Chapter 23

As I washed my leg with a bar of lemon-scented soap, I decided that I needed to distract my guards to get them to let their defences down. After he'd ushered me into the bathroom, and I'd made clear what I was after, Rion the bathing attendant proving to be quite the resource.

"You're to be sold as a slave?" he'd asked, eyes wide.

I'd fought the urge to roll my eyes when his reaction told me that the boy was little other than a country bumpkin.

"In a way," I'd said, smiling up at him. "I've been promised in marriage to a powerful man."

He'd frowned.

"But isn't that the way of all highborn lasses?"

"To a man who's killed the last six of his wives?" I'd let my eyes widen, then summoned tears to well up.

"Like the king?"

There'd been fear in his voice, making me wonder just how widespread the knowledge of the king's predilections was.

"Just like the king," I'd said, making my voice wobble as I placed a hand on his arm. It was well muscled, but the arm of a boy still growing, not yet a man. I couldn't rely on him to be my saviour, but he could connect me with those that could. "It's why I need your help, Rion." Fishing a coin out of my pocket, I'd pressed it into his hand. "I need to find men—good men—who'll help me get free of my captors. For a fee, of course."

"A fee…"

Rion's manner had transformed, and his eyes had lit up as he looked at the coin before putting it between his lips and biting down on it. I'd blinked in confusion, then realised it was to test if the gold was soft. As soon as its quality was ascertained, it disappeared into his pocket, and his gaze sharpened.

"So you need men." He'd glanced at the door. "Big ones and a lot of them, by the look of the fellas you walked in the door with. One of them's a wolf shifter?"

"Yes, but—"

He'd shaken his head.

"That complicates shit. Need to befuddle the bastards if you're to get away. How long do we have?"

"Tonight?" I'd smiled weakly.

"Then their drinks will need to be drugged. Something to relax ‘em, not alert them to the fact they've been dosed."

"Roseblood?" I'd asked.

He'd shrugged, "We'd need a barrowload of the stuff." He looked me up and down. "You're not from Khean, are you?"

"No, Stormare."

"The little dinky place between the three kingdoms?" He'd nodded slowly as he thought about that. "Ah, so you haven't been taking that stuff your whole life. It stiffens a man's wick." His eyes had darted over to meet mine. "Excuse my language."

"You're excused, Rion."

I'd given his arm a squeeze and he'd looked down at my hand for a moment before continuing.

"Roseblood is as common as muck here, you see. It doesn't send a man's head spinning, not after the first few times."

"What about an extremely potent variety?" I'd held out my hand and clicked the latch on my ring, opening the jewelled setting to reveal the deep red power. He'd bent and taken an experimental sniff, nodded, then scooped the very-long fingernail on his little finger into the powder, collecting up a few grains before sniffing it up his nose.

"Phoarr…" I'd clicked the ring closed again, then watched him blink and waver on his feet as a sloppy smile spread across his face. "That shit kicks like a mule." It seemed to take a few long breaths for him to regain control of himself. "Where the hell did you get that from?"

"My mother. Now, Master Rion—"

"You give those fellas some of that in their drinks… Stout, not wine." He'd nodded to himself. "The taste will be too apparent in wine. They'll be wobbling in their boots, then chasing after the maids like a starving dog would a rabbit."

"And that would serve what purpose?" I'd asked.

"You'll be able to slip away then, out the back door." He'd looked at me plainly. "I know some fellas who'd help a lady in need. Tough ones too, that'd fight off each one of your captors if that's what it came to."

And that was when I felt a pang.

The idea of any of them being hurt… Well, not Arik—there'd be a unique kind of pleasure in paying a man to conk the arrogant idiot on the head with the pommel of their sword. Instead what flashed through my mind was Roan and his heroic leap across the river to lop off the catamount's head, then Creed, with his focus on my wellbeing with provision of calming teas and hearty meals, and even Silas, taking the time to show me how to defend myself. I stared at the steam curling off the bath, seeing each one of them set upon by these men Rion mentioned and frowned.

"They won't need to fight off anyone," I'd assured the boy. "I'll ensure that my captors are otherwise occupied. So, I'm to meet you out the back door…?"

I emerged from the bath, rosy and dripping, knowing what I must do, rehearsing the steps as I pulled on fresh underwear and a new dress. I bundled what clothes I'd absolutely need into one bag and set it beside the door. The bag my mother had given me, the assassin's bag, sat on my bed, and my hand hovered over it.

