“Yeah.” She nods. “Fine, let’s get this over with.”
She moves toward the door, and I can’t help but watch the sway of her hips beneath the skirt. My hands itch to reach out, to pull her back, to truly make her mine. The urge is almost overpowering, a primal instinct that surges within me, but I restrain myself. Now is not the time.
We leave the Gilded Coin and step into the bustling streets of Pentacles. The morning air is crisp, filled with the mingled scents of freshly baked bread, spiced meats,and dried herbs. The cobblestone streets are bustling with activity—vendors shouting their wares, children weaving through the crowd, townsfolk haggling over goods displayed in colorful stalls.
I adopt the demeanor of a traveling nobleman, my posture straight and confident, moving with purpose through the throng. Elara follows a few paces behind me, her head slightly bowed, playing the part of a dutiful pawn. I keep my ears open, listening intently to the snippets of conversations around us. Occasionally I stop at different stalls, pretending to inspect the goods while subtly eavesdropping on nearby discussions.
I’m also acutely aware of Elara.
I tell myself it’s merely to ensure she doesn’t wander off, but a part of me—a larger part—is concerned for her well-being.
Suddenly, a shift ripples through the crowd. Voices lower to murmurs, and gazes turn toward the wooden stage used for the auction the day before. A woman stands in the center, her posture stiff, chin held high, dressed in rich gold velvet and shimmering jewels that reflect the sunlight. A well-dressed servant stands beside her, sharing the same pinched expression as his employer.
“Look!” The woman in front of me taps her friend on the shoulder before pointing to the stage. “It’s Lady Clayton!”
My blood runs cold.
Lady Clayton.The woman who ruined my family. Ruined my life.
She surveys the gathering crowd, her eyes gliding over faces without truly seeing anyone. People like herare too cloaked in privilege and arrogance to notice anything other than their own reflections and wealth.
She doesn’t host the Mabon Festival to celebrate with the people of Pentacles. If that was her aim, the townsfolk rushing to hear her decree would also be invited to revel in the merrymaking. No, she does it for attention and notoriety. Every one of her actions is self-serving, and damn anyone who gets caught in her wake.
Her servant raises his hands, and the crowd quiets, eager to hear his announcement.
“In one week’s time, Lady Clayton will graciously host her annual Mabon Festival for the noble families of the Kingdom of Pentacles!” he cheers, his voice ringing out over the square. “As always, the lady requests that you, the good citizens of this kingdom, submit your pawns to work the night of the festival. There will be a trial the night before in which Lady Clayton will choose the ten most exemplary applicants for this honor.”
Behind me, Elara lets out a snort of laughter. I have to work to suppress a grin when I turn my head to give her a quelling look. Rolling her eyes, she lowers her head, resuming her role as the obedient pawn.
“This year, however,” the servant continues, “Lady Clayton is generously offering a boon to the owners of the pawns chosen: an invitation to attend the festival!”
An excited murmur sweeps through the crowd, and I catch snippets of conversations swirling around us.
“An invitation? She’s never done that before!”
“About time she gave something back.”
“Guess she noticed we stopped sending our pawns when we got nothing in return.”
“There’ll be a slew of them submitted now, mark my words.”
An idea begins to crystallize in my mind, each piece clicking into place with precise clarity.
“That is how I get in,” I murmur under my breath. “Elara will perform in the trial and be chosen.”
Her gaze snaps up to mine, eyes wide. “What? I don’t know the first thing about being a servant or pawn or whatever. You heard him. She’s going to pick the ten best. I don’t have a chance of making the cut.”
The cogs of my plan are already turning. “Yes, you will, I will make sure of it.” Leaning in so only Elara can hear me, I add, “And if you do not want to cause suspicion so soon, you should address me properly. Remember, once you have helped me, I will help you.”
Straightening to my full height, I regard her coolly, the embodiment of one in my supposed station, and wait for her to recognize her place. It grates on me to assert dominance in this way, but it’s necessary for the facade we have to maintain.
The small muscles in her jaw tick, defiance flashing in her eyes. Then, with a subtle exhale, she relents. “As you wish, my lord.”
By the gods, I could not have predicted how profoundly her words would affect me. Hearing this spirited nymph yield, even if only in words, sends my cock stirring to life and carnal desire licking at the base of my spine. Her voice is demure, yet her eyes throw daggers, a storm of rebellion barely contained. I cannot recall the last time I desired a woman with such intensity.
Needing a distraction, I nod my approval and resume our walk through the square, careful not to reveal to anyonlookers that I’ve already found what I was seeking—a way into the festival. A path to fulfilling my destiny.
I continue perusing the wares of various vendors, and as I pause to examine a stall laden with ornate dagger hilts, I notice a subtle shift out of the corner of my eye.
