Page 5 of Princes of the Outlands (The Castles of the Eyrie)

Chapter 5

Valenden

Valenden stumbled out of The Whale tavern sometime after midnight, squinting at the hazy clouds. Were the trees swaying, or was he? By the gods, just how much ale had he drank that night?

“Hey. Prince.”

The sharp voice came from a trio of burly men stalking down the alley toward Valenden. He tried to stop his vision from spinning long enough to pin down their faces. The one in front, who had spoken, had a jaw like a bull’s and fists like a bear’s.

Sacred hell.

It was Maira’s three older brothers, whose long days farming had turned them into nothing but walking muscles.

Valenden held up his hands. “Your sister isn’t here. Maira left with Shusana and that seamstress girl…I always forget her name…a few minutes ago.”

In truth, he wasn’t sure how long it had been since the girls had left. He’d gotten so drunk that one minute they’d been there, their sweet little backsides pressed in his lap, their lips on his mouth and neck and cheeks, and then suddenly he’d been alone, asleep with his face pressed into a sticky spot on the table in the nearly empty tavern.

“Maira isn’t one of your playthings,” the eldest brother threatened.

“I think it’s more the other way around,” Valenden pointed out, hiccupping. “If anyone is a plaything, it’s me.”

His legs suddenly gave out in the slippery mud, but the man shot out an arm and caught him before he fell.

“Thank—”

Maira’s brother jerked Valenden close enough that the man’s spittle landed on his cheek. “You think you can do whatever you like because you're a prince? Fuck whoever you like?”

“Not because I’m a prince.” Valenden dangled limply from the man’s fist. “Look at my brothers. They’re both honorable to a fault. I fuck who I want because I’m a dog —”

The burly man wrenched Valenden even closer to his face. “Keep your hands off our sister.”

The brother behind the first one rolled his shirtsleeves as though readying for a fight. Hexmarks for strength and speed showed on his forearms.

Valenden’s stomach turned. He had definitely had too much ale.

Before he could stop himself, his stomach lurched, and all that ale rushed back up his throat and splashed right onto Maira’s brother’s face.

The man’s face went slack with shock, terror, and rage. His hand opened, releasing Valenden, who immediately collapsed in the mud.

“Ow,” Valenden said, rubbing his backside.

Vomit dripped off the man’s face and chest. For a moment, neither he nor his brother said anything through their shock. Then, the man’s face hardened.

Shit , Valenden thought.

“I’m going to kill you, prince.”

The man grabbed Valenden by the arm, wrenching him to his feet, and slammed a fist into his jaw. Pain bloomed throughout Valenden’s skull. Doubled over, he took a moment to catch his breath.

And then he swung his fist at Maira’s brother.

Valenden’s aim was off in his drunken haze, and the strike glanced off the man’s jaw of getting a direct hit. All three brothers fell on Valenden like they were wrestling a bull into submission. It was a storm of flying fists and raised knees. Valenden could hold his own in a fight even three sheets to the wind, but not when it was three-against-one.

In the end, he collapsed on his back in the mud, blood pouring from his nose, and he decided to stay down.

Maira’s brothers took turns spitting on him, then stomped away down the alley.

“Not a very befitting way to treat a prince,” he muttered to himself. “Or even a dog.”

Every bone in his body ached. He tested his arms and legs tentatively, relieved to find nothing was broken except, perhaps, his nose. Ah, well, it wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last time.

Light snow began to fall again, and he closed his eyes.

Maybe I’ll just die right here , he thought to himself. Freezing to death isn’t the worst way to go.

He was drifting off in his drunken delirium when footsteps splashed through the mud. A shadow fell over him.

He cracked one eye open, frowning.

Winter crouched over him, looking at his wounds with a mix of pity and disappointment. She poked at his ribcage. “Are you dying, prince?”

He groaned as a wave of pain bloomed on his side. “Unfortunately not.”

“Well, I suppose I should rescue you from the cold or face the king’s wrath. Come on.” She lifted his arm around her shoulder, then heaved to help him scramble to his feet. He winced as blood dripped down his forehead. Supporting his weight with one arm around his back, they hobbled together into The Whale. Inside, the fire roared in the hearth, leaving the room blessedly warm and dry. Winter helped him into the backroom, where she motioned to a bedroll.

