Page 2 of Princes of the Outlands (The Castles of the Eyrie)
Chapter 2
Valenden
“You’re drunk, my lord,” one of the wenches across the tavern’s table pointed out. “Again.”
Valenden Barendur gave the girl a wicked grin. Maira . She worked in Barendur Hold’s goose pens and always had at least one delicate down feather caught in her amber hair. Unlike the girl sitting next to her, Shusana was always impeccably coifed.
Valenden—Val, as everyone from peasant to lord called him—might have been the second son of King Aleth and the late Queen Anathalda of the Baersladen, but he was unsurpassed when it came to royal gossip. If it got back to his father that he’d been drinking again in The Whale tavern with a gaggle of village girls, King Aleth would roll his eyes and order a bucket of cold water thrown on him when he returned.
But ale was the only thing that drowned out the pain he’d felt since his mother’s death. His two brothers had loved their mother, but Valenden and Queen Anathalda had always had a unique bond: they both had felt the darkness calling. He’d been stronger when she was alive. Now, he felt utterly lost—except when blinded by pleasure.
“And what of it?” Valenden countered Maira, sloppily propping up his chin with his hand. “It isn’t as though anyone needs me sharp-witted for anything. I’m the spare prince, lovely Maira. My family has Trei to be the steadfast heir.”
“If anything were to happen to Prince Trei, you’d be next in line,” Shusana reminded him.
Valenden balked as he searched the tankards on the table for a full one. Then, not having any luck, he waved to the bartender.
“Winter. More ale.”
Winter was a pretty girl, though you wouldn’t know it from her unbrushed locks or bare cheeks without a spec of rust powder on them. She flicked Valenden an annoyed look as she headed back to the bar.
Well, that was nothing new. He’d disgraced himself in her tavern plenty of times to have earned her ire.
Turning his attention back to the girls at his table, Valenden explained, “If something were to happen to Trei, my father would deem me unfit to be heir and pass that honor down to my little brother. And don’t think I’d be torn up about it, either. Rangar has the right temperament for ruling, always brooding around, thinking of everything that could go wrong. No, crowns aren’t for me. I haven’t a kingly bone in my body.”
Maira leaned across the table so that Valenden got a good look at her plunging neckline. “I don’t know about that, my prince. I’d say you’re well known among the ladies of this kingdom—and a few men—for at least one impressive bone.”
While the other girls tittered and snorted, Valenden leaned back in the wooden chair, spreading his legs as he reclined. “It would be inelegant of me to either deny or confirm rumors—though if any of you want a peek at my kingly bone later tonight, I might happily oblige.”
Maira gave a flirtatious hair twirl, which loosened a white goose down feather that floated onto the table. Valenden scooped it up, massaging the soft filaments between his fingers. He suspected that he and Maira had locked lips a time or two, though he was usually too drunk to remember details of his many dalliances. The curly-haired seamstress apprentice sitting across from Shusana, however—he’d definitely felt under her skirts.
Maira stood and moved to his chair, perching in his lap as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her slight weight settled warmly over his thigh.
“You know, Val, you’ll be expected to take a bride one day.”
“Pffft,” he dismissed. “There isn’t a woman in the Outlands who would marry a cad like me.”
Shusana scooted her wooden stool closer to him, biting her lip as she gazed up at him through her lashes. She teased, “That isn’t true. There must be some desperate spinsters.”
“The bog hag,” Maira said in mock seriousness. “She’s one hundred and two years old, but I’m sure she still has a few good years left.”
Valenden was very much enjoying the girls’ attention when Winter sauntered over with his fresh tankard of ale. She plonked it down in front of him carelessly enough to spill drips on his pants and Maira’s dress.
“Apologies, Maira,” Winter said. “I was aiming only for the prince.”
“Oh?” Valenden said, raising an eyebrow. “Trying to chase me out of your establishment already? It isn’t even midnight yet.”
“Last time you were in, your little brother had to come to drag you out.”
