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Amira stirred at his side. “Where is the appraiser?”
Rourke paused, staring at her, as if he’d already forgotten she was there at all. “Oh, we have one right here, in the house. Not all guests pay in cash…” his voice trailed off.
Amira shifted uneasily, obviously not entirely satisfied by the answer.
Kyllen wrapped his arm around her shoulders and drew her into his side.
“Go ahead,” he said to Rourke. “We’ll wait right here. Remember, I have more where that came from.” He turned his right arm, letting the emeralds on his other bracer catch light and sparkle.
Rourke scurried away, but there was no need to worry. No matter how much he took, the weasel human would always come back for more. Kyllen knew the type.
A woman appeared at his side, wearing a dress barely held up by two thin shoulder straps. Her outfit was far closer in style to what the ladies at his father’s court wore than any other clothing in the room.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she murmured as if offering something far more illicit than a beverage.
He would kill for a glass of water, but he didn’t trust these people or whatever they might serve him. There weren’t many foods that could harm a gorgonian back in Nerifir. The hag’s ring on his right hand protected him from those that could. But he wasn’t in Nerifir, and the effects of magical substances varied from world to world.
“No. We’re good.” He shook his head.
The woman left, and Amira leaned into his side, so trusting. Warmth from her body seeped through his tunic, which was especially pleasant in the cool air of this land.
He’d never met a human before her. He’d never even met a fae who’d seen a human before. Humans were exceptionally rare in the whole of Nerifir, not just in the Kingdom of Lorsan. Little was known about them. And even that knowledge came from sources like legends, fables, and myths, often contradicting each other.
What all the myths agreed upon was that humans were alluring. They held a special appeal.
Now that he had met a few humans himself, he could argue with that general statement. Highborn fae—rich, spoiled, and bored—appreciated everything new and different. Kyllen wondered if the fae fascination with humans stemmed from them being rare and exotic.
However, as far as Amira was concerned, he could certainly feel the appeal.
She was stunning. Even despite her ugly clothing that was at least twice her size, the signs of exhaustion on her face, and the lanky jerkiness of her movements, he found her beautiful. There was an irresistible attraction in her human fragility.
He carefully slid his gaze her way. Her small hands were clutched to her chest, and he suddenly wished to hold one of them again.
Rourke returned, holding a wad of neatly cut pieces of paper in his hand.
“Eight hundred quid for the cuff.” He shoved the wad into his hands.
Kyllen turned the tightly wound stack of papers in his fingers. This must be the weird human currency he’d overheard the bracks talk about.
“No,” Amira protested passionately. “That’s not enough.”
It probably wasn’t. Each buckle of his bracer would easily pay for a boat or a horse back in Nerifir. He never expected Rourke to be fair. However, the amount didn’t really matter right now.
“All right.” He accepted the papers.
“Kyllen—” Amira started, but he silenced her with a one-armed hug and a kiss into her hair. The gesture was meant to show the rest of the humans that she was with him and under his protection. But it felt so good to hug her, he had to force his arm to let go.
“It’ll be fun, my heart,” he said with exaggerated enthusiasm and shifted closer to the roulette table. “How does it work again?” He drummed his fingers on the edge of the table.
The croupier slid a small stack of chips his way, swiping away the wad of paper money. “You can bet on the color—red or black, the number—odd or even. You can bet on one specific number…”
Kyllen listened with some attention to all the betting options and the pay-offs they came with. Overall, the rules were almost identical to those in Nerifir. Deep inside, the worlds truly weren’t that different.
“Each chip you have is one hundred pounds.” The dealer pointed at the eight black chips in front of him. “That’s the minimum bet.”
“How much are the others worth?” Kyllen gestured at the neat rows of chips in the tray in front of the croupier.
“Pink is two-fifty. Purple is five hundred. And gray is one thousand,” the man explained. “There’s nothing lower than one hundred.”
That was a lie. He’d spotted chips of other colors in front of the players at other tables—yellow, blue, orange, and red. Maybe other tables had different rules, or maybe Rourke and his cronies were determined to drain him of his money as fast as possible.
Something must be missing in the gambling laws in this world, or maybe there weren’t any at all. Judging by the appearance of this place and its inhabitants, however, Kyllen didn’t think they obeyed many laws, anyway.
Not that it mattered.
“Are you placing your bet, sir?” the croupier asked.
“Yes.” He placed four of the eight chips he had on a random row on the table.
Amira stiffened at his side.
“Wish me luck, sweetheart.” He flashed her a smile. She probably wished to slap it off his face, but she said nothing.
The wheel spun, sending the little metal ball rolling. He watched, faking excitement and eager anticipation.
The ball landed on the wrong color and the wrong number. The dealer quickly collected his four chips. Kyllen made his shoulders drop, exuding disappointment.
Amira tugged his sleeve. “We should go.”
She was right, of course. The four hundred they still had left might buy them dinner and accommodation for tonight. But then what?
Besides, his bracer cost more than what he got for it. He had to at least get its value back, even if in the silly paper money.
