tavern maid, she storms up, snatches the cup of mulled wine away from the handsy asshole, and pours it over his head.

Then she grabs the nearby pitcher of wine and dumps that on him, too.

"Hey!" he shouts, coughing and sputtering.

"Get out," she warns, glaring at the other men who are now booing the two women. "All of you, leave."

The men grumble and complain as she escorts her blond friend out through a side exit. I think that's a good move to give the younger woman a second to breathe.