While Maira squirmed deliciously in his lap, Valenden lifted his chin, studying the bartender. He frequented The Whale tavern enough to have interacted with her often, yet he knew little about her other than her name and the fact that she’d recently inherited the tavern from her late father. It couldn’t be easy for a girl of eighteen to run the establishment on her own, especially with the likes of him stirring up trouble more often than not.
“See?” Valenden said to the girls around the table. “I told you Rangar was better suited for responsibility than me. If you have your eyes on the throne, girls, it’s him you should seduce. Don’t let the scars on his face deter you.”
As Winter gathered up the empty glasses, she smirked. “The rumor is that Prince Rangar is still besotted with that Mir princess whose life he saved.”
“Lady Bryn.” Valenden rolled his eyes. “In this case, I can confirm the rumors are true. My little brother is even learning the Mir language, hoping to one day talk to her. He’s a hopeless case, I’m afraid, if you’re after his heart. His cock, on the other hand—well, Lady Bryn is a kingdom away, and his bed grows cold while he plots how to make her his.”
Valenden loved nothing more than to tease his little brother about his obsession with the Mir princess. It had been nearly ten years since Rangar, then just a boy, had saved the six-year-old princess from wolves in an attack that had left them both scarred. Her father, King Deothanial of the Mirien, had denied the Baer tradition that declared “a life saved is a soul owned” and forbade Rangar from ever coming close to Bryn again. Of course, that hadn’t stopped Rangar. Two years before, Rangar had convinced Valenden and Trei to travel to Castle Mir to spy on Bryn on the night of the Harvest Moon Gathering. Grown to sixteen years old, Bryn had become a stunningly beautiful woman. Poor Rangar had only fallen even more hopelessly in love.
“Why are we talking about my brothers?” Valenden said, bouncing Maira on his lap. “Aren’t I the most handsome one, anyway?”
“You might be if you ever bathed,” Maira teased, raking her fingers through his tangled curls.
“I think Trei is very dashing,” the seamstress apprentice said with a dreamy sigh.
“Better take your mind off him,” Shusana warned. “He’s smitten with Saraj, and Trei isn’t promiscuous like this one.” She patted Valenden’s arm affectionately.
“Well, I, for one,” Winter added as she cleared the mugs. “Think Rangar is the most handsome—or at least he would be if he weren’t always so brooding. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen him smile.”
“You don’t mind his scars?” Maira asked.
Winter scoffed. “What man in the Outlands doesn’t have a few scars?”
Maira leaned forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “My mother says that your mother used to read fortunes before she died. She could tell which couples were fated to be together. Can you read fortunes, too?”
“Not when I have a tavern to run. Ask me again another day.” Winter gave Maira a wink and grabbed the last mug and sashayed through the maze of tables toward the bar.
Valenden watched her go with a nagging feeling he couldn’t quite put a name to. He hadn’t liked the fact that she preferred Rangar to him. Usually, he was no stranger to jabs and barbs at his expense—in fact, he was known for his self-deprecating sense of humor. But hearing Winter say Rangar was the more handsome brother lodged in him like a thorn, souring his mood.
He eyed the pretty bartender closer as she interacted with an elderly farmer at the bar. Winter had always caught his eye if he was being honest. That was hardly remarkable—every attractive woman, and even a few men, in the Baersladen caught his eye. He currently had three gorgeous girls practically spilling their breasts out onto the table like a buffet offering for him, and one even wiggling provocatively in his lap.
And yet he had to admit the bartender was the one who truly fascinated him. Was it true she could read fortunes?
Her mother had died long ago, and ever since her father’s more recent illness and death, she had worked hard to make the tavern successful. As a result, it had been cleaner over the last few weeks than it had ever been before. Winter baked the pastries for sale herself each day. He’d even once spied her repairing a broken door hinge, and now he kicked himself for not having stopped to help her.
His older brother would have stopped to help her. So would his younger one.
He growled to himself to think of his own uselessness. Winter disappeared into the back room, and Valenden snapped back to the present and realized Maira was trailing kisses along his neck.
Flashing a sloppy grin, he returned his attention to the three girls at his table, trying to forget about the bartender.
Trying—but failing.
“Now,” he purred, “Weren’t we talking about my kingly bone?”