Page 65 of Revealing Fate

Her guard kept his eyes fixed ahead. “I don’t believe that would be appropriate, Elder Imogen.”

She returned her attention to the liquor bottle with a shrug. “Propriety’s grown a little heavy of late, don’t you think, Prestyn?”

“Even so,” he replied, standing a little taller, “it’s my duty to guard you.”

Imogen huffed a humorless laugh. “I’m sick to death of duty, Lieutenant. We spend our lives beholden to the wills of our superiors, and for what?”

“Honor, Elder.”

Imogen knocked back a second swallow. “Honor,” she echoed, quietly. “Gods, you’re so young.”

He didn’t respond.

“Tell me, Lieutenant, how much honor does a dog possess when it serves a master who kicks him and calls it attention?”

Prestyn turned his head to study her, and Imogen met his scrutiny with a raised brow.

She lifted the glass once more, wiggling it enticingly. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

He opened his mouth to reply when the front door wailed, and a man stepped inside.

Lieutenant Gore’s hand flew to the sword sheathed at his hip. The man who entered strode purposefully forward and stopped before the guard. To Imogen’s great surprise, Prestyn lowered his head in respect.

She studied the man. He couldn’t have been much older than she. He had rich brown skin, wide, pleasant features, a lean frame, expertly tailored clothing, and impeccable posture. And there, affixed to the breast of his peanut-hued vest, was the king’s crest. She straightened, alarm shooting down her spine.

What the fuck is a king’s agent doing here?

“Second Lieutenant Gore, is it?” the man asked in a voice as smooth and crisp as his freshly starched shirt.

Prestyn’s gaze stayed low. “It is, Attendant Creed.”

Attendant?

“Very good, Lieutenant. I would speak with the elder. Please wait outside and ensure we are not disturbed.”

Prestyn Gore flicked the briefest glance in Imogen’s direction before marching toward the pub’s exit. She watched as he disappeared through the front door, which sealed behind him, hinges squealing in protest at the recent overuse.

The king’s attendant threw the bolt, locking them inside.

Imogen fisted the neck of the liquor bottle and shot to her feet.

The attendant’s eyes widened at her defensive posture. He raised his hands in a non-threatening manner. “Please, Elder, I mean you no harm.”

When he seemed confident that she wouldn’t bash him over the head with the bottle, he hurried past her and disappeared through the kitchen door behind the bar.

What in the divine kingdoms was going on?

Attendant Creed was gone for no more than three minutes before returning. He wasn’t alone.

“Mender Alcuin?” Imogen blurted. The liquor she’d consumed became a pleasant hum in her brain. Maybe coming to get a drink hadn’t been the best idea after all.

“Hello, dear,” the mender said, clasping her hands briefly. “Please, sit. We haven’t much time.”

Imogen eyed the door behind the bar. “What’d you do with Ross?”

“The barkeep has been well compensated for his discretion,” said the king’s attendant. “And the dutiful Second Lieutenant will assure we aren’t overheard.”

“Who are you?” she demanded.