Chapter Three #3
“Alright,” I echoed, forcing a smile. “Why don’t you go have some breakfast? I’ll call you if we’re suddenly swarmed with patrons.”
I gestured around the empty tavern, where even Roy and Tanner’s favourite seats remained unoccupied.
She laughed shakily, but nodded before disappearing through the bar and into the kitchen.
I was glad for the timing of her departure when the first of the Kingsmen left the breakfast hall just a few minutes later, the rest following in a slow stream thereafter.
Fischer was one of the last to emerge, a scowl etched deep into the sharp features of his face.
He glanced around and when his gaze snagged on mine, the razor-sharp smile that bared my teeth came unbidden.
I fluttered my fingers at him for good measure.
Fischer stalked off without a backward glance, and I grinned at his hulking back.
But the Captain followed closely on his heels, and when he paused in the breakfast hall doorway to look at me, my grin stuttered.
I snatched up the closest rag and turned to the shelves, grabbing a bottle at random and wiping off the dust in hurried, clumsy strokes.
I felt too alert, every sense flooded with overwhelming awareness. My skin was tight, my ears pricked up like an animal’s.
“Alright, move out,” the Captain was saying, in that firm but bored tone he took with his men, like a worn out father of slightly unruly children. “At attention out front, and I’ll join you in a moment.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rose with every footstep that fell closer and closer to the bar.
“Might I have a word?”
The bottleneck slipped in my grasp by a hair’s breadth, and I tightened my hold before I turned.
The Captain was leaning over the bar, both of his forearms braced on the counter, the green of his eyes bright and intense beneath his pinched brow.
I didn’t give my Flame a chance to react before I shoved it down, heart hammering painfully.
At least we had the width of the bar between us; I pressed my back into the shelves, just to be sure.
“About Fischer–”
“I’m not going to apologise,” I said hotly. My Flame wriggled, straining for that heat.
Careful.
But the Captain’s brow smoothed, scarred lip twitching. He tilted his head at me.
“Would you consider yourself a defensive person?”
I turned back to the shelves without a word.
“I’m not asking you to apologise,” he went on, a hint of exasperation riding the lilting roll of his tongue.
“But I need you to understand that Fischer – that all of these men – are my responsibility. If they step out of line, if you have any issue with them whatsoever, I need you to take it up with me.”
“So you can make excuses for them?”
He hissed irritably under his breath, and when I whirled around the frown was back, deeper this time, dragging his thick black brows together.
I scowled right back at him, clenching harder against the building heat of my magic.
My fingers tightened on the bottle in an echo of that inner struggle until pain shuddered through my knuckles.
“This is my establishment,” I gritted out, “and Sorcha is my responsibility.”
“And I appreciate that.” His accent was stronger in his frustration; the softer sounds more fluid, harder ones crisp and sharp.
“But men like Fischer don’t become soldiers to protect the vulnerable.
There’s no code of honour at play. Just the promise of justified violence, at the slightest provocation. ”
I’d seen enough of our kingdom, of Kingsborough especially, to understand that. I had zero interest in a lesson on corruption and bloodthirst, particularly from a man so deeply entrenched in that very same culture.
“I’m familiar with the type,” I said blandly.
“Then you’ll understand me when I ask you not to rise to him again.”
“You’re asking me not to protect my family.”
“I’m not–” His hand fisted then flexed, an irritated gesture underlined by the slight rise in his voice and the flattening of his lip. “That is not what I’m saying.”
“Good. Because if he so much as looks at Sorcha again–”
“You’ll come to me,” he said firmly. Earnestly, his striking eyes trained steadily on my own. “Please.”
I held his gaze for a moment longer before the struggle in my chest got the better of me, and I was forced to turn away again. I put the bottle down, my fingers still curled in a stiff claw when I pried them from the neck and reached for another.
“Rosie.”
His voice was sharp, loud enough that I wondered if I wasn’t the only one who struggled to keep something leashed within me.
“It’s Rosaleen,” I snapped, matching him for volume. My Flame keened and crackled, but my restraint held firm. I didn’t turn. Just glanced over my shoulder, far enough for my words to carry when I lowered my voice. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
He said nothing – but it was several long moments before I heard his footsteps move away. The door swung open and firmly shut, and I finally allowed myself a full breath.
In the cage of my chest, the stubborn embers of my magic glowed.