Chapter 28
MYRA
Myra burst into raw, unfiltered laughter as Rian tried to pull Laurince up to force him to dance. Laurince glared at her, and she slapped her hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter.
"Come on, Cap’n," Rian said, stumbling on his feet and acting very un-kingly. "You know you want to."
"I really don’t," Laurince argued. Although Myra could see the shadow of his dimple at the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps you should go to bed. Are you tired? I’m tired."
Rian yawned, and his grip on Laurince slipped. "I suppose I am a little"—he stumbled—"tired."
Laurince clapped his hands triumphantly. "Let’s all go to bed then." He reached for the king, but Rian swatted Laurince’s hand away.
With an unsteady finger, Rian pointed at Myra and Laurince. "No, no. You two should stay. Have some fun. You’re both always so..." The king waved his hand around as if searching for the right word. Suddenly, he clutched his hand as if snatching the word from the air. "Uptight."
Myra’s mouth fell open. She didn’t know whether she should be insulted or simply laugh.
"That’s quite enough," Laurince said, ushering Rian away from the table. "I think it’s time to go to bed."
"When did you become Mr. No-fun, huh?" Rian challenged, poking the captain in his chest.
"I am fun," Laurince retorted, batting Rian’s hand away with a small pout.
"Prove it." Rian tipped up his chin. "I’ll go to bed if you stay here and prove to Mys that you can actually be a good time."
At the mention of her name, Myra straightened in her seat.
The captain scoffed. "You’re being ridiculous."
"No, you are. Right, Mys?"
"Uhm…" Myra glanced between the two men. Had someone added more logs to the hearth? Suddenly her shirt felt a little too thick, her collar a little too tight.
As if seeing the debate in her gaze, Laurince shook his head slightly.
Her stomach flipped. And perhaps it was the mead or whatever magic was in the tavern, but instead of agreeing with Laurince wholeheartedly like she should have, she said, "I suppose you’re not wrong."
"See!" Rian shouted and slapped his hand against his thigh.
Myra took a sip of mead, hiding her amused grin.
Groaning, Laurince hung his head and pressed a hand to his chest as he leaned heavily against the back of his chair. "You wound me, Haze."
Rian slapped Laurince on the back. "Now, I’m going to stop at the bar and head to bed. Fifth room on the left. Don’t be too early," Rian said with a wink before taking off.
Myra’s gaze trailed after him. "Are you sure he’ll be fine?" she asked when Rian was far enough away.
Laurince grabbed the back of his chair and leaned his weight against it.
Myra’s attention dropped to his arms. He had rolled up his sleeves, revealing a few veins crawling up his forearms. She quickly glanced away and took another sip of mead.
The liquid warmed her throat, but it did little to cool the feeling blooming in her core.
"Would you believe me if I said he’s an even better fighter when he’s drunk?" Laurince asked.
Myra snorted. "Absolutely not."
"Well, it’s true. He took down five men the night I danced on the tables." A small smile graced his face at the memory.
"You’re lying."
"Nope," Laurince said, his lips smacking together and making a small popping sound. He slumped back down into the seat. He tapped his fingers on the table as he turned his gaze to the crowd.
After a moment, Myra mumbled, "I am not uptight."
Laurince squinted, tilting his head in thought. "You are a little. But I certainly am not."
With a scoff, she rolled her eyes. "A rock is still a stone, you know. Just because I might prefer staying inside doesn’t mean you’re not uptight too."
Laurince smirked. "Dig the knife deeper, why don’t you?"
Myra chuckled, and Laurince’s faint grin widened, turning into a full-fledged smile. Her stomach fluttered at the sight of his dimple.
She dropped her gaze to the cup and twisted it in her hands.
Laurince leaned back in the chair and rocked it back onto its two back legs. Drumming his fingers on the edge of the table, he looked around the tavern. It was early enough that a decent number of people were still dancing, the music not yet having slowed.
Laurince was probably right. Rian would be fine. They were still on Tetrian soil. The people here didn’t seem to be fazed by the attacks that were plaguing the seven kingdoms. They were safe. For now. For tonight.
Slowly, Myra let the music soften her concerns. Soon, she was swaying to the rhythm.