“Rest here. I’ll get you a blanket.” She thrust a bar rag at him for his nose.

Valenden sank onto the bedroll, wincing at his aches and bruises, as he staunched his bleeding nose. He’d never seen the backroom of a tavern before. This one was filled with wooden kegs, a bucket of soapy dishwater and dirty mugs, and a collection of brooms. Everything was tidy and well-ordered, though cramped.

As Winter returned, he caught sight of a wicker basket holding some women’s clothes.

“You sleep here, in the tavern?” he asked as she tossed him a wool blanket.

She gave a defensive shrug. “When my father died, I had to sell our cottage to pay off the tavern’s debts.”

Valenden took the time to wonder what life was like for a girl even younger than him who ran a business entirely on her own, handling the alcohol orders, baking the pastries, managing finances, and even dealing with drunken, disreputable customers— like him .

“Are you going to say running a tavern is no job for a girl?” she challenged.

He barked a laugh. “On the contrary, I was thinking how I couldn’t do it myself.”

Winter disappeared briefly and returned with a kettle of steaming water. She poured it into a bowl and dipped a fresh rag into it. Carefully, she dabbed the mud and crusted blood off his face. “I heard you’re to be in charge of the docks when you’re older.”

Her eyelids were heavy, he noticed. What time was it again? She must be exhausted on a regular night after closing the tavern, let alone having to take care of him .

“Pfft,” he said. “I’d be lucky to be deemed responsible enough to oversee a chicken coop.”

A smile tugged briefly at her mouth, and Valenden found his heart kick up a little. Though she wore a simple work dress and apron, with her curly hair pulled back like a soldier, her natural beauty was undeniable. Her features weren’t fine like Maira’s or Shusana’s, and he found he liked her heavier nose and big eyes.

“You know,” she said quietly as she continued to wash his face, “I remember the night of the fire at Rollins’ store.”

Valenden grew quiet. She was referring to an incident about two years ago. He’d been drunk, as usual, in a different tavern on the other side of Barendur Village. Some lantern oil at Rollins’ supply store had caught fire and ignited the entire structure. As it was late at night, most of the town was fast asleep, including old Rollins himself. Valenden had been one of the first ones the scene. He’d dashed into the building and gotten Rollins out, then had grabbed a chamber pot, ran back outside, and used muddy water from the street’s gutter put out the fire.

“You were there?” Valenden asked.

She nodded. “I came when I heard the commotion. I saw you put the fire out.”

He groaned. “With a chamber pot. Not my finest moment.”

“On the contrary, I’d wager it was one of your finer moments. And I suspect there are more fine moments you don’t like to talk about. There were witnesses at the Rollins’ fire—you couldn’t escape being known as a hero then.”

He lifted a defensive shoulder. This bartender was getting under his skin, and he wasn’t sure he liked it—or maybe he liked it too much.

She wrung out the rag in the bowl. “Why do you want the world to assume you’re useless, Val? Is it because you don’t want the responsibilities of a prince?”

Valenden shifted uncomfortably on the bedroll. “I enjoy life’s pleasures. It isn’t my fate to rule.”

“A prince can’t be carefree?”

“Have you met my brothers?”

This got another rare smile from Winter, and Valenden’s heart gave a little soar of triumph. He raked his hair back off his face as he studied her closer.

It was the middle of the night, and she must be exhausted after a long day working, yet here she was tending to him. Maybe it was the ale or his bruised body, but he felt a different kind of falling sensation than when he was merely attracted to someone new. There was something about Winter that almost made him want to be a better person.

She was close enough to kiss. All he’d need to do was lean forward and capture her lips. His heart started thumping at the prospect. And yet he felt the overwhelming certainty that even though he was a prince and she a tavern maid, he didn’t even begin to deserve her…

While he was still thinking about a kiss, she picked up a bottle of mead and raised an eyebrow with a curious smile.

“You want to talk about fate, prince? Sit up. I’ll read your fortune.”