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‘It’s been a while,’ Albert said, before his gaze landed on Thea. ‘And you… Miss Zoltaire. You’re gaining quite the reputation, aren’t you? First you save our king, then you slay a wraith, and now you’re ridding the midrealms of those mercenary scum…’

Word travels fast indeed, Thea thought, shifting on her feet as she realised the patrons’ eyes weren’t just for Wilder, but for her as well. Her skin crawled under their scrutiny. If this was the attention she was receiving now, she couldn’t imagine what it would be like if they knew of the lightning coursing through her veins.

‘Just call me Thea,’ she told Albert. The barman gave her a nod.

Wilder was scanning the tables, noting the crowd’s feigned lack of interest in them. ‘A booth at the back if you have one, Bertie.’

‘Right you are,’ the barkeep said, already moving towards the rear of the establishment. He showed them to a booth tucked away in a dark corner of the tavern and waited for them to slide into the cushioned benches before he addressed Wilder again.

‘Marise heard you were in town. He dropped off a bottle of that wine you like, though he said to tell you he’s offended you haven’t visited the shop.’

A genuine smile spread across the Warsword’s face. The sight of it melted something in Thea’s chest.

‘He knows me well,’ Wilder replied, nodding.

And with that Albert left them to it, a server delivering a bottle and two glasses moments later.

Thea watched as Wilder poured generously and slid a glass across the table to her. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked her, his deep voice laced with concern.

‘I…’ Thea stumbled over her words. In truth, she hadn’t had time to process it. ‘I don’t really understand,’ she said.

Wilder swirled and sipped his wine, closing his eyes for a moment in enjoyment. ‘Nor do I.’

‘Is he allowed to use his magic like that?’ Thea asked, recalling how swept up in the music she’d felt – and, upon reflection, how the warmth that had spread in her chest was unnatural, completely unlike the sensation that bloomed when she saw Wilder’s smile, or heard his laugh.

Wilder scoffed. ‘He’s a king. He’s allowed to do whatever he likes.’

‘But he wouldn’t hurt me.’ The words sounded stupid, naive as they left Thea’s lips, but she still believed them. ‘He’s only ever been good to me, kind… He’s the reason I’m a Guardian.’

Wilder put his glass down with a little too much force. ‘You’rethe reason you’re a Guardian, Thea.’

Thea let his words sink in before she spoke again. ‘Do you think he’s dangerous?’

‘Every man with power like that is dangerous,’ Wilder answered, taking another drink. ‘Never get in debt with one of the rulers.’ He scoffed softly at his own words. ‘I forget myself, Princess. You’re one of them, after all.’

Thea suppressed a shudder. ‘But… what did he want?’

‘What does any powerful man want?’ Wilder asked. ‘More power. Be it in the form of armies and riches, or women and influence. He’s taken an interest in you. Has ever since you threw that fucking dagger at his goblet.’

Thea reached for her glass and took a tentative sip. Her eyes bulged. The wine was leagues above the swill she and the others drank back at the fortress.

Wilder laughed. ‘Don’t get used to it.’ But his eyes betrayed his relaxed demeanour. His gaze was bright and alert, constantly scanning their surroundings.

‘Do you have any idea who hired the mercenaries?’ Thea asked, her own suspicions churning rapidly in her mind.

‘A few. The Daughter of Darkness, for one.’

‘Not Vernich?’ she blurted.

Wilder made a frustrated noise at the back of his throat and shook his head in disbelief. ‘What is your obsession with him?’

‘Well… He’s partly the reason I almost bled to death in a broom closet.’

Wilder’s gaze darkened. ‘He paid dearly for that.’

Thea waved him off. ‘What makes you so sure that he’s not a fallen Warsword? He was the one who let the reaper escape at the ruins. I told you, I overheard him and Seb talking about getting something the enemy wants, about the Veil and how the alchemists’ strategy won’t work. And —’

Wilder’s large hand closed over hers, stilling her frantic gestures beneath it. ‘Slow down.’