He jerks his hands back and scurries away.
The leader remains impassive, uncaring of his guards' attempts to molest us, and steps aside, allowing us entry. Tugging on my horse’s reins, I curl my hands into fists as I walk past, my nails gouging crescent shapes into my leather clad palms as I restrain myself from lunging at the guards. But if I do that, then the others will join in and we’ll kill every last one of them. I can't imagine them allowing us entry after that. So I bite my tongue, blood pooling into my cheeks as I imagine it’s their blood I’m tasting.
I'm almost past the guards when I see the lone male who chose not to laugh with his brethren. “Is there a stable nearby?” I ask. “A pub?”
“There is.” His brown eyes glance up over my head and he cups his hands around his mouth. “Trip!” he calls out, waving a brown haired fae youth towards us. When he reaches our side, the guard asks him, “You heading to the pub?”
Trip nods.
“You mind taking these folks?”
“No problem at all!” Trip says, passing his gaze over our horses. “Right this way. We'll stable your horses and then head there.”
Following behind the youth, we pass by a few off-duty guards playing dice when the jubilant Nature fae says, “You must be starving! You're in luck. They're serving mutton pie tonight.” He glances down at me with a big, toothy grin, and I take note of his mop of red hair and homespun tunic. “It's the best in all of Vanyimar."
At the mention of food, Zander slaps the reins of his horse against Tristan’s chest and squeezes between me and the boy, all but shoving me out of the way in the process. “Show us the way, my young friend,” Zander says with a beaming smile, tossing his arm over Trip’s shoulder. “I'm absolutely famished, and mutton pie sounds fantastic.”
In sight of the stables, I shake my head as I watch Trip and Zander chatter away while Amara trails behind at a more sedate pace.
“Did you notice the way they spoke about humans?” Tristan asks.
“How could I not?” I reply bitterly, watching the other three open the wooden door and enter the stable.
“That could make things more difficult for us.”
Choosing not to dwell on the guards, I pat Tristan's shoulder and smile “Probably, but don't concern yourself with that just yet. If an issue arises, we’ll handle it. Just worry about our objective.”
A teasing smile crosses his face. “Trading leather?”
I laugh. “Of course. Trading leather.” Then we walk our horses towards the stables for a much-needed meal and a good night's rest.
Chapter 3Darius
Ale, smoked meat, and the scent of unwashed bodies saturate the air, permeating the oak beams that rise up the vaulted ceilings and wafting across the numerous banquet tables scattered throughout The Quiet Harpy. Fae guards laugh and shout, mingling with humans with bloodshot eyes and tattered clothing while gossiping females in billowy gowns stroll past, their heeled shoes adding their own contribution to the countless scratches decorating the wood floor. All walks of life fill the pub, from wealthy nobles to impoverished humans. All are illuminated by candlelight as they gather to drink a pint once the two moons have risen. Even bastard princes such as myself.
Tossing my head back, I drain the last foamy dregs of ale before placing the empty tankard down to the view of Mona, the namesake to The Quiet Harpy herself, who eyes me from behind the bar. Arms folded, the brown-haired Water fae says nothing to me as I double tap my knuckles against the worn bar. Without even a nod in response, she turns toward the barrel and pours me another pint.
Mind churning over the events of the day, my gaze drifts across the room, unseeing over the pub's patrons until I spot Kace seated at a table near the cool hearth, unaware of my arrival due to the female's cleavage into which he's currently burrowing.
Smirking, I turn back to a new pint of ale. Mona is already at the other end of the bar, eyeballing another. I raise my drink, prepared to drain every last drop, but I'm interrupted before the liquid gold can touch my lips.
“Hello, my prince.”
Peeking out the corner of my eye, my mood sours even more when I spot a beautiful blonde haired Air immortal smiling down at me with a predatory glint to her eyes.
“Danya.”
“You look dreadful, my prince. Brooding here all alone.” She pouts. “Allow me to help you relax.”
“I'm not in the mood,” I reply, staring straight ahead at the wooden barrels.
Never one to be dismissed so easily, she places a crimson nailed hand upon my upper thigh, my cock instantly shriveling at her touch.
“I can get you in the mood,” she purrs.
Wanting nothing more than to enjoy my solitude before I head to my own bed, alone, I turn to tell the female exactly that when another more welcome voice reaches my ears.
“Leave.”
Turning toward the sound, I find the blonde-haired, green-eyed Fire immortal who looks so much like our mother, glaring at Danya. Unlike our mother, her hair is styled in a messy topknot that I doubt has seen a brush in days, and is dressed in trousers and a tunic that's spotted in soot. Typical attire for Seboia’s very own Blacksmith Princess.
“We're having a discussion, Aurora,” Danya hisses, jerking her hand from my thigh.
Exhausted with arguing for the day, I return my gaze forward and allow my sister to handle the annoying female while I swig from my drink.
“Go prey on someone else,” Aurora snaps. “He's not interested."
I hear a gasp, then the click of Danya’s heels as she retreats from the snarling princess.
“Why does she even come here? She opens her legs for anything with a pulse. Better suited to the brothel, if you ask me,” Aurora grumbles, seating herself on the stool beside me. “At least there she could be compensated for it.”
“Her father might take issue with that.”
Huffing, she waves down Mona. “Yet, I doubt he’d be surprised. I can't believe you fucked her.”
Blowing out an exasperated breath to the statement I've heard too many times to count, I groan, “It was one time, Rory.”
Rolling her eyes, she raises her newly acquired pint. “One time too many. I hope it was worth it.”
