1 #3
The young men head for a raised platform, featuring a large, comfortable booth.
It’s near the bar, whose lengthy surface looks like a polished midnight sky dotted with pink stars.
A two-story wall of incandescent liquor bottles rears high above the bartenders, who are busy mixing up drinks laced with luminous blue ice, glowing purple beads, or glittering pink sugar.
The prince settles in against the pillows in his booth. Half a dozen beautiful girls have materialized, and he seems to know them all by name.
“Merisha.” He smiles at a girl with golden skin and scarlet locks studded with crystal beads.
He says her name like an invitation, and her long legs carry her over the low table to the couch, where she snuggles in at his side.
I glance at Renfrow, and he gives me a barely perceptible nod, indicating that she’s a familiar face, safe to be with the prince.
Other girls find places among the men, including one with a dozen facial piercings who ends up on Vawn’s lap, to the apparent chagrin of Merisha.
A server dressed in nothing but lace ribbons and glowing body paint arrives with several bottles of liquor for the group.
To the prince, he delivers a sealed box of charna cigarettes, an herb milder than emthal, with a steadying effect on the nerves rather than a euphoric one.
Within minutes, the rainbow smoke from the prince’s cigarette floats in a cloud over the group.
I maintain a position at the left side of the booth, while Renfrow remains on the right.
The server dips the nail of his smallest left finger into every drink before the prince sips it.
That fingernail must be equipped with a glyph for poison detection.
I make a mental note to investigate such glyphs, on the off chance that I do become a permanent part of the prince’s retinue.
“I want to dance,” pouts Tolgan. “Who’s going to dance with me?” He nudges Loxley, who has the unicorn horn tucked between his thighs, pointing upward at an angle.
“Suck my unicorn dick and maybe I will.” Loxley runs a hand suggestively along the horn.
I look away on the pretense of checking the exits, but in reality it’s because I want to strike him. I’d pay money to punch him right in the throat, or maybe in his actual dick, which is probably quite small.
Tolgan and Loxley push past me a second later, on their way to the dance floor. The unicorn horn lies discarded on the couch cushions. I glance at it, pained by the pearly dried blood still clinging to its root.
When I glance up, my eyes lock with Vawn’s icy gaze.
The smirk on his pretty mouth makes me sick.
I can’t shake the image of him activating his strength glyph and yanking the horn out of the dead beast’s skull.
The brutality of that moment makes me want to punch him, too.
I really need to work on my impulse for violence against the people I’m supposed to protect.
Even without the glyph, he must be strong. He’s wearing a black coat, open at the front to show his bare chest, and from the curves of his shoulders and the contours of his pecs, he’s concealing more muscle than I’d expect from the spoiled youngest member of the Molloi family.
“Guard.” The prince’s voice interrupts my ponderings. “You there, girl. The new one. What’s your name?”
My stomach twists. “Syth, Your Highness.”
“Syth?” He laughs. “What sort of name is that? Is it a nickname? A diminutive? Ah, yes, I can see by your expression that it is. What’s the long version?”
“Forsythia.”
“Forsythia,” he repeats mockingly, and the girl on his lap titters. His hand is tucked beneath her breast, his thumb stroking slowly up and down against its curve. “No wonder you chose a nickname. That’s far too flowery a word for someone like you.”
“You should grow out your hair,” suggests Merisha, her tone friendly and her eyes poisonous. “That boyish cut really doesn’t suit you.”
At least she didn’t make an odd comment about the lavender color of my hair, which I inherited from my mother. Sometimes people ask strange questions, like if the carpet matches the drapes. The answer is yes, but I don’t like carpets—I prefer waxed floors.
I should reply to Merisha with a polite Yes, my lady. Instead I say, “This hairstyle is practical for a fighter. Leaves very little for the enemy to grab onto.”
“Enemy?” The girl on Vawn’s lap giggles. “This is the Lyre, sweetheart. We come here every week, and other than the occasional drunken skirmish, there has never been so much as a hint of danger.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” I really need to keep my mouth shut. Renfrow’s eyes are shooting daggers of reproach at me.
Thankfully a server approaches at that moment, bringing the prince a fresh cocktail that glows sunshine yellow and features a pink bloom floating on its surface.
I turn my attention back to the room, sweeping the far corners with my gaze.
A trio of men in a faraway booth have been staring at the prince and his friends ever since we arrived.
Which shouldn’t be a problem, because everyone stares when he’s around—but they’ve barely taken their eyes off him, and none of them have touched the drinks or the food on their table.
I’m about to alert Renfrow to the fact, but the prince speaks again. “Syth, come test my drink.”
“I can check it for you, Highness,” interposes the server.
Vawn waves him off. “I want her to do it the old-fashioned way. Come on, Syth. Take a sip. Tell me if it’s safe.”
I’m not supposed to drink on duty, but a direct order from the prince supersedes any such guidelines. Vawn doesn’t pass the cocktail to me, so I have to lean far over the table to grab the glass.
Too late, I realize that he did this on purpose. He made me bend over so my cleavage would be on full display for him. The appreciative smile curving his mouth and the lascivious droop of his lashes confirm it.
Renfrow was right. I wasn’t chosen for this detail because of my talent.
I was picked because I’m fuckable. Because the asshole playboy prince, fifth in line for the throne, wants a beautiful female bodyguard.
I’m just an accessory to him, like the pink highlights in his hair or the chains looping across his bare chest.
I’ve lost this job anyway. Might as well go out with fireworks.
Lifting the cocktail to my lips, I take one sip. Then another. Then I cock my head, as if I’m uncertain, and take a third.
“Syth.” Renfrow’s tone is a condemnation.
“I can’t be certain if it’s poisoned,” I muse. “Let me check again.” One more sip. Then a long gulp.
When there’s a single swallow left in the glass, I bow low across the table, giving the prince a full view of the only assets he seems to appreciate. Holding his gaze, I extend the drink to him. “It seems to be safe.”
The girls with him are slack-jawed in shock. Vawn lifts the glass high. “Do you know how much a Kredissian Sun-bloom cocktail costs, guard girl?”
A horrible sinking sensation hollows out my gut. “No, Your Highness.”
He names a price that’s nearly half what my glyph set cost me, and I’m stunned speechless. I can’t imagine spending such an astronomical sum on a beverage.
“Oh Syth, don’t panic. It’s all right.” The prince grins, showing a long row of brilliant teeth and feral-looking canines. “You’ll just have to pay me back. I’m sure we can think of something you can do for me.”
The girl on his lap squirms, clearly unhappy at his lack of attention to her.
“Feeling neglected, darling?” Vawn croons.
She nods, pushing out her full lips in a pout.
“Oh, precious. Let me fix it.” He kisses her mouth repentantly, lightly at first, and then he slides his tongue in.
Swallowing past the residual panic in my throat, I scan the room again. I don’t dare look at Renfrow.