Would I need it? Surely not, when I'd be paying men good gold to protect me. Then I remembered how so much of the past few days hadn't gone the way I'd expected it to, so I grabbed it and dumped it down beside the bag I would take when I made a break for it. I put my poison ring back on, then went to strap on my most important accessory.

Silas' knife didn't match the sheath. It was too long, so it hung out at the end. And it was all black perfection, whereas the knife that my mother had given me was smaller, more delicate, more befitting a lady. I strapped the leather around my thigh, then shoved the knife into it, leaving the high split in my skirts unbuttoned. Then I stared into the cracked mirror above the washstand and made the last necessary arrangements.

I needed to inspire lust without being expected to satisfy it, which was fortunately something princesses excelled at. What were all the elegant outfits and intricate dances but the bobbing and weaving of birds in a mating ritual? I tugged the sleeves of my dress down until they sat on my shoulders, creating a low-cut bateau neckline. One good yank and my breasts would be spilling bare. Imagining it had my tongue flicking over my lips because the thought of stirring their memories of me doing so made me think of that night again.

Remembering it all now that I was clear headed took my breath away at how bold I'd been, going from virginal princess to a slattern who was prepared to bare herself before four strangers. Why? Because it had all felt so good. My finger slid along my neckline, feeling the taut fabric, wishing that I didn't need to go to other men for assistance to get away from the king.

What if these men were the ones to help me escape my fate? That dream was one that would have me stepping out of this room and into theirs, where they'd wait for me. Half-dressed and dazzling, one splendidly muscular body would tug my attention his way before another stepped forward and claimed my focus as his. It'd be like the other night, but better.

It would be my hands that spread themselves over their shoulders, that traced the shapes of taut biceps and cobblestone stomachs, even following the tracery of scars on Silas' body. I'd store every touch away in my mind, a pleasure to be brought out over and over and re-experienced. Because this time I'd be in control of deciding who did the touching, not the drug.

But perhaps I would find other men… a man, I corrected myself abruptly. A good and kind man who'd make a good husband. We'd have beautiful children, and I'd work hard to make his house a home before… I shook my head and smiled back at the mirror. I could dream of a future once I'd made sure I was safe. And right now, that entailed doing something terrible.

Again.

I felt the eyes of many men upon me as I strode downstairs, but I couldn't fool myself into thinking it was because there was anything special about me. The inn was full of men, many of them tired from working hard, others who wanted to drink away their sorrows and bury themselves in something soft, to try and forget about the day. They watched me and all the other women with hungry eyes, eating the lot of us up in blunt-teethed bites.

But I only saw four of them.

As Creed watched me descend, he went perfectly still, and it was as if the animal in him pushed against his skin to take a better look at me. Roan stopped mid-chuckle when he saw me, and his smile faltered, then turned into something else altogether as his amber eyes darkened over the rim of his mug. And Silas? His eyes sparkled with an unholy light, his lips twisting into a vicious smile, perhaps because he caught the shift in Arik's gaze.

Those blue eyes could look like the sky, or a storm, but right now they were pure blue fire. He rose to his feet without thought, flushing when he caught himself at it. But when he saw others do the same, his hand went to his sword, and his jaw tightened.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I hadn't walked to their table; instead, I'd gone straight to the bar. Men had looked up when I pressed my body against it, some blinking hard, then widening their eyes when they saw me as they fought past the haze of the drink to take me in. When one slipped from his stool to approach me, Arik jammed his body in the gap between them and me and demanded an answer.

"Getting you all a drink," I said, then turned to the innkeeper. "Five stouts, if you please. I admit, I was intrigued by the taste and would like my own."

I pulled a gold coin out, hoping it covered the cost, but Arik snatched it from the bar, pocketing it.

"That's enough to buy a whole barrel of stout," he hissed in frustration, jerking out some copper coins from his money pouch and slapping them down on the bar.

The innkeeper didn't look especially pleased, but he poured the beer for the five of us without comment, setting each one on the bar. My fingers flexed, then I glanced across the floor to see how the serving girls were carrying them, and I spied the flat wooden trays. The innkeeper pushed one my way and I smiled prettily in response. Arik went to snatch two of the tankards, but I batted his hand away.

"You'll spill the lot on the floor," he said, his brows drawing down deeper. "And then the lasses here will have to clean up the mess the princess makes."