"Well," Laurince said, the front feet of his chair slamming down as he reached for the pitcher, "might as well not waste this, right?"
She eyed the pitcher. Her neck was already warming, and the tips of her ears were buzzing. Yet she pushed her cup forward, anyway. Laurince poured the mead, dividing the rest evenly and filling their cups to the brim.
He raised his mug. "To being un-uptight."
Myra’s hand halted an inch from his. "That’s not a word."
"Just cheers me, Haze. We know I hate reading."
Laughing, Myra clinked her mug against his and drank. She might have taken an extra sip for good measure.
When she set her cup down, she ran her fingers along the side of the mug as she looked out toward the strangers.
She admired the way the people moved with such unabashed joy and reckless abandon.
They danced without a care in the world.
She wished she could have a single moment in her life when that could have been her, too.
For her entire life, she had been riddled with guilt or paranoia.
She wondered what it was like to let go.
Resting her chin atop her propped-up hand, she sighed. She must have done so louder than she had intended, though, because Laurince heard her and pushed himself from the table.
"Let’s go."
Myra stared at his outstretched hand. A pang of sadness twisted in her throat.
Leaving might have been the smartest choice, but she wasn’t ready.
She wanted to relish everyone else’s joy a little longer.
She scraped her teeth across her bottom lip and debated how she could convince him to leave without her.
He wiggled his fingers. "Are you going to leave a man hanging, or are you going to dance with me?"
"Dance with you?"
Laurince shrugged nonchalantly. "Might as well, right? You’re not a very good liar.
If Rian remembers to ask you tomorrow, you’ll give me away if we go to bed before I at least make a fool of myself once.
" He gave her a rueful smile. "When was the last time you experienced your own joy and not someone else’s? "
Myra’s breath hitched. As if on its own accord, her hand rose and slipped into his.
Laurince tugged her up to her feet before she could second-guess herself.
The air whisked through her hair, sending the blonde strands whipping around her.
Then he was pulling her behind him, heading closer to the musician, where a small crowd danced.
The song was an upbeat tune. But as Laurince spun her around, making her face him, the song melted into something else, something slower, more intimate.
The people around them coupled up, hands meeting, fingers entwining, chests pressing together, hips swaying.
No, no, no.
Myra took a step back, her hand uncurling from the captain’s.
"I said we’d dance, didn’t I?" Laurince asked, a brow cocked.
"But this is…" Myra glanced around. She couldn’t dance to this. Not with him.
"Do you doubt my dancing skills that much?" Laurince quipped.
Flashes of the captain moving around the dance floor during the week of Kallie and Rian’s failed-wedding surfaced.
Laurince had been one of several men who had taken part in the traditional Frenzian dance, so Myra had witnessed just how well he could move.
She recalled how his suit hugged his frame, perfectly molding to the muscles that lay beneath the fabric. The image made her a little dizzy.
Or was that the alcohol?
Definitely the alcohol.
"I would never," Myra said, forcing her voice to sound light and playful, though she wasn’t sure she successfully hid how nervous she was.
He pulled her closer. "Don’t worry, Haze, I’ll be a perfect gentleman." His voice, low and husky, sent a ripple down her spine. "Place this hand here," he said, guiding one of her hands onto his shoulder, "and hold my hand with this one."
"I’ve danced before," Myra mumbled, suddenly feeling the need to defend herself.
His free hand slipped to her waist, his gentle touch searing through the fabric of her blouse.
He wiggled his fingers, tapping his pinky against her hip.
"Your hips say otherwise, Haze. They are as stiff as a board.
" He leaned closer, his breath brushing the tip of her ear.
"What was that you said about not being uptight again? "
Is he flirting?
Myra must have been misconstruing his tone.
The temptation to reach out and see what emotions danced along the thread was strong, but she hesitated.
His emotions were his own. She refused to violate them.
She let the thread slip between her fingers like water, the emotions drifting away before she could grasp them.
Laurince chuckled and moved his hand higher up her back.
He guided her forward, swiftly falling into a simple box step.
As they danced, a comfortable amount of space remained between them, yet the faint traces of cinnamon from the spiced mead and pine consumed her senses. Gods, she could drown in it—
"There you go," he said, interrupting her wayward thoughts as she fell into step with him.