“Of course, I bathed,” Zander replies with an indignant raise of his chin.
I gesture to his clothes with a wave of my hand. “Then why are you in the same filthy clothes you had on yesterday?”
Folding his thick arms over his chest, he glances down at his soiled tunic. “Because all my clothes are dirty, and the brothel didn't have anything large enough to fit me.”
“You could wash them,” I say slowly, wondering how he can handle the smell with his heightened shifter senses when I barely can.
He cocks his head to the side, looking at me as if I've grown another head. “That's a female’s job.”
Amara and I stare at him in silence as we process his words. Once I've come to the conclusion that, no, he didn't misspeak and yes, his words are offensive, I snap my arm out and twist his nipple.
“Aaaah!”
“That was completely warranted,” Amara murmurs. I nod in agreement.
Tristan pinches his nose. “Remember what we talked about? About thinking before speaking?”
Grimacing while rubbing his nipple in a circular motion, Zander’s gaze darts to the ceiling and we wait patiently for his words to click. After a few minutes, his eyes widen and his mouth shapes into a silent O.
“Oh, yes. I can see how that was interpreted. Point taken. Anywho, most of my clothing is worn beyond repair and in need of replacing.” Folding his arms on the table he leans forward, his expression becoming somber as he speaks in a hushed voice. “I figured I'd purchase a few items at the market. Meet with some of the locals. See what this city’s busybodies are talking about.”
When passing through any town, our first task is to ingratiate ourselves with the people. With Amara having very little patience and my personality considered too abrasive for most, that task usually falls to Zander. Using only his natural charm, he’s quite gifted in loosening tongues, whether that's by befriending a chatty male at the local tavern or from the female workers at the brothel. The brothel is usually his main source of information since males tend to not hold much regard for whores and more often than not indulge in ill-advised pillow talk. Even so, respect and sufficient coin go a long way, and Zander is a master at using both to his advantage.
But in the rare instances Zander has difficulty garnering this information, we then employ Tristan’s more subtle skills. With his unassuming appearance and knack for fading into the background, most are oblivious to his stealthy presence. How he manages to slink within earshot to the most private discussions has always baffled me. I can only assume he was an assassin in a past life.
“That'll work, but don't lay the charm on too thick,” I say, recalling some of the citizens' almost hostile reactions to us. “These beings are a suspicious lot.”
“With good reason,” Tristan says. “They’ve lost a lot more than other kingdoms.”
“And a lot less than others,” Amara murmurs, staring unseeing down at the table.
My chest begins to throb in tune with my heart, and I reach over and clasp our hands together, squeezing until she meets my gaze with a sad smile. Offering her a small smile of my own, I pat her hand before redirecting my attention to Zander.
“Go ahead and work the market. See what information you can glean, but back off if anyone becomes suspicious. I don't want them asking too many questions.” Drinking the last sip of the cooled coffee, my gaze wanders to Tristan. “Amara and I have to go to Aurora's shop today. Why don't you tag along with Zander?”
Tristan glances down at the table and shuffles awkwardly in his chair, an uncommon reaction for our usually unflappable partner. “I thought I'd accompany you and Amara today.”
With a raise of a black brow, I urge him to elaborate.
Regaining his usual stoic expression, he crosses one leg over the other and clasps his hands in his lap. “I think Zander will gain more information without my presence. Cascadonians don’t seem overly fond of humans.” His lips tighten in distaste, which I more than share, before he gives me a knowing look. “Besides, you and Amara can chat with the princess while I search her shop.”
Agreeing with his thought process, I jerk a nod in the same moment I hear the slide of slippered feet. Pausing our discussion, I glance up at where Lottie loiters at the edge of the table, holding two bowls.
Without a word, she glowers down at us and tosses both bowls towards me and Amara. The bowls clatter and spin across the table, slopping porridge all over the sides as she turns her back on us and stomps back to her spot behind the counter.
“She really doesn’t like us, does she?” Tristan asks with a curl of his lip.
Amara bends forward and sniffs warily “You think she poisoned it?”
“Probably,” I reply, my stomach churning at the sight of the blackened yet white, undercooked chunks.
Zander clasps my hand with his and tugs me out of my seat. “Come on. There's a pastry cart right around the corner. I think I even saw a banket.”
Perking up at the thought of the delicious almond pastry, my stomach begins to slow its revolt as we all stand and stride towards the door. Lottie tracks our every step with a smug smirk, her sharpened ears twitching in amusement. Starving and at my wits end with the unsavory female, I wait until I'm only a few paces away and then lurch toward her with a hiss, snapping my blunt teeth within an inch of her face.
She shrieks and stumbles backwards and Amara and I laugh as we trail behind the others.
At the tinkle of the bell above the open door, Tristan exhales a long-suffering sigh. “Can't take you two anywhere.”
Amara and I share another smirk and I reach for Tristan, wrapping my arms around the back of his neck and dragging him down for a loud smack of a kiss on his marked cheek. “You know you love us.”
Chapter 7Darius
Surrounded by gray slate in a minimally adorned room, I ignore the clash of steel on steel from the outdoor training grounds below where I sit behind the desk in my private office in the tower of the Guards Base. Griffin and Kace stand silently beside me, their thoughts as turbulent as my own as I glare at the iron knob attached to the lone wooden door, willing it to move with my thoughts alone.
Frustration mounting with every moment that passes without a knock to my door, I roll my neck in a futile effort to release the tightening in my neck, my mind wandering to the events of the night prior.
After Griffin voiced his suspicions of Lena and her companions last night, I spent the entirety of the walk back to the palace castigating myself for my blindness. By the time I finally arrived in my chambers, I fell into bed exhausted, but my mind refused to succumb to its body's needs. Thoughts fixated on the mysterious woman to the point of obsession, I replayed every detail of our encounter. Every smile, every change of tone, every finger twitch, in an attempt to catalog and decipher the words she said, and most importantly, the ones she did not.
Thoughts swirling with question after question, I tossed and turned throughout the night. When I eventually did manage to sleep, she plagued that realm as well. With dreams filled with silky black hair, tan smooth skin, and brilliant amethyst eyes, my suspicions fell to the wayside as I envisioned every filthy way I'd feed this irrational craving for a woman I know nothing about. By the time dawn's light began to flood my chambers, I felt as if I had just shut my eyes. Stumbling from bed with a sluggish mind and bloodshot eyes, I proceeded to dress with a stiff cock that refused to soften despite my relentless ministrations. With how poorly the day began, I should have foreseen its downhill trajectory.
Griffin, Kace, and I arranged to meet first thing this morning to question the guards who had assaulted our mysterious visitors. Even though Lena and her friends fed us nothing but half-truths, we all agreed their recounting of the incident was too sincere to have been faked. In this matter, her intentions for Seboia are inconsequential. No one, whether friend or foe, deserves to be touched without their permission. But my determination to weed out the culprits has been thwarted at every turn. Each guard we've interviewed so far not only strongly denied the accusations, but had no recollection of any outsiders entering the city. Normally in this type of situation I would believe the words of my guards and backtrack to the accuser, but Trip – who doesn't have a dishonest bone in his body – specifically said a guard asked him to escort them from the entrance. I could assume the guards forgot, but Lena isn’t someone you could simply forget. After much thought, the only plausible explanation I can come up with is that my guards are lying.
Hence my irritation at having to wait over an hour for one of the last remaining guards to grace us with his presence.
A double knock at the door interrupts my turbulent thoughts. “Enter.”
At the turn of the knob, a large, brown haired and brown-eyed shifter fae enters the room. “Captain,” he says in greeting, then nods to both Griffin and Kace. “Commanders.”
