“No, sir. We are not circling back. We have to figure out how to get Archer on the throne. That’s his choice and it could lead to answers.” She lifted a shoulder and I knew the voices in her mind were rioting at the thought of being silenced.
I brushed a finger over her cheek. “I will save you from them. Whatever the cost, I will pay it.”
“You and your promises.” She tugged on my arm, leading me toward the door to go back inside. “Let’s go to bed.”
“Feeling tired, Wife?”
“Not on your immortal life, Husband.”
44
Paesha
“This is the best, worst idea you’ve ever had, Archie,” I said, slamming my cup into his, watching the booze slosh over the side.
I couldn’t remember whose idea the tavern crawl had been, actually. Probably mine. Or Archer’s. Definitely one of us, because obviously neither of us possessed a lick of sense when put together. Some cosmic joke, really. The fate of the kingdom rested on the shoulders of a card shark pretending to be a prince and a woman with shadows as brain roommates.
“To finding Archer a bride!” I declared, sloshing my drink against his for the fourth or probably fifth time.
The Black Oath was packed, filled with the hearty laughter of various members of Stirling’s middling society who were blissfully unaware that their future king was currently seeing double and critiquing potential brides like they were horses at auction. Or maybe they were aware.
“That one’s too tall,” Archer said, squinting at a lovely brunette by the bar. “I’d get a crick in my neck trying to kiss her.”
“You’ve kissed plenty of tall women,” I pointed out, signaling for another round.
“That was horizontal. Different angles involved.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a way he clearly hoped was suggestive but was actually ridiculous.
“What about her?” I nodded toward a woman with copper hair playing darts with impressive accuracy.
Archer grimaced. “Slept with her sister. And her cousin. Possibly on the same night, but that part’s fuzzy.”
“Gods, Archie, is there anyone in this tavern you haven’t?”
He made a great show of scanning the room, then pointed triumphantly at an elderly man dozing in the corner. “Him! Definitely haven’t slept with him.”
“Your future queen, for sure.” I dissolved into giggles, my shoulders shaking as I tried to maintain some semblance of dignity. “What about the barmaid?”
“Which one?”
“The one who keeps glaring at you like she might poison your drink.”
“Ah.” He winced. “That would be Lydia. We had a… misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding?” I repeated flatly.
“I may have forgotten her name. While calling out another name. During a particularly intimate moment.”
“You absolute disaster!”
“In my defense, they were sisters! Twins! It was an honest mistake!”
“That is so much worse,” I giggled, wiping tears from my eyes.
The barmaid, Lydia, approached with fresh drinks, slamming them down with enough force to splash amber liquid across the table.
“Your poison, your highness,” she said with saccharine sweetness.
“Lovely to see you again, Mar—” He caught himself. “Lydia. You’re looking well.”
