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That smoldering look sends a rush of wet heat between my legs, and my gaze shudders over his full lips. The desire to taste that alcohol on him is making my mind swim with delirium. His face is so close, and that mouth would feel so good against mine.
“You good, War?” Niles nudges us from behind. “They’re having us wait on the edge of the stage until the drink kicks in. Then I think we’re walking the plank.”
“Did he just give me a nickname?” Warrose raises an eyebrow at me.
I snicker. “I like chicken coward better.”
“Me, too.”
It’s another beat of a moment that his weighty gaze burns deep into my soul, a look that I’ve never seen in a man’s eyes before. And I can’t help but stare right back.
“Are you ignoring me because I’m drunk?” Niles pops his head around to our left.
Warrose’s eye roll is slow and exaggerated.
“Are you already drunk?” I ask with a laugh.
“Perhaps.” He boops my nose. “Perhaps not!”
Dessin shows up to my right, nodding his head in the direction of the inmates gathering to wait for the Ringmaster to announce that it’s time for the plank.
“What about you, Dess? You drunk yet?” Niles bumps Dessin with his shoulder.
“He’s really sticking with these nicknames,” Warrose mutters close to my ear.
“No,” Dessin mutters, irritation pinching his brow.
“How do you know if he’s drunk?” I ask.
Warrose shrugs. “Hard to tell. He would just get all broody and talk about Skylenna.”
I can tell Dessin hears Warrose’s comment by the way the tendons in his jaw tic. But he doesn’t retort. I’m sure he’s experiencing conflicting feelings with hearing her name.
We stand in a circle on the stage, being bumped and crowded by the mass of warm inmate bodies cluttering in the same area. I grip Warrose’s back with as much energy as I’m able to exert without passing out. Everything hurts, but at least the adrenaline is making me numb.
As time passes, Warrose’s eyelids droop as performers throw sticks of fire around the stage, entertaining the crowd until we’re ready to walk.
“Warrose?” My voice pulls him from the deep thought he was working through. He slides his slightly glazed over eyes to me.
“Hmm?”
“Are you sure you can do this?”
He flashes me a devastatingly handsome smile. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“How drunk are you on a scale from one to ten?”
“A seven.”
“I’m a fourteen!” Niles laughs, doing a little fist pump.
“That’s not something to be proud of, Niles,” Dessin scolds, and even his words are a little slurred.
“You always smell so pretty.” I turn my head back to Warrose, just now noticing his nose nuzzled into my hair, breathing in with his eyes closed.
“What do I smell like?” I smirk.
“Roses and money,” he says huskily. “Like a queen.”
