Chapter 21
Talwyn blinked in surprise when Faron stood in her doorway early the next morning. He had a mischievous gleam in his eyes while he waited for her to finish sheathing her knives in the holsters strapped across her back and on her thighs. “I think you may be a little overly prepared.”
“Did you forget that we’re in the slums? I piss off every criminal at least once a day, and the mages are still hunting me down.” She sheathed the last dagger inside her boot and pulled the leg of her trousers down over it.
“You’re safe as long as I’m with you.”
His playful tone caught her attention, and she chuckled. “Wasn’t I the one that saved you at the incinerator?” She stepped into his space. He propped one arm along the doorway and leaned over her. His proximity made her face flush, and she couldn’t stop the easy smile that pulled at her lips.
He leaned dangerously close to her. “I seem to remember a certain someone needing to be pulled out of the river,” he whispered.
Talwyn’s heartbeat pounded in her chest. She didn’t dare breathe.
“I have a surprise.” He pulled back.
Tal couldn’t help her disappointment, but she could see the mischief in his gaze.
He motioned for her to leave first and followed close behind.
She peeked at him over her shoulder. She bit her lip, trying to compose herself, but his tongue glided over his own lips, and her fury roared southward.
She clamped her teeth shut and worked to rein it back in.
The small exchanges continued as he led her to the bakery, saying they needed food before he brought her to their destination. “You’ve been delivering baskets every day. Did you forget to pack?”
“That food was for everyone else. I want to have a taste from this amazing baker Egan keeps talking about.”
Tal secretly wondered if he made the excuse to support the business owner.
When they arrived, Evania squealed at the sight of the swordsman who had first come to her rescue.
Despite being without his maroon suit, she recognized him instantly.
Faron hugged the siblings and pulled a trinket for each of them out of his pocket.
When they ran off, he greeted the baker and his wife.
By the exchange between them, Tal guessed the noble had visited the children before.
She suspected Faron’s penchant for gift giving extended to the family.
Shortly after, the two of them stood on either side of a display while Tal sampled a roll.
She locked eyes with Faron when she bit into it.
She noticed the tick in his jaw, how the corner of his lips lifted.
He took a deep breath. “Now, now,” he breathed, his voice hoarse, “behavior like that is going to get you in trouble.”
Tal chuckled and stepped around the display until she stood in front of him. She opened her mouth to say something that surely would have gotten her into the kind of trouble he referred to when footsteps behind her signaled a newcomer. Faron tensed and stared over her shoulder.
“Your Majesty,” Daire commanded from behind Tal. She turned to catch him straightening from a bow. “The council requests your presence and has sent me to escort you back to the palace.”
Talwyn stared at Daire in confusion. She laughed. Daire must have been mocking Faron. But his face remained the mask of a captain, and he refused to meet her gaze. She turned back to Faron who clenched his jaw and pursed his lips. His whole body went rigid. Tal gaped between the two men.
“What?” she breathed.
When Faron didn’t respond, the knight persisted, “I really must insist, Your Majesty.”
“Majesty?” she asked Faron, her voice rising an octave. He closed his eyes and sighed without relieving the tension in his body. “Majesty?” she said, louder now.
“Tal—” Defeat coated Faron’s voice.
She laughed incredulously, turned to Daire who still refused to acknowledge her, then to Faron who reached for her. “No.” She pulled back and tossed the bread on the ground. She darted out of the bakery past a wide-eyed Eddard. Faron yelled at Daire to give him a minute then called after her.
Tal hurried down the street, unsure of her destination.
Her mind raced with thoughts of betrayal and confusion.
Her breath hitched. She pulled a dagger from the sheath at her hip; the familiarity of the handle helped her focus to keep her fury at bay.
She paced toward the water, where the sound of her boots on the wooden planks of the pier provided a rhythm to focus her thoughts.
“Tal, wait!” Faron called behind her. He grabbed her arm, turning her around.
She ripped it out of his grasp. “Majesty?” she spat the word at him.
He flinched. “Please, Tal.”
“The king!” She ran her empty hand through her hair and turned her face to the sky. “Was this all a joke? Have you had your fun pretending to slum it with the poor orphan from the docks? Am I a joke to you?” Her voice shook with anger.
“Let me explain,” he pleaded, holding his hands up in surrender.
