Chapter 19 #2
“I know that Herr Lamen pays you under the table each week, only giving you half the wages you’re owed under Sophrosyne’s bylaws, and that you take it, because you still submit monthly claims to the city’s welfare offices, forging medical records to lay claim to a hardship stipend that’s intended for people who actually fucking need it.
And I know this shit, not because I have even one iota of interest in you, what you do, or who you spread your legs for,” I seethed.
“But because I am the motherfucking Scouting and Reconnaissance Captain of the godsdamned Elder Guard, you are a criminal, and if you think you can escape my authority just because you’ve taken my cock, you are sorely mistaken.
So if you, or anyone else in your little circle of my apparently scorned one-night stands, even thinks to approach my woman, you’re done for.
I will ruin your fucking life if you even so much as glance in her direction.
That’s not a godsdamned threat, Neandra. It’s a promise.”
“I—I’m not—I haven’t—You’re wrong, I don’t—” The woman spluttered and stammered, and Ysabeau began to cackle from the other side of the room.
“I do believe that’s your sign to leave, Miss Contrieau,” Ysabeau said pointedly. “And respectfully, find another place to shop for your needs in the future. We don’t accept stolen coin here.”
Sour-faced and seething, the strawberry blonde huffed on her way out, muttering some diatribe beneath her breath that I didn’t care to hear.
“Thank you for that, Ysabeau,” I murmured, running an exasperated hand through my hair. I wasn’t all too proud of myself for dragging Neandra’s name for filth in front of the elderly shop owner, but I didn’t exactly regret it, either.
“It’s no trouble, Captain,” she replied. “No trouble at all. She only ever comes in to browse and paw through the latest collections, anyhow. I don’t think she’s ever even made a purchase.”
That hardly surprised me, given Ysabeau’s prices.
“Now, we have these in cream and ecru, olive, burgundy, and black, naturally,” she said, motioning to the selection she’d laid out atop her sewing table.
“I’ve also got something similar here, just a slightly different cut, in blush, deep rose, buttercream, and a nice periwinkle.
All in the appropriate sizes, mind you.”
“You’re such a doll,” I murmured, nodding appreciatively. All of these colors would suit Arken’s complexion—though she would look good in damn near anything. “And yes, these are excellent picks. I’ll take them.”
“Which ones, precisely?”
Fuck it.
“All of them.”
What Arken didn’t know about the Lyra I was about to blow wouldn’t hurt her. She was the one who had accused me of frivolous spending, after all.
“I think you’re quickly becoming my new favorite customer, Captain Vistarii.” Ysabeau smiled. “Give me just a moment, and I’ll get these wrapped up for you. Will you be needing a bag, or a gift box for the lucky lady?”
“Oh, please. I am most certainly the lucky one here, Miss Ysabeau,” I replied with a charming smile, counting out my coins to include a healthy tip for her complimentary tailoring services. “Especially as I’ll get to see your lovely curations on an even more lovely display soon enough.”
Though I was offering the shopkeeper the very best of my behavior in gratitude, my blood remained heated, still seething internally over the encounter with Neandra.
I hadn’t even cared about her utter disregard for my consent in the end—it was the implication that she would try to approach Arken that left me on edge.
Ysabeau smiled and tittered to herself as she turned to pull a gift box down from her shelves.
“Actually, do you accept private courier pick-ups, by any chance?” I inquired.
“Certainly,” she nodded. “And direct delivery from couriers of our own, should you require it.”
“Excellent,” I said.
I wouldn’t be headed home just yet.
Still feeling rather incensed, I found that I truly couldn’t help myself.
Instead of returning to the townhouse and patiently awaiting Arken’s return, I began to walk in the opposite direction—toward her apartment.
I took a very intentional route, albeit not the most efficient one, because I knew it was the one she’d defer to.
I was well acquainted with Arken’s preferred paths throughout the city, and enough time had passed that I was certain she’d had enough time to pack and was likely already on her way back to me.
And thank the fucking gods for that. I needed that woman to bring me back down to earth before I did something out of anger that I’d regret.
It only took a few short minutes of striding through the Shadows before I was forced to stop in my tracks and question if this had really been the best of my decisions today.
Because there she was, in all of her gently ethereal glory, glowing in the sunlight and a touch more exposed than I would have liked.
