Chapter Two Ronan

Chapter Two

Ronan

I am so close to the end of my vendetta, I can almost taste it. After more than a year of relentless searching, I have finally learned the name of the woman who destroyed everything I held dear. And she is here, in the Kingdom of Pentacles.

Adrenaline thrums in my veins, keeping at bay the exhaustion riding me as hard as I rode from my home within the Kingdom of Swords. Once I secured that last piece of information, not even the gods themselves could slow me down.

The sun dips below the horizon as I draw Sabre to a halt at the town stables. The streets buzz with life—merchants packing up their wares, the aroma of spiced meats wafting from nearby taverns, the distant strains of a minstrel’s tune. I swing down from the saddle, my boots hitting the cobblestones with a dull thud.

“You did well, Sabre,” I murmur, patting his sweat-lathered neck.

He snorts softly, offering an affectionate nicker in return. The gray stallion is spent, but like me, he thrives under pressure; otherwise, I wouldn’t have pushed him so hard.

Handing his reins to a stable boy, I stride over to the manager and place a few extra coins into his calloused hand. “Make sure he gets the good oats and a proper rubdown.”

“Aye, sir, that we will,” he replies eagerly, eyes gleaming at the generous tip. “So what brings ye to our fine kingdom? Is it duty or pleasure ye’ll be seeking? Perhaps I could point ye in the right—”

I turn and walk away. Uninterested in small talk or sharing details of my affairs, I let his words fade into the background hum of the bustling town.

There was a time when I would have returned his smile and exchanged a few friendly words before moving on. But I’m not that man anymore. Not since I returned home to find my father gone, the family business collapsed, and my mother on her deathbed. The day I laid her to rest is the day that man ceased to exist and a new one was born, one who lives for vengeance.

The only problem is I have no plan. But I am nothing if not resourceful. Tonight, I will eat and drink my fill, wash the grime of the road from my skin, and sleep like the dead. Tomorrow, I’ll head into town and gather intel on how I might gain access to my mark.

It’s a task made easier by the fact that I am already familiar with Pentacles and most of its nobles, though they will not know me. As a member of the personal guard to Valen, the prince of Swords, I have visited every kingdom and far-reaching region in Towerfall on multiple occasions. But nobles born of high blood only ever pay attention to those within their elite circles, never to those below—which will work to my advantage.

The lamplighter moves methodically down the cobblestone street, igniting each lamp and casting a warm glow that pushes back the encroaching darkness. The city is more alive tonight than usual with clusters of people lingering outside taverns, their laughter mixing with the distant strum of a lute.

A man’s bellow cuts through the din, and I follow a line of stragglers drawn in by his shouts. “Next is this rare bird ’ere. Ain’t she a beauty? Hale and hearty, she is. She’d be a fine addition to any proper household, ladies, or for some o’ you gents, maybe an improper house, eh?”

My upper lip curls in disgust. Among the lower classes, servants and pawns perform the same tasks; the difference is free will. Servants are in their positions by choice and receive wages for their work. Pawns, on the other hand, are unfortunate souls taken by force and sold at auction, condemned to a life of unpaid labor. The despicable practice was outlawed in our kingdom long ago, but plenty of regions still cling to the old ways.

I’m eager to reach the Gilded Coin and drink my weight in ale, but when my gaze lands on the pawn standing in the center of the stage, my steps falter. Having accompanied Prince Valen during his role as a royal emissary, I’ve encountered countless faces, yet I have never seen a more intriguing woman.

Her attire is a strange blend of feminine and masculine. Gray breeches hug the curves of her hips and thighs, then loosen around her calves, the hems brushing the tops of her stockinged feet.

But it is the pale blue bodice, held up by slender straps, that makes me thirst for more than just ale. Unlike the typical corsets made of thick wool and rigid boning that both conceal and accentuate the female form, her garment resembles a delicate chemise. The fabric is paper-thin and highlights the turgid points of her nipples and soft swells of her breasts, leaving little to the imagination.

Her heart-shaped face and delicate features remind me of the woodland nymphs in the stories my mother used to read to me as a child. High cheekbones, a pert nose, bee-stung lips, and eyes framed by lashes so thick I can see them from this distance. I can’t discern the color of her eyes from here, but any shade would be striking against her fair complexion and hair the color of autumn leaves kissed by the setting sun.

She is stunning, yet it’s not only her beauty or even her strange attire that has captured and held my attention. It’s the contrast between the quiet confidence in her posture and the emotion flashing in her eyes. It’s not the usual fear or defeat but something more akin to confusion or uncertainty, as though she doesn’t fully grasp her circumstances.

Telling myself that I’m sticking around out of mere curiosity, I step into the shadows of a nearby alley to observe.