I let out an unladylike snort. He could make a lot of assertions about me, but this was something that I knew how to do.

"If I do, I promise to clean up every drop—"

"Do you even know how?" he asked.

"…with my tongue." It seemed as though the whole room went quiet in order to listen to my bet. "I'll get on my hands and knees and lap the beer from the floorboards like a dog."

"I'd like to see that," a man said, deliberately tipping a little of his beer on the floor.

"Shut up," Arik snapped, but when he turned back to me, the smirk was back. "Alright, Princess, you're on. Though perhaps not with your tongue. I'm already about to pound in some heads for looking overly long at your arse." He shifted his focus over my shoulder, and I looked behind me to see a drunken man leaning so far back in his seat that he threatened to tip over. "You've got a mop behind there?" Arik asked the innkeeper.

"Of course, sir."

"Then if you spill a drop, you'll have to clean it up."

"Certainly, but I—"

"The entire floor." Arik's arms crossed his chest as his smile grew wider. "The girls won't have to stay back tonight to mop." He poked a finger in my direction. "You'll do it."

That would put a severe kink in my plans. My jaw tightened as I considered the idea, but I knew what my answer would be. I needed him to go and sit down as I drugged the beer, and so I'd need to carry the lot of them over to the men for them to drink. When they grew affected, I'd announce that I was tired, go to bed and wait for them to lose themselves in a lustful display with the serving women…

My brows creased as I considered that idea, imagining Arik pulling a woman down on his lap, shoving her blouse up, just as the sailor had done in the pub on the docks. Then he'd offer her breasts to Silas or Roan or even Creed… I shoved the thought away, coming back to the room with a snap, and I waved my hand at Arik, dismissively.

"You're making a fuss over such a small thing." His eyes darkened. "Go sit and you'll see."

I didn't wait to see if he obeyed me, because that was not the way of royalty. You acted like there was no other legitimate possibility, which was enough to ensure compliance most of the time. So he could've watched over my shoulder as I opened my ring and poured dark red powder not dissimilar to colour of the stout into four stouts.

But he didn't. The innkeeper saw what I did, though.

I slid a gold coin across the bar, hoping it bought not a barrel of ale, but his silence, before plonking the tankards on the tray and hefting it up. My muscles strained but, although Arik might have found it hard to believe, this was familiar.

In Stormare we observed a ritual on the shortest day of the year. All the women of court served the men as if we were maids, sweeping smoothly around the tables, the movements having become so stylised over time to become a dance. My grandmother said the ritual had its roots in something ancient, from pagan times, when a commoner was crowned king for a day and allowed to rule the city from sun up to sun down until he was… I squared my jaw and held the tray high, my back ramrod straight, as I sallied forth.

Men watched with eyes shining with greed as I passed by. Some tried to get to their feet to take my load from me, but just as the serving girls did, I danced out of their way, weaving my way between the tables, towards the four men. They were the ones I needed to serve, not some labourer from the field or the blacksmith's apprentice, so I kept my eyes trained upon them, all the way until I'd reached the table.

"We didn't discuss what I'd get if I won, did we?" Arik shot me a baleful look as I placed the tray on the table, then grabbed the mug I'd set away from the others and took a long drink. "Perhaps you could clean the floors for the serving maids tonight?"

The others just chuckled, taking the tankards I offered them. I pretended to be preoccupied with my victory as I sipped at the heavy beer, but really, I watched the four of them out of the corner of my eye.

"You're a dab hand with a mop, aren't you, Arik?" Roan said, jostling the other man with his elbow, but Arik barely moved apart from dragging his tankard closer.

"He certainly had to mop a lot of floors during our training." Silas stared at the foam of his beer and for a moment I was terrified he'd spied the roseblood. "Cleaning the latrines with a hand cloth for insubordination."

"Using a nail file to get rid of all the grot accumulated between the floorboards for insubordination," Roan added.

"Cleaning the blood off the training ground." Creed's addition seemed to suck all the pleasure from the moment. "Over and over until—"

"To the fallen."

Arik thrust his arm up and men across the room did the same, not knowing why. The other three men at the table did, reaching up to tap the rims of their tankards with his before bringing them to their lips.

Drink it down, I thought furiously. Drink it all down. Because whoever's death it was that they commemorated, I wouldn't be joining them, that I swore.