Page 2

Lessia blinked, forcing the lingering magic back inside her until the unnatural glow left her eyes and her natural honey color returned.

Rolling her neck, she offered the soldier a sweet smile, tilting her head when he still hovered by the bar. “What are you waiting for?”

The soldier scrambled to gather all the cups in his hands, and Lessia laughed softly when he walked over and, with a smile on his face, distributed them amongst her friends, leaving a cup behind for her.

Grinning to herself, she lifted the mug to take a sip of ale. Even if she often felt like she cheated when she used her magic, since no soul in Havlands could withstand her commands, it was helpful in situations like this.

But Lessia’s smile fell when cold, oily magic rippled over her skin, and her hand froze midair. With the hair on the back of her neck rising and her Fae senses blaring, she whipped around so quickly the ale sloshed over her hands.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as she beheld the silver-haired Fae slipping onto one of the high chairs beside her. The snow clinging to his gray cloak glittered in the dim light, and his tanned skin and the cascading waves of his shoulder-length hair shimmered—even in the depths of winter.

“That’s what you waste your magic on? Some free ale and a simple human?” His deep voice rumbled through her, her heart beating in rhythm with his fingers tapping the bar.

Even with his glamour in place, the soldiers around them retreated, keeping a respectful distance—their dull human senses picking up on the danger radiating from the Fae.

Not that it surprised her. Full Fae could cast a glamour over themselves—could trick anyone into believing they were mere humans. But Merrick was one of the Fae king’s most vicious soldiers, and not even a glamour could mask the cloud of hostility that clung to him.

She’d heard the stories about him growing up, how the Fae called him the Death Whisperer—how alone, he’d taken out entire companies of soldiers that dared stand against him.

Lessia shakily set down the cup and wiped her hands on her breeches. “Merrick.”

Clasping her hands behind her back to prevent him from seeing them tremble, she swallowed. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

She winced as her voice wavered, and cast a quick glance toward her friends.

Thankfully, they were occupied, toasting with the soldier she’d sent over and laughing as more of his friends joined them, each with drinks in his hands.

Silently cursing herself for staying in the past two nights, she waited, stiffening as his magic continued to dance over her skin.

The layers of clothes she wore did nothing to keep the oily vibrations off her. On the contrary, she could almost hear the magic whispering through the wool.

She’d have to take a bath and scrub every inch of her body to feel clean again.

Merrick angled his head, always careful to keep his eyes averted from hers, his long fingers impatiently running over the surface of the bar.

Bren eyed her as he swiftly placed a goblet of golden liquor before him.

When she inclined her head, Bren slipped away, hurrying to the other side of the bar.

“Where were you the past few days?” Merrick lifted the cup, swirling the liquid a few times before he took a long sip.

Lessia followed his movements closely as he elegantly set it down, his tongue darting out to lick a stray drop off his full lips.

He moved like a snake: everything about him cold and calculated, as if he could lunge any second and deliver a fatal bite.

Clearing her throat, she inched backward but stilled when the magic coating her skin tightened its grip, warning her not to take another step.

She shouldn’t have sent the other guards home.

Merrick was the fourth Fae guard King Rioner had sent to watch over her.

The others had lasted less than a week before they accidentally met her eyes and she sweetly asked them to leave and forget all about her.

But Merrick had been a constant the past four years, not once meeting her gaze, not even allowing her a glimpse of the color of his eyes.

Although she was certain they were pure night—two dark windows peering into his lethal soul .

His magic nudged her again, like sharp daggers leaving stinging kisses on her back.

Lessia drew a deep breath. She only needed to assure him she hadn’t forgotten about the king’s orders; then she could leave, go home, and forget all about him until the next time he sought her out.

“I’ve been working. With so many taverns and gambling rooms to manage, I do have to spend time on paperwork as well. I can’t be out every night.”

Merrick remained quiet, but the air around him thickened with tension.

Lessia shuddered as she quickly continued.

“I am planning on bringing some of the soldiers and captains home tonight, and my friends will ensure the soiree we’ll host will be the talk of the town for days.

I’ve already let them know who I am. The king will be pleased to hear that most people in Asker are familiar with my name by now. ”

His thick silver eyebrows twitched in irritation, the only emotion he ever allowed to cross the hard lines of his face.

At least when she was around.

But she doubted that face ever softened. There was a reason for his nickname, one she didn’t care to find out.

“You know as well as I do that our king is not pleased. He ordered you to make a name for yourself here, Lessia. He did not order you to become a harlot, a human plaything.”

Lessia stiffened, her nails digging into her palms until the smell of iron filled the air. But she wouldn’t allow herself to correct him. It was better he thought that of her than knew what she actually did when she was out of his sight.

“Well, I do own most of the taverns in this part of town now. And I’m respected amongst the merchants and barterers who pass through, so we get the best goods at decent prices.

Even with the prices rising, I can keep costs down.

” She swept out an arm toward the packed room.

“That’s why everyone comes here, why we’re busy every night.

I’d say I did pretty well. And I should expect our king would think so too. ”

When Merrick’s nostrils flared, she clamped her lips shut.

Shifting, she studied his profile, the angry lines of his mouth as he sipped yet again from the goblet.

What she wouldn’t do for him to turn his face to hers, to meet those evil eyes and tell him to leave. Perhaps ask him to forget who he was entirely, tell him to move to the abandoned shifter island and never return.

All Havlands would be better for it.

But no such luck. Merrick tapped the bar again, and Bren immediately slipped up to refill his cup.

“I guess you’ll see for yourself soon enough,” he said quietly as Bren shuffled off.

Lessia didn’t think her heart could beat any harder, but when the tattoo on her arm burned in response to his words, burned for the first time in five years, she couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her. Her hand flew to cover her left arm, pulling at the tunic she wore to ensure it was covered.

Merrick downed the liquor and rose, towering over her as he turned to leave.

She swore his lips curled slightly as his whisper brushed her ear.

“King Rioner is coming to see you soon. He’s calling in the debt you owe him.

I’d say be ready, but…” His face dipped toward her arm, knowing exactly what was hidden beneath the layers of clothes she always wore. “It’s not like you can escape it.”