With a canvas duffel at her side, Arken was now wearing a pretty little sundress that fell just barely halfway past those ample thighs, and a pair of knee-length brown leather boots.
But it wasn’t her outfit that had given me true pause.
It was the fact that she was peering over the wares of a florist’s stand, participating in an animated conversation with the young man behind the stall, who was laughing at something she’d said, and staring at her tits like she was his own Source-blessed fantasy come to life.
Easy, the weakening voice of reason in my head warned.
Still, I prowled forward, stalking down the cobblestone street until my hand met the small of her back.
She turned to me and smiled brightly before returning to the conversation, seeing as I had arrived mid-sentence. “Arken Asher, yeah, I live just down the way. And I don’t believe I caught your name, Mister…?”
“F-Farroway,” the man stuttered, brown eyes widening and flicking back and forth between us both. “Seth Farroway.”
He pointed awkwardly up at the hand-carved wooden sign that hung above his stalls, the one that read Farroway Flowers.
“It’s uh, the family business,” he tacked on, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.
“They’re all quite lovely. You must cultivate them well,” she said.
I followed her golden gaze to where it had landed, atop a collection of freshly cut peonies in a rather unusual shade—pale pink, but variegated with splashes of dark red, making the petals look as though they’d been dipped in blood. Hauntingly beautiful.
“S’nothing, really,” the florist said, still glancing between the two of us.
“This is my friend, Kieran,” she explained.
I stiffened, running my left hand up her back while the right one flexed at my side, instinctively wanting to reach for the weaponry I’d left at home. My jaw tightened as I gave Seth a very long, very pointed stare.
“Kieran Vistarii,” I offered tightly, extending a hand. “Captain of the Guard. It’s a pleasure.”
And I am not her fucking friend.
Clearly intimidated, the florist shook my hand awkwardly before he dropped his gaze, hunting for something in the mess of his arrangement tables.
“Ah, likewise, likewise, sir,” he mumbled, keeping his head low. “And thank you, erm, for your service.”
I tried not to roll my eyes, and I wasn’t all too bothered to notice that his hands were trembling, just a little bit, as he picked up a pair of shears.
Good.
“Here,” he said, turning to clip a single flower from the bunch Arken had been admiring, and offering it to her. “As my father says, a pretty lady should always have a pretty flower in her hand.”
If the man noticed me snarling beneath my breath as Arken accepted the offering, he didn’t show it. He was too busy blushing over the delighted, charming little smile she’d offered him in exchange.
“Oh, it’s beautiful, thank you!”
Seth looked a little too pleased with himself right about now.
“These ones are rather rare—we ship ’em in from a small island off the coast of Exxem. Only available this time of year. Please, keep it. On the house.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I purred, placing a few golden coins upon the table before plucking the flower from Arken’s admiring hand and brushing her hair back, exposing more of her neck—and what I’d done to it—before tucking the flower behind her ear.
“Sir, that’s far too generous,” he began to protest, as I’d just paid near enough to buy out the stall. “I must protest—”
“It’s nothing,” I said smoothly, looping my fingers around Arken’s wrist as I spoke. “But we really must be going. Thank you for the gift. Miss Asher and I have some important things to attend to.”
With that, I gave her wrist a subtle but sharp tug.
Well-trained in this regard, I was able to disguise my movements well enough that no innocent passersby would assume any ill intent, but my hand kept her shackled to my side as I dragged her toward a tight alleyway, shrouding us both in Shadow once I’d pulled her in with no small amount of force.
I pinned her up against the brick facade with a thigh between her legs, biting down on her neck before she had time to question what I was doing.
“Pull that shit again, Arken,” I hissed in her ear. “And I will fuck you so hard you won’t be walking straight for a week. I will make these lovely little bruises you like so much look like child’s play. Go ahead. Try me.”
Arken shivered, but the look in her eyes as I withdrew was anything but fearful.
Yeah. She knew godsdamned well what she was doing back there.
“Your townhouse is that way, you know,” she said, breathless but smirking.
“Yes, I know,” I snarled. “I’m well aware, Little Conduit. We’re not going to my townhouse.”
I was taking her back to her own godsdamned bed, where I was going to fuck her stupid, until I made damn sure she would never forget who the fuck she belonged to now.