Page 70 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

Every eye is on us.

On me.

I’ve been so wrapped in Rian’s shadowy pull I didn’t notice the rest of the tavern holding its breath.

But the moment Rian and Jaxon glance over their shoulders, heads dip and conversations stumble back to life—too loud, too rehearsed. A performance meant to look casual.

It doesn’t fool anyone.

“Your lover is worried for you,” Jaxon says lightly.

I blink. “What?”

He jerks his thumb over his shoulder.

I follow his motion and find Lev. His features are hard, stony. But the worry burning behind his eyes undermines his unaffected facade.

“He’s not worried,” I lie, gripping my cup too tight, then mutter under my breath, “He’s probably just feeling guilty.”

“Guilty?” Jaxon lifts a brow. “About what?”

Shit.

I did not mean to say that.

“Nothing.” I drain the mead, the flavor now bitter on my tongue.

Jaxon opens his mouth to press further, but Rian cuts in.

“Anton says your sister is a smithy.”

My eyes snap to Anton. He offers a small, reassuring smile—relaxed in a way no one else in this tavern dares to be around the Fae. Either he’s incredibly brave, incredibly foolish…or not as prejudiced as the rest of town.

“Elara?” Rian’s voice breaks through my spinning thoughts.

“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “Yes, my sister is the smithy.”

“You should bring her to our camp,” he says. “We’ve weapons that could use mending.”

The hum of the tavern shifts. Shoulders stiffen. Hands twitch toward tankards. Conversations taper off.

I force a smile, tight and polite. “Or you could take the weapons to her at the smithy.”

His grin widens, wolfish and bright. “An even better idea.”

The moment stretches.

Then a voice slices through the air like a blade. “What in the Cursed Ignar’s name is going on here?”

I whip around. Captain Steelvice stomps through the tavern, shoving aside drunk patrons who impede his path. His sword is drawn and leveled at my chest, and his eyes burn with fury.

And he’s not slowing down.

14

My back slams into the bar. I clutch the sticky, solid surface, my heart racing at the murderous gleam in Captain Steelvice’s glare.

Chairs scrape violently as patrons leap to their feet. Steel flashes as soldiers draw their weapons without hesitation, loyal to their captain first, questions never.