Page 76 of Evermore (The Never Sky #3)

Paesha

“ T his is the best, worst idea you’ve ever had, Archie,” I said, slamming my cup into his, watching the booze slosh over the side.

I couldn’t remember whose idea the tavern crawl had been, actually.

Probably mine. Or Archer’s. Definitely one of us, because obviously neither of us possessed a lick of sense when put together.

Some cosmic joke, really. The fate of the kingdom rested on the shoulders of a card shark pretending to be a prince and a woman with shadows as brain roommates.

“To finding Archer a bride!” I declared, sloshing my drink against his for the fourth or probably fifth time.

The Black Oath was packed, filled with the hearty laughter of various members of Stirling’s middling society who were blissfully unaware that their future king was currently seeing double and critiquing potential brides like they were horses at auction. Or maybe they were aware.

“That one’s too tall,” Archer said, squinting at a lovely brunette by the bar. “I’d get a crick in my neck trying to kiss her.”

“You’ve kissed plenty of tall women,” I pointed out, signaling for another round.

“That was horizontal. Different angles involved.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a way he clearly hoped was suggestive but was actually ridiculous.

“What about her?” I nodded toward a woman with copper hair playing darts with impressive accuracy.

Archer grimaced. “Slept with her sister. And her cousin. Possibly on the same night, but that part’s fuzzy.”

“Gods, Archie, is there anyone in this tavern you haven’t?”

He made a great show of scanning the room, then pointed triumphantly at an elderly man dozing in the corner. “Him! Definitely haven’t slept with him.”

“Your future queen, for sure.” I dissolved into giggles, my shoulders shaking as I tried to maintain some semblance of dignity. “What about the barmaid?”

“Which one?”

“The one who keeps glaring at you like she might poison your drink.”

“Ah.” He winced. “That would be Lydia. We had a… misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding?” I repeated flatly.

“I may have forgotten her name. While calling out another name. During a particularly intimate moment.”

“You absolute disaster!”

“In my defense, they were sisters! Twins! It was an honest mistake!”

“That is so much worse,” I giggled, wiping tears from my eyes.

The barmaid, Lydia, approached with fresh drinks, slamming them down with enough force to splash amber liquid across the table.

“Your poison, your highness,” she said with saccharine sweetness.

“Lovely to see you again, Mar—” He caught himself. “Lydia. You’re looking well.”

She leaned in close, her smile sharp as a blade. “Your shameless flirting isn’t going to win you any battles in here tonight, Archer Bramwell. There are no hearts left for you to break.”

As she stalked away, Archer clutched his chest in mock offense. “I’ve never broken a heart in my life! I merely… borrowed it briefly and returned it slightly used.”

“You’re impossible. How will we ever find you a bride when you’ve exhausted all the options in Stirling?”

“We could try Perth,” he suggested brightly. “I’ve only been there a handful of times. Statistically speaking, there must be at least three eligible women I haven’t offended yet.”

“Or we could import one. From, I don’t know, one of those fancy northern kingdoms where they don’t know your reputation.”

“They’d find out soon enough.” He slouched further in his chair, his usual easy confidence slipping for a moment. “Besides, what kind of woman wants to marry a fake prince with a tragic story to tell?”

“You’re not a fake prince.”

“Fine. What kind of woman wants to marry a reluctant prince with a tragic story and a magical bond to a small child and his best friend? That doesn’t exactly scream ‘stable husband material’.”

My expression softened, and I reached across the table to squeeze his hand.

“The right one will see what we see. A good man who’d sacrifice anything for the people he loves.

A man who makes everyone around him laugh when the world gets too heavy.

A man who’d make an amazing king, if he’d just stop thinking he doesn’t deserve the crown. ”

Archer swallowed hard. He deflected with humor, as always. “Are you volunteering? Because I’m pretty sure Thorne would turn me into a very stylish pair of boots.”

I snorted. “I’m pretty sure that would break some fundamental rules of our bond. And Thorne would do much worse than boots.”

“You’re probably right.” He sighed dramatically. “Besides, the boots would probably be hideous.”

A commotion at the door drew our attention as a group of rowdy men burst in, led by a woman with silver-streaked black hair and the confident stride of someone who commanded respect without asking for it.

“Zara Blackwood,” I whispered. “She’s actually from Perth. I guess not everyone’s hiding in Thea’s Underground.”

