Chapter Five
RIVEN
Poppy didn’t linger in the bar long after we got back from the Festival. She grabbed a few things she’d left yesterday and threw them in her bag, then briskly left to pack for the trip. The vacation? Our sequestered purgatory? I don’t know what to call it, but regardless, she went to pack for it.
I’d stood in the doorway, watching her round the corner to ascend the stairs to her apartment with a sense of wrong in my gut. None of this is fair, and I forced myself to focus on tasks instead of the injustice because I don’t have it in me to fight anymore today.
Normally, Poppy is the one who negotiates with Rik whenever we need a favor, but in her rush for alone time after our surprising day, I’ve been left alone with our not-so-friendly elven bartender.
He normally only works weekends, but seeing how he is the most tenured staff member, he’s the only one I’d trust to run the Foxhole while Poppy and I are away.
I step behind the bar, pushing my sleeves up my corded forearms if for no other reason than to busy my hands. Rik’s hair is slicked back, tattooed hands knuckle-deep in a martini glass as he dries it.
“Please, Rik.” I’ve resorted to cajoling.
“No.” His southern accent and his glare are biting. A cocky smile pulls at his lips. The bastard knows he has me by the balls. “You’ve got to sweeten the pot a little.”
I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, narrowing my eyes at him. “I’ll give you every holiday the rest of the year off.” That’s only 3 days. I can swing that.
His eyebrow quirks, and the subtle chuckle-and-headshake combo let me know he isn’t amused. “Brother, it’s nearly solstice, which you close for anyway. Don’t shite in a pan and tell me it’s brownies.” Merde.
Cracks reverberate in my skull, the sound of my vertebrae aligning as I roll my neck out.
I don’t have time for this. I need to pack, and I need to not think about the fact that my girlfriend just upgraded to nobility while I got Fate-matched to the one person who barely tolerates my antics as it is.
I force air out of my lips, slowly, and shut my eyes. I know what Rik wants; I just don’t really want to give it to him.
It’s temporary.
A month. A game. A spectacle.
We will exist on a luxurious island. Poppy will roll her eyes when I’m an idiot. And I’ll pretend this recent rejection doesn’t feel like my ego and life just got yanked sideways.
I can handle it.
What I can’t handle is thinking too hard about it or letting my bar burn down in the process.
“Fine.” My smile is grim. “I’ll pay you time and a half, and you can pick one bottle from the rare shelf to take home.
” There’s a bottle of orcish wine he’s been eyeing for years.
It’s a hundred gold pieces an ounce and, for elven males, has a very aphrodisiacal effect.
I ordered it by the crate for a lord a few years ago, and he’s been a thankful regular ever since.
He grins, elongated canines he had tipped in silver glinting in the light. “Deal. Happy travels, boss. Enjoy the island.” I turn, head shaking and body aching from the sheer mental exhaustion of the day.
I snort. “Yeah, right.”
Rik grins, lowering his voice. “Hey, maybe it’ll be fun. A month on an island with the Ice Queen? I envy you.” My blood runs cold. Is he talking about Poppy? “Give you a week, and she’ll be thawed, naked, and telling you to shut up while you ruin her.”
“What did you say?” An incredulous smile appears across my face. Surely he didn’t just say what I think he did.
“Just that you’ve fucked your way through worse odds. A month alone with Poppy? That ice isn’t surviving your mouth and charm.”
My smile dies, heart thudding in my ears as I slowly turn.
“Talk about her like that again, and you’re done working here.
” His eyes widen, hand stopping mid-wipe on the counter.
“You’re still standing right now because I’m choosing restraint, but you’re making me nostalgic for my old ways, and if you keep talking, I may reconsider my alliance with peace.
” A daydream of slamming his skull into the counter makes me feel warm inside.
Solider Riven would have already done it, but as Poppy says, I’ve been working on self-control.
He stammers, like a man who is looking into Death’s dripping maw, “Sorry, man. It was a joke.” I know this was an ill-fated attempt at humor.
