Page 64 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

I mouth, “Thank you.”

He grins and kisses me again. When he pulls away, I turn my attention to Blyne and Anton. They’re debating which town’s soldiers will win this year’s weaponry feat.

“I’m telling you, Nalderall won’t stand a chance,” Anton says, pointing to the dagger sheathed at Blyne’s hip. “Not without blades forged by Ferria. No smithy in the region can compete.”

Ferria spins her cup in her hands, but the faintest flush creeps into her cheeks.

“So, how was your night?” Lev asks.

I abandon eavesdropping and open my mouth to tell him about the strangeness of the abandoned Fae camp, but warmth encircles my neck. I snap my lips shut and brush my fingers along my throat.

When the sensation fades, I finally say, “My night was fine.”

His gaze drops to my neck, and he dips his head. “Got it. Do you want a drink?”

My shoulders fall, the tension releasing. “A drink would be great.”

“I’ll get it.” Anton rises from the table, looking at Ferria. “Would you like another?”

“Yes, please.” She hands him her empty cup, avoiding his gaze.

I wait until Anton is out of earshot, then lean forward with a teasing grin.

Ferria scowls. “What?”

“You know what.” I dart my gaze to Anton.

He reaches the bar, and the pretty barmaid, Rosie, bats her lashes at him.

Ferria follows my gaze. Her expression shutters.

She turns back to me. “Selling at the market went well, by the way.”

I perk up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She nods. “All your tonics sold, and I heard someone from Hammond say they’re expecting traders from up north to arrive soon.”

I grin widely. “Do you know when?”

She shakes her head. “No, but I’ll ask around. I figured when we know a date, we can travel to Hammond together to shop.”

“That sounds great!”

The northern tradesmen always have the best tinctures, medicines, and tonics. Their proximity to the Fae border, while dangerous, allows more varied resources to pass through their towns.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Lev interjects, voice low.

I turn, catching the way the lines around his mouth tighten. “Sure it is. You know I need supplies.”

He shifts in his seat. “Yes, but it’s risky to travel these days.”

“It’s always risky to travel,” Ferria adds.

Before Lev can object, I offer, “We can take an escort. Maybe Anton? Or you, if you’re off duty.”

A drunk soldier stumbles into our table. Blyne lifts his drink to avoid spilling. Welm grunts when his mead sloshes over his hand.

“Gods, Lyle.” The burly soldier glares at the red-eyed newcomer, wiping his hand against his tunic. “Get a hold of yourself.”