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Pulling her hood forward around her face, she feigned confidence and trailed Khalstorm to an empty table in a badly lit corner. Once seated, she muttered, “Are we staying here tonight, or did we come all this way just so you could booze it up?”
“We’ll be sleeping here tonight.”
She sighed with relief. Perhaps a warm shower was in store for her this very eve. He signaled the barmaid and ordered two lightwing ales. Her favorite? She recalled him preferring darker ales.
Narrowing her eyes, she leaned forward. “Did you happen to find any currency while I wasn’t looking? How exactly do you plan to pay for this?”
Her answer came when the barmaid arrived with their drinks. “We’ll be starting a tab,” he told the woman. “And we’ll be wanting a room for the night.”
“Name?” the barmaid replied.
“Belmont.”
The barmaid’s eyes flashed with recognition, but she made no comment as she set down their drinks and left with swift strides.
Celeste snatched her glass and tipped it back for a long gulp in case he was planning to torment her by taking it away and guzzling it down himself. That didn’t seem to be his intention, however. He swigged from his own drink and then relaxed, throwing one arm over the back of his chair, the picture of ease . . . and looking far too sexy for her liking.
She glanced away. “Do you think it was wise to use your real name?”
His gaze took a turn around the room, giving her the notion he hadn’t considered it. “I’m sure it’s fine.” But he didn’t sound convinced. After a moment of contemplation, he called the barmaid back over and instructed her to tell no one that a Belmont was staying at the inn.
She bit her lip, her gaze darting guiltily, “Aye, my lord, but I’m afraid someone may have overheard me mention you to the innkeeper.” Sure enough, three burly men at the bar were glaring their way.
“They don’t look happy to see you,” Celeste observed snarkily.
Khalstorm drew another swallow of ale. “I don’t care a whit as long as they mind their business.”
Unfortunately, the men had other ideas. They shoved away from the bar and approached. Flanked by his somewhat shorter, but no less impressively built companions, the biggest man stared down at Khalstorm. “You be a Belmont?”
Khalstorm barely spared the big man a glance. “Who’s asking?”
The man’s bloodshot gaze raked over Khalstorm’s face with obvious suspicion, and then recognition hit. “You’re the bloody fallen prince himself! The one who killed his intended bride just after our queen was murdered by the king.”
Khalstorm’s grip on his glass grew brutal, his knuckles whitening. “That’s a bloody lie.Ididn’t kill anyone.” His dark gaze darted her way for the barest of seconds.
She clenched her jaw, wanting to scream, “I didn’t either!” But she stayed quiet.
The big man paid her no mind. “Have you come back to reclaim your crown, then? You think we would follow a coward and a murderer?”
Irritation stabbed through Khalstorm’s brow. “Surely the clan has selected a new king or queen by now. I’m no’ here to challenge anyone.”
One of the other men spoke up. “The clan is divided and weakened, thanks to your family. Anyone who steps up to lead us is nearly immediately challenged. Sometimes within weeks, and easily dethroned. It’s like, oh, we have a new ruler? Must be Tuesday. Most of us expect our clan to disband within a generation.”
Celeste recalled reading about how dragon rulers came into power. Really, it wasn’t that different from the hierarchy in witch covens: challenge the leader and either fight to the death or until someone yields. Then, boom, the winner is the new leader. There’s a little more honor in the way dragons go about it, however. When a Dragon King is challenged, it’s usually a spectacle for all to watch. Strength and cunning are rewarded with loyalty. Trickery and deception are not.
“No one has held the bloody crown for longer than a year.” The big man’s expression twisted with malice. “Bet if I challenged you, I’d earn the respect of the entire clan. What do you say to that?”
“I’d say you’re a damn fool.” Khalstorm seemed cool and confident as he spoke, but Celeste was quickly growing nervous by the direction of the conversation.
“You think I can’t beat you?” The big man rolled up his sleeves menacingly.
Khalstorm shrugged. “Even if you could, who would care? As you said, kings have come and gone. I’m nobody now.”
“You’re the son of the lastgreatking . . . at least until he went mad and murdered his wife for the pleasure of some cunt witch.”
Khalstorm’s head swung up. “I thought no one remembered the witches who lived at the castle.”
Anger gave way to surprise. “So it’s true. We all thought it was a rumor, but to hear it confirmed . . .” Seeming to finally notice her, his head swiveled toward Celeste.
