Chapter 15
I turned to find that the source of the voice was a brawny man swaggering towards us.
My heart sank. So far, no one had seemed to recognize Tarben.
I suspected it was because of how casually he was dressed.
My mind automatically went into a state of alert.
Would people swarm us once they realized their prince was amongst them?
I opened my mouth to suggest we make a swift exit, but Tarben was already addressing the man. “They’ll let anyone into this city these days.” His tone was lighthearted and he embraced the man like he was a long-lost relative. Some of the tightness in my shoulders eased.
The man flung his arms open in declaration. “The fine ladies of this city have spoken, and I listened.”
“Or there’s a troupe of jesters in town desperate for new candidates.”
They turned their attention to me, both chuckling. The stranger gave me a lazy once-over, not bothering to hide his appreciation.
I stared back defiantly; I was not one to shrivel up like a withering flower under the male gaze.
The stranger was tall and heavily muscled with golden hair that met his broad shoulders.
His neatly-trimmed beard matched the color of his hair and his tawny eyes held a predatory gleam.
He reminded me of a lion. A self-assured lion, wearing a sword sheathed on each hip and a thick bandage wrapped around his left hand.
“And who is this?” He eyed me like I was his next meal.
Tarben shot him a warning glare. “Alara, please meet this cocky brute, otherwise known as Lord Magnus.”
My eyebrows lifted. “Lord?” I didn’t bother to disguise my scoff.
“I know. It’s hard to believe that someone this handsome could be born of nobility,” he quipped.
Tarben rolled his eyes. “Please take no notice of him. He’s been away at the border where I can only assume he has been devoid of any civilized company for weeks.”
“Certainly not any that looks like that.” His eyes swept over my body once again.
My lip curled. “What is it that you did at the border, Lord Magnus? Did you carry heavy loads alongside the other asses?”
Tarben and Magnus exchanged a look, then the latter burst into raucous laughter.
“She’s got a mouth on her,” he said to Tarben, which only irritated me more. I ground my teeth. Cocky brute indeed.
Tarben gave me a deeply apologetic look as Magnus went on. “My apologies, milady, I was so taken aback by your beauty that I momentarily forgot my manners. Would you allow me to make it up to you by buying you a drink?” He nodded towards the tavern.
“We were on our way back to the castle,” Tarben said. “Another time.”
“Not even one drink?” Magnus persisted, feigning a look of hurt. “I’ve been back for days now, and you haven’t once bothered to seek out your oldest friend. You wound me, Tar.”
Tarben shot me a look that said, It’s your choice either way.
I was torn. While I didn’t particularly care to entertain any more of this asshole’s brash leering and crude remarks, I had never been inside a tavern before—mortal or otherwise—and I desperately wanted to.
I found myself saying, “We have time for one drink.” It seemed as though my hunger for new experiences had not yet been satiated.
Magnus looked smug. “Excellent! You won’t regret it.”
Thinking I may regret it, I accepted Tarben’s elbow and allowed Magnus to lead the way.
***
The brightly-painted tavern was surprisingly dim on the inside, despite the numerous windows lining the front of the building and the central hearth housing a blazing fire.
Dozens of wooden tables, chairs and benches were spread across the generous space.
The walls were adorned with nautical-themed paintings, netting, framed maps, a brass compass rose and the worn wooden wheel of a ship.
What caught me by surprise was the impressive pair of mounting antlers displayed proudly above the hearth.
An interesting choice amidst the seafarer iconography.
Peeling my feet off the sticky floor, I followed Magnus and Tarben to a vacant table in the corner where we’d be on the periphery of anyone’s attention. Inhaling the overpowering scent of spilled ale, I didn’t need to think twice about what soured the floorboards.
I wouldn’t exactly call it charming, but there was a certain allure to the lively atmosphere of the tavern.
The place was bustling with all manner of patrons—wealthy and poor, young and old, male and female.
The clientele was made up of sailors, merchants, artists, locals, travelers and even, to my fascination, ladies of the night seeking suitors to warm their beds for a cost. I would have been happy to spend the rest of the afternoon nestled in the corner, quietly watching them indulge in their various vices.
My thoughts were interrupted by Magnus announcing that he was going to get us a drink. As he retreated towards the serving area, Tarben turned to me. “We don’t have to do this. Say the word and we’ll leave.”
