“I’m sorry! I meant nothing by it!” She cried.

“What. Are you. Here for?” He enunciated through gritted teeth.

“To hire a killer.”

I’m aware of that much.

“Is that so? Who do you wish to kill?”

“The Princess of Nightway. She wants to have me killed.”

Her daughter. Savage’s mouth jerked in derision. You’re lying about her hiring a killer.

If a princess had been here, I’d know.

“So, it’s to be a race then, to see whom has who murdered first?”

She panted in terror, brown eyes rolling in her skull fearfully.

He dropped the knife and tossed it under the table at her feet. Making her scramble to pick it up.

The Death Dealer grunted in objection of the disruption of his potential earnings.

“Best get to it then.” Savage shot over his shoulder.

“Will you do it?” Her voice was high. Pierced with anxiety.

“Yes.”

Coin jangled as it was exchanged behind Savage’s back.

He returned to the counter. Slapping it for a tankard.

Dimurah returned to hiss something scathing.

Upset with me for not listening to her. Again. But Savage’s attention was on RedBayne. Who leaned to peer around the pillars and down the line of tables to the couple huddled in the far corner before slowly replaceing Savage’s gaze and returning an extensive stare.

He heard every word. He can warn whoever knows the girl.

As the woman lifted the hood back over her tangle of hair and tried to exit the alehouse, RedBayne caught her skinny arm.

“Who are you?” He boomed.

“No one.” She shook her arm.

As though she can break the behemoth’s grip. It was nearly laughable. Good luck.

He’s even stronger than he looks. Savage knew from witnessing a few playful drunken interchanges between RedBayne and the Nauvree. The barbarian is a beast. Raw power.

“What realm are you from?” RedBayne demanded.

“I’m a princess from Igonox!”

He released her and she fled the alehouse.

Terrified no doubt.

Little liar. Savage hated liars.

His eyes flitted to Mardichi. Surely, he knows Igonox has only princes. Savage shrugged. Not my concern.

He averted his attention to the angry beauty pouring ale from wooden pitchers. For everyone but me.

He slammed his tankard down rudely. “Come here!” He roared for Dimurah.

“No!”

“No? Here.” He slapped the top of the counter. “Or in my tent later. Your choice…”

She gasped in outrage. Slowly turning to see his unabashed grin. She tossed the pitcher at him and he casually deflected it with a forearm. Laughing uproariously as it sloshed another of the barmaids.

“You unbelievable wretch!” Dimurah quaked with rage.

“Tent it is!”

The crowd in Winter Haven roared in approval.

“You’ll have to be quiet this time! No rousing the courtyard again.” He waved a finger in cautioning.

“You heathen! That’s not true!” She nearly shook with rage. Making her blue eyes glimmer.

Perhaps not about waking the courtyard. He thought in amusement.

“You take it back!” She rushed over to order.

“Clearly. As you wish. I take it back!” He announced. “It’s not true. It wasn’t the whole courtyard!” He laughed raucously. Dodging the tankard, she tried to splash on him next. Moving smoothly from its trajectory so is slopped harmlessly over the boards onto the floor.

“Contain your fire!” He shouted laughingly. Tone softening, he ensured it was still loud enough for everyone to hear. “Save it for later.” He let the innuendo fill the alehouse.

“You’re absolutely a monster!” She seethed.

That’s true. He gave a grudging shrug.

Opening his arms to her as though to offer a hug, feigning a dramatic pout.

She huffed, appalled. Tossing up a hand to dismiss him as she walked away.

Not what you’ll be saying later. He laughed to himself. It didn’t bother him that the men in this alehouse believed, despite his bluster, she rejected him as heatedly as she did each of them. Let them think so. It keeps her safe.

And I know the truth…

And they all know my claim on her.

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