Twenty-Four Years Old
Every man has a limit to his patience.
I surpassed mine years ago.
Even Dax and Quinn give me a wide berth now, and we’ve grown as close as brothers. They don’t fuck with me on days when my nerves are raw. Like tonight, when I’m more on edge than usual. Or when I’m drunk, a state I’m rarely in because I don’t enjoy giving up control. But the bottle is always my favorite companion onthisday. Ale drowns the memories ofher. It washes away the sting of the lost years spent believingshecared for me as much as I adoredher.
Goddamn, this day.
Hertwenty-fourth birthday.
I lift the bottle to my lips, but before I take another generous swallow, I say a silent, mock toast toher.
May your fucking hair dip into your chamber pot while using it.
The annoying buzz of the tavern surrounds me as I swig the ale and drift my gaze over the motley crew crowded inside The Cup and Cross. Prostitutes. Outlaws. Murderers. Mercenaries. Drinking shoulder to shoulder. Because God help anyone who causes trouble while inside Adele Stafford’s establishment.
She’d have no problem even taking Quinn to task, and my friend surrendered his soul to a demon—literally.
I found Quinn naked and bloody, curled in a fetal position on the side of a road. Only months out of Leeds, I had no idea what to make of him. His body radiated with a malevolent force he couldn’t control. It was killing him from the inside out, and if I hadn’t stumbled upon him when I did, it would have consumed him. I stayed by his side and helped him through those first torturous months while he fought to master the power he sacrificed everything to obtain.
For that, Quinn gave me his unequivocal loyalty.
Dax joined us soon after. Him, we came upon running for his life, bare-assed, from an angry old lord. Said lord caught Dax fucking his wife in their marital bed. Although we’re not known for picking up naked strays, we made an exception for this one. Any man who can laugh with his cock flapping in the wind while being chased by a furious husband wielding a sword would, no doubt, fit in well with our two-person band of misfits.
We weren’t wrong.
Dax and Quinn have two things in common. Both are former knights in the royal army.
They deserted rather than destroy Rygard.
Also, they despise John with the same fervor as I do.
Once more, I lift the bottle of ale to my lips, welcoming the promise ofblackoutdrunk that slides down my throat. Across the worn, uneven planks of the table, Dax is talking to me, but I’m not listening. He always talks. I’m waiting for the day his jaw comes unhinged and falls clean off. Right now, though, I would sew his mouth shut if it granted me a moment’s peace from his incessant conversation.
My God, for a renegade, Dax is too cheerful by half.
Half draped over the battered table, he’s yelling over the din of voices. He stabbed the tip of his dagger into the soft wood so the weapon sticks straight up. His cup is empty—a major transgression. Quinn, lounging beside him on the bench, beckons over a server. The pretty girl’s blonde hair fuels my temper as she sashays toward our table.
“More ale, girl,” Quinn demands.
She’s not intimidated by Quinn’s gruff demeanor, and when she leans low, her ample chest damn near spills from atop her tight blue bodice. “Of course, milord.”
Quinn snatches her by the wrist, his fingers with their black, vine-like markings, like he dipped them in ink—the aftermath of his deal with the demon—bite into her pale flesh. He yanks her closer, jostling her jug of ale. The brown liquid sloshes over the rim, splashing to the stone floor. The scar that cuts down his right cheek undulates when he clenches his jaw. “I’m no one’s fucking lord.”
Dax comes forward, ready to pry the poor woman away from him if need be. I, however, watch with a smirk, confident Quinn won’t do more than scare her half to death. In my opinion, she deserves it for having the audacity to look likeher.
Rapunzel.
Fuck.
I swore I wouldn’t say her name, not even in the privacy of my mind.
Desperate to switch the subject lest my temper rise to a dangerous degree, I marvel—for the hundredth time—at more pleasant thoughts. Like how my life changed since leaving Leeds. I walked away with only the clothes on my back and a handful of shillings. Now, I have brothers and a sanctuary in southern Rygard, far removed from John’s prying eyes. Our collective reputation of being a thorn in the king’s side has spread, and everywhere we go, those who know us revere us.
Or fear us.
I also learned something from Quinn. It’s a rumor, really. One that came to him from Queen Eleanor herself.
