Chapter 3 A Beautiful Distraction
A Beautiful Distraction
“I will pay you one silver and no more.” The words resonate in my chest, the tone pulling me in. Is the speaker using a charisma spell? “This wine is good but not that good.”
I spare a precious moment to locate the owner of the voice that literally stopped me in my tracks.
He’s two stalls away. Not that I’d miss him if he were even further.
Towering over most of the crowd by at least six inches, though not overly muscular, he’s proportionately broad across shoulders and chest. Somewhere in his early- to mid-thirties, right-handed, no weapons.
Though he moves confidently. His whole ensemble screams wealthy merchant family, from his ivory silk tunic, embroidered with deep red runes at the neck and cuffs, and matching red calf-length silk overcoat, to his black pants and black ankle-high leather boots.
The dark ruby studs, the size of Earth blueberries, sparkle in each of his earlobes, reinforcing that message.
Though his easy smile and relaxed stance are more ‘man of the people.’
He’s also strikingly handsome, with dark olive skin, a straight nose, a strong jaw, and full red lips framed by a short mustache and beard. His dark brown hair cascades past his broad shoulders in soft curls. “Be reasonable.”
“This is the finest vintage from Oht. Well worth the two gold.” The merchant is a wizened old man in a ruby red Merchant Guild tunic.
Right-handed, frail, stooped, gray hair, pale skin, no weapons.
Not a threat. His tone and body language suggest that he’s offended.
An act I’m sure he’s perfected over the decades.
As the haggling continues, I drag my gaze from them, scanning the crowd for the Protector and anything else out of the ordinary.
If circumstances here were different, or if I was on Earth, I’d stay, insert myself into their dialogue, and flirt a bit with the handsome guy to see where things go.
But the main square is too exposed, with too many places for other assassins to hide.
I step into a doorway along the alley wall, trying to make myself leave.
But the stranger has snagged my attention, and my gaze keeps drifting back to the wine stall.
“If it is the finest vintage from Oht, then it is my family’s own stock. No wonder I like it.” If true, the handsome man is most likely a Durov or a Beaufour, as those are the two largest winemaking families in that area. “I should not pay more than cost. Especially from a fellow guild member.”
The old merchant’s fair skin pales even further. “No need to be hasty!” He extends his wrinkled hand. “One silver is a fair price for a fellow guild member. We have a deal.”
“We do, indeed.” The silver is deposited in the old merchant’s palm, and he hands over the bottle of wine.
“Thank you, sir, and may good fortune be yours.” The merchant shakes his head, pockets the coin, and begins shuttering his stall for the day.
The tall stranger scans the thinning crowd, brow furrowed, as if he’s searching for something or someone.
Hidden in the lengthening shadows, with my cloaking spell firmly in place, there’s no chance he’ll see me.
So when our eyes meet and he holds my gaze, his beautiful mouth quirking up at the corner, I’m shaken to my core.
“Nicolas!”
Tall-and-handsome’s attention is drawn to the other side of the street, his lips curving into a full grin. “Marek! There you are!” He holds up the newly purchased bottle. “I have the wine!”
The ‘Marek’ in question is an olive-skinned man with shoulder-length blond hair.
He’s around the same age as Nicolas and dressed in equally expensive clothing.
Average build. One dagger tucked in his boot.
A minimal threat. He waits with his hands on his hips, lips pressed tightly together. “Hurry up! You are making us late.”
Nicolas laughs. “If Sebastian wants his name-day present, he can have some patience.” He jogs across the square to Marek, and they wander farther down the market, laughing and shoving each other.
I step from the alcove, following the two with my gaze until they enter a tavern off a corner of the main square.
Like a spell has been broken, I realize I’ve wandered into the middle of the street, following Nicolas’s progress.
Unsettled, I spin on my heels and hurry down the alley, putting as much distance as possible between me and the market.
Even so, I swear Nicolas’s eyes follow me as I slip out of sight.