Page 157 of On Brutal Thrones

Fenric pushes his chair back.

Thorian does the same.

I look between them. “What are you doing?”

Talon calmly takes my wineglass out of my hand and sets it safely on the table.

“Hey.”

“You've been monopolized long enough.”

“By my own party?”

“Exactly.”

Fenric is already grinning.

I turn toward Thorian. “Are you going to do something about them?”

“No.”

Before I can respond, he bends down in front of me. The room flips, and I shriek as Thorian tosses me over his shoulder.

“Thorian! Put me down!”

“No.”

“Everyone is looking!”

“They'll recover.”

“Thorian!”

Someone cheers.

I think it's Lyra. Then Fenric's brother joins in. A few of the farmers follow, and within seconds half the room is laughing and cheering as Thorian carries me toward the door.

I bury my burning face against his back. “I hate you.”

His hand pats my ass. “No, you don't.”

Talon appears beside us, eating my stolen tart. “She really doesn't.”

“Traitor!”

Fenric catches up on Thorian's other side, still laughing. “Should we at least wait until after the bonfire?”

“Absolutely not,” Talon says.

“For once,” Thorian says, heading toward the stairs, “I agree with him.”

“We have guests!”

“They have food,” Talon says.

“And wine,” Fenric adds.

“And apparently no shame, considering they're cheering,” Thorian says.