“Hey, I’ve seen her. A few nights ago she was at the Parlor. She cheated me at cards twice,” Archer said, studying Zara with newfound interest. “Never did figure out how she did it.”

“A woman who can outcheat you?” My eyes widened in mock astonishment. “I think I’ve found your queen.”

“Very funny.” But he couldn’t tear his eyes away as she settled at the bar, the men gathering around her like moths to flame. There was something magnetic about her, a wild kind of freedom.

“I dare you,” I said, an impish grin spreading across my face.

“Dare me what?”

“Go talk to her. Charm her. See if the famous Archer Bramwell swagger works on a woman who clearly likes the spotlight.”

“I changed my mind. I don’t want to do this. How do we change the castle rules again?”

I dropped my chin to my chest. “If we could change the rules, your father would have done that and never married Farris’s mother.

Have you even seen Tuck lately? He’s nose deep in every book and record he can find.

You can’t change the rules unless you’re king and you can’t be king unless you get married. Now perk your ass up and go say hi.”

“You’re mean. Has anyone ever told you that?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, yes. All the time.” I snatched his tankard from the table and the room spun at the sudden movement. “I’m not giving this back until you have a fiancé.”

“So, you’re just going to sit in this tavern and rot while I court the kingdom? The fact that Thorne hasn’t come charging in that door yet, is already surprising. I’m guessing we have maybe another hour before he melts the walls off this place to find you.”

I lifted a shoulder. “He knows where we are.”

Archer’s eyes, though partially unfocused, doubled in size. “You told him about our best, worst idea ever? That was supposed to be a secret. We’re fighting now.”

“Let’s just say I left him a note with some very vague instructions on what we might be doing and he’s definitely in the process of narrowing it down right now.”

“Remember that time when we snuck down to the catacombs and he almost killed me? Think I’m safe because of the whole king thing?”

“I think you’re safe because he likes his balls and I would have to remove them from his body if he so much as thought about touching a single blond hair on your head.”

His face twisted until he looked utterly disgusted. “Please never say the word balls to me again.”

I lifted my cup to my mouth. “Balls.”

“I actually hate you.”

“You don’t at all, that’s what really bothers you.”

He held up a hand. “How many fingers do you see?”

“At least seven.”

“Perfect.” He rose from his seat. “Let’s go do something stupid.”

I nodded, not even bothering to contemplate. “Famous last words. I’m in.”

He swung an arm over my shoulder as we walked out of the tavern, words slurring as we swayed back and forth. “I was kidding, you know. You’re my favorite. Don’t tell the kid though. She’s my other favorite.”

“Careful, Toes, your bond is showing.”

“Oh, gods. I just remembered. Is this the broken carriage?”

“Don’t you start with that again.”

He pressed a hand to his chest. “It was a catastrophic loss. A historic event. Bards will sing about the day you took down a whole damn carriage with your?—”

“I swear to every god, if you finish that sentence, I will push you into the nearest river.”

“I’m a fair swimmer, might be worth it.” We hopped into the carriage and waited several moments before he snorted and got back out. “Forgot I was the driver.”

“Where are we going anyway?” I asked, following him to the front of the carriage so we could sit on the box seat.

“You said Alastor was meeting with a bunch of gods when you were there, right?”

Sylvie stirred at the mention of her parents, but I ignored the claws in my mind. I’d grown used to them and the alcohol helped. “Oh, okay, so we’re going to get ourselves killed. Great.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Archer said, cracking the reins.

“How the hell did this night go from finding you a wife to gallivanting through the Vale?”

“Magic.”

The carriage wobbled as Archer steered it through the streets.

Somehow, we managed to avoid running over any pedestrians, though I’m pretty sure we clipped at least one fruit stand before we abandoned the damn thing and began crashing through the narrow winding alleys to get to the Vale.

Archer’s voice ricocheted off the close buildings as he sang a song that made absolutely no sense, but rhymed, and more than once I slipped and he had to keep me from falling.

When we arrived at the entrance, the same guard who was always there stood with his arms crossed, looking bored and irritated.

“You again,” he grumbled when he saw Archer. “Thought I made myself clear last time.”

I stepped forward, stumbling slightly but recovering with what I was pretty sure was grace.

“Is that any way to greet old friends?” Archer asked.

“We’re not friends.”

“Not with that attitude.” I grinned, letting the Remnants swirl around my feet. “But we could be.”

The guard’s eyes widened as the shadows climbed up his legs, not hurting, merely… exploring. Like curious pets checking out a newcomer.