“Let’s start the bidding at ten silver pieces!” the auctioneer announces with a flourish of his meaty hand. A flurry of arms shoot up from the crowd, and he eagerly points to those he suspects have deeper pockets, driving the price up swiftly. It isn’t long before the bids reach a hundred silver pieces, then shift to gold, leaving only two determined bidders locked in competition.

One is a woman in a modest black dress and bonnet, the typical attire of a house manager of a noble estate. The other is a man I recognize all too well. He’s the owner of a notorious brothel, eyeing the pawn as if she were a bar of solid gold.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter, my muscles tensing as their bids go back and forth. I don’t know which noble the woman works for, but I hope they have pockets deep enough for her to win.

“One hundred gold pieces from the gentleman!” the dealer shouts with a gleeful grin. “Madame, will you do one fifteen? One ten?” She shakes her head, her expression unreadable. “One oh five?”

Again, she declines. I glance over at her opponent. His arrogant smirk makes my fists clench, itching to punch that smug look off his ugly fucking face.

“Do I hear one oh five?” The dealer eyes the crowd, not ready to concede. “C’mon, gents, this sweet cunt could be yours for the taking.” He sticks out his tongue and reaches out to grab her sex. In an instant, she swings her shackled fists and nails him in the nose. He cups his face, screaming in pain as blood gushes between his fingers.

“Touch me again, and next time it’ll be your balls,” she hisses, eyes blazing.

Adding insult to injury, the crowd roars with laughter and hurls emasculating jeers at the dealer.

“You little—” Fury twists his features, and he rears back, ready to strike…

“Five hundred gold pieces!”

I look around with everyone else to see who it was that shouted before realizing it was me. Deciding to follow my gut, I step out of the shadows, repeat my bid, and commit to my impulsive decision. Though I have the dealer’s attention, his arm remains poised to strike.

“I do not purchase damaged goods,” I say firmly, my voice cutting through the murmurs. “If you want my coin, you would do well to back the fuck away from what is mine.”

He glares at me, resentment flashing in his beady eyes, but he’s smart enough to do as I commanded and lower his arm. With a shallow nod, he acknowledges my bid. “Sold to the nobleman in the back for five hundred gold pieces!” he declares, quickly moving on to the next pawn.

Though my family was well-off, I am far from being of noble birth. But it suits my purpose to lean into the assumption that my tailored wardrobe and ability to throw around large sums of money affords me. Fortunately, I’ve had little need to spend my earnings over the years, leaving me ample funds for this mission.

Leaning back against the cold stone wall behind me, I cross my arms over my chest and wait as the rest of the auction unfolds. My gaze never leaves her, nor does hers stray from me. She lifts her pointed chin and glares, a silent challenge that all but promises her wrath if I dare to test her. With the bloodstains still fresh on the dealer’s shirt, I don’t doubt her resolve.

Her wordless threat is unnecessary. I might be heartless, but I’m not a monster. I would never own a pawn. My impetuous decision to bid on her was for the sole purpose of granting her freedom. Once the exchange is made, I’ll escort her to the outskirts of the city and send her on her way.

The rest of the auction proceeds quickly. As the crowd begins to disperse, the successful bidders approach the platform to claim their purchases. Watching the other women get passed over like goods rather than people sours my gut. But I don’t have the funds with me to help them all. Plus, buying that many pawns would draw even more attention, and I’ve already drawn more than I should.

When it’s my turn, I cross over to where the dealer is busy removing the manacle that chains her ankle to the platform, and I get my first good look at the woman. If I thought her beautiful from a hundred paces, up close she is positively breathtaking.

Her eyes are a pale green, like the color of new leaves after a long winter, with flecks of sunlit amber swirling within. Tiny freckles dust her nose and cheeks, and a slight indent graces the center of her lower lip. It’s barely noticeable, yet it makes all the difference in how badly I want to capture it between my teeth and trace it with my tongue.

She cants her head ever so slightly as she studies me, like I’m a puzzle she might solve if she looks from the right angle. And if I fail to control my wayward thoughts, soon my cock will be at a right angle as well.

The moment shatters when the pawn dealer straightens. I expect him to remove the manacles chaining her wrists together like he did with the others, but instead, he hands me the key. “Best if you keep this one trussed up till you teach her some manners, my lord,” he says with a conspiratorial wink.

It takes all my resolve not to finish what the woman next to me started.

“I will take that under advisement,” I reply with a smile that is more a baring of teeth than anything near cordial. I hand him a large pouch of gold coins and grasp the short chain connecting her hands.

He hefts the pouch a few times, then tips an imaginary hat. “Thank you, my lord. If ye’d like a collar, it’ll be an extra—”

“That will not be necessary,” I grumble as I lead her down the wooden steps and through the town square. If I never see that bastard again, it will be too soon.

“Where are we going?”

Hearing her address me takes me by surprise. I so rarely speak to anyone these days unless it’s out of necessity, and I don’t need to speak with her.

