Page 17 of The Faceless Queen

The crowd cheered, already throwing coins onto the stage, though there wasn’t anywhere near enough energy being sent my way for me to feed. It didn’t matter. My meal was coming in the form of Brennan.

But he wasn’t there. Not yet.

The drum solo ended. My forehead and neck were already beading with sweat. Using the tiniest bit of my magic, I wiped it away and restored the shine to the curls beginning to frizz.

The musicians rejoined the song, the music quickly reaching a crescendo, and I stared at the door which remained stubbornly closed. I kept dancing until the song ended and the next one beginning. My eyes remained at the tavern entrance, waiting for the door to open, expecting any minute to see a familiar green cloak appear. But none did. I tried to ignore the sinking feeling in my gut, the thud of disappointment brimming inside of me.

I told myself it was because I needed his money. Because I needed to steal his lifeforce so I could escape.

But deep down, I knew it was something else. There was a traitorous part of me that just wanted to see Brennan again. Just wanted to talk to him, to be with him, and finally, to kiss him⁠—

I swallowed roughly, trying not to think about it. Especially not when the next song ended, or the one after, and there was still no sign of him, or his friends Rowan and Kienan.

My heart began to fill with dread upon the close of every song. Had he changed his mind?

By fucking Batrir! I was going to have to make up for his absence some other way. I was going to have to bring someone else upstairs with me. Immediately, the idea made me nauseated. I’d been doing this for seven years. Dancing, feeding, and fucking. Granted, a lot less of the last one for some time, but still, I was keeping up the pretense, going through the motions—at least the start of them.

And what I was beginning to realize was I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t have it in me. Something had changed last night with Brennan. I didn’t even want to pretend. Not for one more night.

I wasn’t even feeding properly from the audience. My performance was suffering, and my dancing was so uninspired. Every second that the door did not open, or worse, did, but it wasn’t him walking through—I performed worse. Even the Azete had fallen asleep. It couldn’t sense any source of energy. Not from a room full of men watching me dance in little more than a bra.

Geoffrey emerged from the kitchens, smoke billowing behind him as the men in the tavern hooted. I wasn’t putting on my normal show. I wasn’t flirting or attempting to pick a mark. But my skills as a dancer were enough to keep the coins tossing onto the stage. That, and the fact I’d shrunk my bra halfway through, just to see if I could feed.

I couldn’t.

Geoffrey stroked his beard as he examined the room, seeing that the nobleman had in fact not returned. His eyes narrowed, searching the faces of every farmer, craftsman, and soldier in attendance. Then he turned his ire on me.

The final song came to a close, and Geoffrey immediately grabbed me off the stage.

“Well, not as much a man of his word as you believed,” he hissed. “I expect you to make up for it tonight.” He pointed at the farmer with the red beard, the one who’d come to the tavern the night before. The one I’d nearly knocked off his feet with a look. “He’s been saving up for you. He works hard. So tonight, I think it’s only fair that you both cash in.”

I blinked back tears, watching as the farmer began his approach, his eyes eager, and his hands—his Godsdamned hands that were never clean⁠—

The tavern door creaked, the noise of it rising above the din of the tavern. I turned my head, watching it open, just enough to allow the night’s breeze to blow against the entryway torches. Three men walked through the threshold—each wearing a fine, velvet cloak that outmatched the wealth of every man in the room.

I froze, seeing brown curls bronzed with golden flecks beneath the torchlights. And then I saw a set of warm, emerald eyes.

Brennan’s.

“He’s here,” I said under my breath. My heart skipped, and my pulse raced. He’d come back. I barely dared to move as he looked up onto the empty stage, searching for me.

Brennan frowned until he spotted me beside the stage with Geoffrey. His jaw set at once, and he hurried forward, practically pushing his way through the crowd to reach me. I moved toward him, trying to shorten the distance between us.

“Samara,” he said, breathless. “I’m sorry I could not come sooner.”

“Ah, you have returned, just in time,” Geoffrey said. “I am glad to see Samara has caught your interest.”

“She’s an amazing woman,” Brennan said, his tone already defensive. “Incredibly accomplished and intelligent. Might I occupy some of her time again?”

“Of course. But first, one small matter—we never discussed a price yesterday,” Geoffrey said.

I glared.

Brennan frowned, his brows furrowed. “Was what I brought not enough?” His neck reddened. And I got a flash of his emotions. Not embarrassment, but anger. He didn’t like Geoffrey—he didn’t like him at all.

But despite that, he produced a new purse, one that was just as heavy as the night before. The same golden thread of House Lafir embroidered through the tassels which sealed the top.

I tried to shake my head. I knew what the prick was doing. But Brennan, as he’d well admitted the night before, wasn’t accustomed to the rules which governed the tavern. He didn’t seem to understand how to function in the place where Geoffrey was king, not the ruler of House Lafir. I almost wondered, from some of the things he’d said, if last night had very well been his first time here in Batron. That was the name of the district, the town beyond the city. The town furthest from Lafir Castle.