I’m a fuckinggiant.
“Come on then, big guy. Let’s see what you’ve got.” I gesture for him to take another swing, but as he begins winding his arm back, my stomach lurches—violently.
“Wait!”
To my surprise, he does.
The back of my hand slaps against my mouth as my insides rebel against the jug of mulled wine that’s threatening to spill all over the ground between us.
I hold up a finger. “Two seconds, just … let me work through this.”
Breathing deep, I wrestle the cramping surge, swallow the excess saliva pooling beneath my tongue, and stand. “Apologies. That was inconve—”
Gravity knocks my knees out from under me, pulling me sideways, and I stumble, crashing against the merciless cobbles, letting them take my grueling weight as I lump myself back, feeling my hair spill around me.
Actually, this is probably better. I’m much less wobbly down here. And I weigh less.
My hat is no longer on my head, allowing me to look up at the sky from the ground. Rain sprinkles my face, and I open my mouth to catch some on my tongue.
Footsteps thud close, and my gaze rolls down to the meaty sailorman now standing between my wide-open legs, loosening the ties on his trousers with frenzied hands.
His pupils are dilated with a sick sort of excitement that makes me want to vomit again.
“Poke that thing at me, and you’ll lose it.”
My slurred words don’t stop him from ripping at his seam, nor do they swipe the leer from his face.
Strong hands thread around the sides of his head, whipping it with a sickeningcrackthat ratchets through me. His limp body is tossed aside like it’s made of air, exposing a broad man sheathed in the shadow of his cloak—a too-familiar sword poking over his shoulder.
I groan, rubbing my eyes, and breathe a sigh of relief when I see that he’s gone.
Must have been imagining things.
That’s nice.
I roll, shove onto my hands and knees, looking sideways at the sailorman passed out on the ground with his head tipped at an impossible angle.
“That looks uncomfortable. You’re going to wake with a real crick in your neck.” I stagger to my feet, looking down on him. “That’s what you get, you big dickhead.”
I stumble toward the busy market square, realize I once again forgot my coins, and spin on my heel. The world keeps turning, and I topple backward, caught by unyielding arms that sweep me off my feet. Not in the romantic way I’ve read about in my romance books, but like a dead body—arms hanging and head tipped back so I’m looking at the world upside down.
I groan, strain my neck forward, and glance up at a scruffy black beard that looks so soft from this angle. “Ugh.” I let my head fall back again. “You.”
“Yes, Milaje.” Rhordyn begins walking, the world bumping by with each thump of his steps. “Me.”
The word hits like it’s spoken from between gritted teeth.
“You know what I don’t appreciate?Your—”
“Tone,” he finishes, and I frown, wondering how long I can manage this angle before I vomit mulled wine up my own nose.
“And your arms. I’m a graceful jellyfish, and you’re fishing me out of the sea.”
“Yes,” he mutters. “Very graceful.”
Aw, a compliment. Perhaps I should repay the favor.
Straining my neck, I lift my head again, gulping down the view of his profile. “You’re averypretty man. Even with all this hair on your face. Actually …” I bat my hand up, only slapping him in the jaw a little in my effort to brush my fingers through the softness there. “Especiallywith this hair on your face.”