“Explain what, Faron? Hells, I can’t believe I trusted you. I was a fool. The king! The rake king who spends his mornings sneaking out of women’s beds. Gods, I should have known someone like you would never—” She wouldn’t finish the thought aloud.
“Tal, please.” He reached for her again, but she pulled back.
“Don’t touch me,” she snapped. Tears burned in her eyes, but she willed them to stay put.
A thought occurred to her. “Is that why you were at the incinerator that night? Did you plan for that to happen? Try to get close to me, so you can get me alone? Take me back to your dungeons? Hells, did you order the mages to come after me? You did a fine job acting surprised when I showed you my fury, didn’t you?
When did you really learn about my magic? What were you planning to do with me?”
“Gods no! Tal. I had no idea. How could you think that?” He stepped closer to her again when she tried to back away.
“You lied, Faron. You lied to all of us. You lied to me. You—” Her voice broke. “You kissed me, Faron. Was that a lie too? Dammit I can’t believe I actually thought—” A tear fell onto her cheek, and she cursed herself. She dropped her dagger and wiped at it angrily with both hands.
“Please, just let me explain.”
“What is there to explain? You had your fun slumming it with the commoners, watched us starve and suffer in filth and violence, then went back to your pretty palace with your overflowing plates, and stupid balls. Did you go back to your noble friends and laugh about the commoner who reeks of rubbish and thinks the king lo—” She caught herself on the last word.
“It wasn’t like that, and you know it.” His tormented gaze burned into her.
“Do I? Because I don’t even know who you are. Isn’t that right, James?” She used the king’s name like a weapon. Another tear fell, and she let it. She clenched her fists at her sides.
“My name is Faron.” He stressed each word. “Let me explain,” he pleaded.
“No.”
“Tal—”
“I said no! I don’t want to hear it.” She bent and picked up her dagger, flipping it in her grasp for comfort.
She couldn’t look him in the eyes. “Don’t follow me,” she said at last and continued down the docks until she could find a tunnel entrance.
She didn’t glance back, but she knew Faron stayed where she left him.
He called after her twice but didn’t follow.
That night, Tal sat in Gale’s Tavern. There were places closer to the tunnels where she could get a pint, but none that she could get away with swinging a fist at a few patrons.
She needed the rush of adrenaline to distract her from her anger.
She curled her hands around the metal cup and hunched in her seat.
Her eyes scanned the patrons, searching for one who would fight back, and her gaze caught on a familiar face with sandy hair near the bar.
When their eyes met, he turned his head in an obvious attempt to appear occupied.
Tal narrowed her eyes at him, noting the nervous tapping of his fingertip on the bar top.
“So, what if he’s the king?” Sybil broke Tal’s concentration and gnawed on a greasy piece of mystery meat.
She had returned from her bounty earlier that afternoon, and it took both her and Carrick to stop Tal from burning down half the docks.
“I say that actually works to our advantage. He’s got even better connections than we thought.
Hells, he’s the most powerful person in the kingdom. What’s wrong with that?”
Tal stared at her drink but remained silent.
“Oh, I see. It’s because you kissed him, isn’t it?” Sybil leaned forward, excitement in her deep brown eyes.
“Drop it Syb,” Carrick warned while Tal seethed.
“No, no. That’s it!” She slapped the table. “Our little ball of fire is embarrassed. Did the pretty royal hurt your ego?” She smirked.
Tal, who had taken a swig of her ale, slammed her pint on the wooden table. She leaned across and hissed, “If you want to keep the pretty hair on your head, I suggest you shut your beak.”
Sybil’s grin grew further as she sat back. “Ooh ho ho! Wait a minute, I think she likes him! She thought she had a chance! Don’t worry, you can still be his mistress.”
Tal shoved her chair back as she planted her feet and stared at Sybil with fire in her eyes. She clenched her fists, and almost hoped Sybil would challenge her to a fight.
Carrick pushed away from the table. “Grab your drink. Let’s go.”
Tal stomped to the bar. She shoved Eddard’s shoulder. “Following me? Has he sent his pups after me?”
To his credit, the guardsman did his best to appear dumbfounded. “Goodness, Tal, what’s with all the hostility? I lived here, remember?”
Carrick grabbed her arm. “You’re not mad at him.”
She ripped her arm out of Carrick’s grasp and pushed out of Gale’s, grumbling that she didn’t even get to throw one punch. The tavern door hit the wall with a satisfying crack.