“ Hellooooo ,” she persists, annoyance coloring her tone as she does her best to keep up with my long strides. “Are you going to answer me?”

I stay silent and continue walking.

“Fine. Two can play at that game. If you won’t talk to me, then I’m not talking to you. How do you like that, buddy?”

The corner of my mouth almost lifts as I continue to lead her through the streets, careful to avoid the rockier paths that would be hard on her stockinged feet.

“Whatever. This is all just a figment of my imagination anyway,” she mutters. “That’s the last time I let Stella dose me with edibles, I can tell you that much. Definitely not looking forward to unpacking that whole unpleasant trafficking situation. And being saved by a comically stereotypical tall, dark, and drool-worthy hero?” She chuffs out a laugh. “I’ve never been a damsel-in-distress type, so I don’t know what my subconscious is trying to tell me with that one.”

Now my mouth does quirk up, though I keep my gaze straight ahead. She is definitely odd, this one. Perhaps even a bit touched in the head. That could explain the strange clothing and complete lack of self-preservation.

Unable to resist engaging, I glance over my shoulder as we walk. “Maybe it is saying that you talk too much.”

She gasps dramatically. “He does know how to speak. If you’d done that sooner, I wouldn’t have had to fill the silence, so you only have yourself to blame on that one, Prince Charming.”

My shoulders tense at the mention of the title. Is that her way of telling me she knows my connection to Valen? No, I am making too much of it. Up until a few minutes ago, she was an imprisoned pawn who came from gods know where. She cannot possibly know who I am or why I’m here. Still…

Halting my steps, I turn to face her, and she nearly crashes into me. My hands instinctively reach out, gripping her slender arms to steady her. “I am far from a prince—or charming,” I say, injecting just enough edge to my tone to make my point clear. “And even if you were a damsel in distress, I am most definitely not a hero.”

“Clearly,” she replies, arching a copper brow. “Imprisoning a defenseless woman is not what I would consider heroic.”

“Defenseless? You call bloodying a man’s nose defenseless?”

“Under the circumstances, I call bloodying that bastard’s nose a complete necessity.”

Her quick wit is both aggravating and amusing. “Is that what you’re going to do to me? Bloody my nose for rescuing you?”

She huffs. “I wouldn’t waste my energy on you.”

“Do not be mad that I am saving you when you did not have the sense to save yourself,” I bite out, my tone edged with frustration.

If I expected her to shrink away from my cutting words and imposing stance, I would be sorely disappointed. Instead, her full lips spread into a wide grin, showing off her straight, white teeth. One of her canines has a tiny chip on the corner, and I have an acute urge to glide my tongue along the edge to feel the sharpness.

“Mad? Please.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “I’m not the one having trouble with definitions. A rescue, by the way, usually involves someone in danger who actually wants help.”

“Ah, so you were simply there for the ambiance, the fine company?”

“Absolutely. Nothing like iron cuffs and unwanted chivalry to spice up an evening,” she shoots back, the corners of her mouth quirking up. “Now, let me go free, and I’ll happily let you get on with not saving the next girl.”

We stare at each other for a long moment, neither of us willing to back down.

Fucking hell. This woman will drive me mad yet. I need to set her free sooner rather than later. “I intend to release you, momentarily.”

“Good, because I’m beginning to suspect you enjoy this whole savior routine a little too much,” she quips.

Clenching my jaw, I take a steadying breath. “And I’m beginning to suspect you could use a bit more gratitude.”

We resume our trek, and I am both relieved and annoyed that she remains silent until we reach the Gilded Coin. Reminding myself that I have no time for a woman’s company, I retrieve the iron key from my pocket to free her.

The moment she sees it, she holds up her hands and sighs. “Finally. These things are starting to chafe.”

I take hold of one of the metal cuffs and fit the key into the lock.

“You know,” she says as she watches me work, “I usually resent men when they deign to insert themselves into my life. But you…”

My actions halt, the air trapped in my lungs as I wait for her to continue. Suddenly—and inexplicably—I’m invested in what this peculiar little nymph thinks of me.

Her gaze flits up to meet mine, and a shy curve softens her mouth. “I don’t mind you so much.” She offers a casual shrug.

After a beat, I force out a single gruff word. “Why?”

Twin pools of pale green flecked with amber search mine as though the reason can be found there. Or perhaps she’s trying to decide if she should give one to me at all. “I don’t have to second-guess your intentions because you don’t pretend to be what you’re not. It gives me the sense that you’re trustworthy, makes you feel more… real somehow. Even if you aren’t.”

Something stirs against my ribs, a lone, hard thump before going still once more. Before I can think better of it, I slip the key back into my pocket and tighten my grip on the chain.

“Come with me,” I say, pushing open the Gilded Coin’s heavy wooden door.

“Hey, I thought you were letting me go! What are we doing?”

I pause just inside the doorway. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth as I take in her bewildered expression. “Getting a room.”