“Why? Is it not up to His Highness’s royal standards?” I teased.
“I think you’ll find I’ve ventured into the city enough times to know my way around a tavern,” he countered. “Besides, it’s not The Stag and Stern I’m worried about.” He nodded towards Magnus, who was chatting animatedly with the barkeep like they were old friends.
“You don’t need to worry, I’m fine.” Truthfully, I was not concerned about the likes of Magnus. I knew exactly how to handle an arrogant male. Goddess knew there were plenty of them at court in Vantillios.
“He means well, he’s just… Well, he’s just Magnus.”
“Your oldest friend.” He returned my pointed look with something between a smile and a grimace. “I’d hate to think what kind of mischief the two of you have gotten up to over the years.”
“None whatsoever, and if Cook ever tells you we stole those apple pies, she’s a liar and I maintain it was some other hungry midsummer revelers.”
I raised my eyebrows in mock horror. “Stealing from the castle cook is a very serious offense. I had no idea I was fraternizing with such a delinquent.”
He laughed in that easy way of his. “Fraternizing? Is that what we’re doing?”
I tilted my head. “Would you prefer we call it performing your royal duty?” I asked, echoing his earlier words.
Leaning in closer, his eyes locked on mine. Lowering his voice, he said, “I don’t care what we call it, as long as we keep doing it.”
Before I could respond, three foaming ales were unceremoniously slammed onto the scuffed table. “If the two of you would quit your flirting for five minutes, I’m ready to hear all about how you met,” said Magnus.
Tarben shoved him, then launched into the story about the shipwreck and how I came to be at the castle.
While he spoke, I sipped my ale. I immediately hated its bitter taste and the way that bubbles seemed to float up my throat and towards my nostrils. Still, I forced it down, partially out of politeness and partially for something to do.
Once Tarben was finished with the tale, Magnus whistled and glanced at me with admiration. “So, you’re telling me that all I need to do is damn near drown, and a magnificent creature like you will come and rescue me?”
“I think you’ll find that in your case, they might make an exception,” I retorted.
His responding guffaw was like gravel to my ears. “It’s alright, I’m taken nowadays anyhow.” He shrugged.
Tarben pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in disbelief. “For how long do we have the pleasure of your company?”
Magnus shrugged. “Weeks at least,” he said, holding up his bandaged hand in explanation.
“Papercut?”
Magnus snorted into his mug of ale. “No, you royal prick. I was feeding the fire, then the bastard thing decided to bite my hand.”
Like the bubbles of my ale, unexpected laughter rose through my body. This mortal was clearly a few sardines short of a school.
“Let me guess, these hungry flames just attacked you after one too-many of those,” Tarben said, jerking his chin towards Magnus’s mug.
“It’s as if you were there, Tar.”
Tarben shook his head again, this time with a smile. “What news from the south?” he asked, all traces of good humor leaving his face.
Magnus polished off the remainder of his ale and signaled a passing barmaid for another. “Same old bullshit. Nothing more than overzealous pricks trying to force our hand. As if we’re the ones responsible for the shit happening across the continent.”
My ears perked up. “What’s happening across the continent?”
“War, sweetheart.”
I tried, and failed, not to roll my eyes at his dismissive tone. “I know there’s a war, but I’m unclear as to why.”
“Have you been living under a rock?”
Shit. “My old home was very isolated. We were so deep in the countryside that it was difficult to keep abreast of current news.”
Magnus looked as though he was about to make an impudent comment, but Tarben interjected. “It comes down to the same fundamental concept that’s the driving force behind all war: power. Pursuing it, asserting it, holding on to it.”
I kept my mouth firmly shut and listened as he continued.
“Many years ago, a high-ranking general from Niab emerged—Nicanor. He made a name for himself through winning victories in a string of local conflicts and, as his notoriety grew, he garnered support from some influential figures. Eventually, backed by these powerful allies, he orchestrated a coup, violently overthrowing the monarchy of Niab. After that, he swiftly slaughtered all those who posed a threat to his new regime.”
I schooled my features into a neutral expression, as if hearing about this mortal dictator wasn’t completely shocking to me.
“He proclaimed himself the new king and, for years, he ruled with an iron fist. However, his thirst for power was insatiable, and his ambition grew. He decided Niab wasn’t enough.