Page 68 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

I glance at Ferria and take in her I told you so look with a frown.

I sigh. I can’t deal with this right now.

I plant my hands on the table and stand. “I’m going to get a drink.”

Lev tilts his head back to watch me. “Anton said he’d get you one.”

“True, but I think he’s distracted flirting with Rosie,” I joke, desperate to escape the awkwardness brewing at the table. “I’ll be right back.”

Before he can protest—or worse, offer to come with me—I weave through the tables. Most of the tavern has returned to their drinks with minimal glares at the Fae. But seeing me move captures their attention.

I ignore their stares and whispers and slide into the open space between Jaxon and Anton, only to find the two in the middle of a conversation. I stop short and glance from them to the space beside Rian. I’d rather be rude and interrupt them than stand next to the disconcerting Fae.

“Need something, Elara?”

I look up into Rian’s eyes and scowl at the amusement flickering in their smoky depths.

You know what? I’m not a coward. I won’t let him make me act like one.

“Nothing from you.” I step up to the bar and lean my elbows on the surface, grimacing when sticky moisture seeps through my sleeves. “Excuse me?”

Rosie’s skittish eyes meet mine. She steps forward. “Yes, Healer Stonebloom.”

I smile at the young woman. “May I have a cup of wine?”

“Oh, uh…I’m so sorry. We ran out.” Her eyes flick fearfully to the Fae looming at my side.

I force a bright smile, ignoring the tendril of shadow creeping along the bar top toward my arm. “That’s okay. How about mead?”

She bobs her head. “Yes, we have mead.”

I wait.

When she doesn’t move, I prompt, “May I have a cup?”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” She flits away to get my drink, but not before giving Rian another scared glance.

Smart girl.

Anton’s voice reaches me. “Have you or the others come across anything strange in the Forbidden Forest?”

My ears perk up, and I shift to hear Jaxon’s reply.

“I’m surprised to find you here.” Rian’s smooth voice swallows up his comrade’s words, demanding my attention.

I meet his swirling gaze and fight off a shiver. I lift my chin. “I could say the same to you.”

“Someone accused me of not doing my research on Verdanthia’s role in the rebellion.” He lifts his glass, the amber liquid catching the light as he studies it. Then his gaze cuts to me. “I intend to prove them wrong.”

I blink. Wait—he cares what I think?

“Oh,” I murmur.

He takes a sip, and a faint grimace tugs his lips.

I smirk. “Not to your taste?”

His eyes narrow a fraction, flicking over me before he answers, “Just…different.”