We say shit like that all the time. Bar talk to pass the time.
But his talking about Poppy that way crosses a line.
She isn’t some conquest. She’s my best friend.
“Don’t let it happen again.” I hold my stare, eyes flicking to the counter.
My fist wraps around a pot of honey, turning it over and holding it that way until the last drop has spilled out.
“You missed a spot.” Blood boiling, I leave him.
I cannot afford a fight tonight. He’s not worth it, and I don’t want to be bloody or bruised tomorrow.
Would I look good with another roguishly handsome scar on my lip?
Probably. But Poppy hates it when I fight.
Plus, who would run the Foxhole if I ended the only male who agreed to help while I was gone? It wouldn’t be practical.
The corridor to the back door is dark, light pooling in only from the open doors of the private rooms we have back here.
I walked past one such room, laughter and root smoke pouring into the hallway.
My eyes pass over the inhabitants, a group of regulars draped over my furniture like they own the place.
One male is sitting with a woman in his lap, and when she tosses her light hair over her shoulder, my eyes catch on Angora’s face.
The male she’s sitting on, like he’s her throne, is her match from earlier. I recognize the bastard now. He’s a recent regular, a lord I assumed has limitless access to daddy’s money, who loves women and expensive booze.
His fingers trail lazily over the bare skin of her shoulder. Her head tilts back, laughing at everything he says. There’s no way he’s that funny. She never laughed at my jokes.
Her head casts back again, like proper posture is unable to showcase how hilarious and charming he is.
My teeth grit when I see how she is glowing.
She’s without the annoyed lines on her forehead like she always was around me.
Fates, I’m an idiot. Did Fate know seeing her with him would drive me crazy?
Not because she’s with him, but because he’s everything I’m not.
We were both born into prestige, but while he wears his like a well-fitted suit, mine drove me to war.
I should walk away and act normal. I should not imagine punching him so hard his stuffy ancestors feel it just because I’m jealous his father gave him a trust fund and perfect hair, and mine gave me commitment issues and a slightly crooked left incisor.
That his parents taught him decorum and mine taught me that marriage is a sham and true love isn’t often real.
Shit. She’s looking at me.
Walk away.
No. Smile. Act unbothered. I feel my mouth pinch with chagrin. No, not that smile. Not the murder smile. The charming one.
And now she’s walking up to me. Perfect. Don’t say anything stupid.
“Hello, Riven.”
I snort. So formal. “So that’s it? You roll some dice, and suddenly he’s your soulmate?” That was stupid. I sound jealous. And maybe I am, but not over her.
A rosy blush colors her glittering high cheekbones. “Not yet, he isn’t.” She dares a demure glance over her bony shoulder, tucking her hair behind her ear and giggling when he winks at her.
“You asked me to go to the Festival with you, and I did, and then you ditched me in record time?” She’s all but forgotten me, as everyone does.
She rolls her head, cat-like eyes looking me up and down. The edges of her lips lift, taunting me. “You’re jealous.”
I scoff out my rebuttal. “I’m not jealous that he has you.”
“Good.” Her eyes leave me, suddenly finding her nail beds extraordinarily interesting.
“You’re with Poppy now anyway.” She scans me again.
“You could have refused, you know. Begged them for me instead.” Her words are direct, her eyes testing.
She knows that it wouldn’t have mattered, yet her ego is waiting for me to tell her I wish I had chosen her even though she has already moved on.
Maybe we’re more similar than I thought.
When I don’t respond, she adds, “We’re over now, just to be clear. ”
I don’t argue. I don’t plead. I simply nod once and rap my knuckles once on the edge of the doorframe. “Obviously.”
Angora walks back to her match as I fade into the swell of noise at the front of the bar. The dice may have set this into motion, but the hurt roiling in my heart started long ago. This has nothing to do with Angora, nothing to do with Poppy, none of it ever did.