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But I did seem to draw the most attention, to Gavin’s chagrin. There were wandering eyes on me constantly. Within five minutes of sitting at the bar, two men had approached me, both scrambling away the moment they saw Gavin’s murderous stare.

It wasn’t just that Ezra was older. He was male. He wasn’t me . He wasn’t—to the other men in this bar—prey.

A third man with bright-red hair and emeralds for eyes was the final straw.

He sidled up to the empty seat to my right and brushed against my arm in a way so overtly sensual, so persisting , it had to be intentional. “Good evening.”

I forced a smile but slanted my shoulders away from him, ever so slightly. Maybe he would catch the hint.

“What are you drinking, beautiful?”

Hint not caught.

He was older than me, probably midtwenties. He wore a brown, fur-lined jacket and his red hair was cut cleanly with matching scruff, impeccably groomed. Endearing, had I been interested.

“Just water.”

The man laughed, and I noticed his gaze flicker to my chest. I forced an uncomfortable swallow. I really hadn’t thought it would be this bad. Were most other men like this? I just wanted to enjoy my evening.

“That’s no fun,” he crooned. “Can I get you something more… relaxing?”

My protector’s angry fingers restlessly tapped on the wooden bar top to my left. I could feel it in my stomach.

“No, thank you,” I hurried out. “I’m fine.”

“Nonsense.” My red-haired admirer waved Damond over. “A glass of your best wine, please, for the lady.” And then he put his hand on my arm.

Oh, no.

“Do you enjoy having hands? ”

I closed my eyes and shuddered at the deep, dark voice that could make demons flee.

The man nodded at Gavin and with an arrogant smirk, asked me, “Who’s this? Your keeper?”

“How about legs?” Gavin’s stool groaned under the sheer weight of him as he turned to face me, to stare at the man with a cold, murderous glare. “Eyes? Ears? A cock?”

I gasped quietly.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have pushed him on the outfit, after all.

The man scoffed. “I wasn’t talking to you, asshole.”

A deep, sinister chuckle rumbled out of the warm wall of muscle to my left.

I found myself leaning toward him, drawn into his safety. “Gavin.” I whispered his name as a warning.

“It’s merely a question,” he purred in response, folding his long, calloused fingers before him. “A question our friend here seems quite reluctant to answer.”

“Fuck off,” the man sneered.

“Now, now,” Gavin drawled, his lips curling into a sinister smile. It was feline, strangely at odds with his rugged form, but just as dangerous. “Is that any way to speak in front of a lady?”

At that, I rolled my eyes. As if he didn’t have the filthiest mouth I’d ever heard.

The red-haired man scanned me with his bright-green eyes, as if contemplating whether or not I was worth it. “Let me get you away from this buffoon.” He offered me his hand, apparently deciding I was.

On my other side, Gavin leaned forward, close enough that I could feel the glorious strength and heat of him. Inhaled a hint of leather and cedar.

“Touch my girl, and you’ll never see that hand again.”

My veins flooded with a different kind of heat .

The man lifted an eyebrow, his gaze drifting toward my low-cut top. “Looks to me like she’s asking to be touched.”

My stomach lurched, my cheeks burned, and Gavin was on his feet, pushing me behind him in one swift motion. I fully expected a brawl. Or a one-sided battering.

A hush descended upon the room. He stood unwavering, a silent, rigid shield before me. I glanced at my friends, apologizing with my eyes because this—causing this scene—felt like my fault. It wasn’t, I knew it, but if I had just listened to him and changed into something more modest, then maybe—

“I suggest you hold your tongue before I take my time cutting it out,” Gavin growled at the man, who stepped back slowly and held up his palms, not without ire. Smart enough, at least, to suppress a retort.

Only when the man was on the opposite side of the tavern and commotion resumed did Gavin relinquish his position as my sentry and gently lower his hand to my back, anchoring me.

He shifted to block the rest of the room from seeing me. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I said, shoulders relaxing. “You don’t need to start fights over me, you know. Especially over some vulgar words. He would have left me alone eventually.”

He reclaimed his stool at the bar, his protective hand remaining on my back. “Ella, if you think starting a fight is the worst thing I’d do for you, you have not been paying attention.”

“ Your girl?” I mumbled quietly so only Gavin could hear.

He finally removed his hand, leaving an unwelcome cold spot in its wake. Giving only a grunt in acknowledgment, he motioned for Damond to refill his drink. I looked between his scowling face and his empty glass and counted. This was his fourth. No, fifth.

“Are you okay?” I asked, motioning to his glass. “Do you have a problem? ”

“What do you think, Ella?” His voice was low, eerie. A quiet calm. “ Do I have a problem?”

“You sure drink a lot. Like Phillip.”

“Hmm.” He tapped his fingers on his empty glass and winced. “No. Not quite like Phillip.” He motioned again for Damond, who threw his head back with laughter. Something he found humorous, at least between the two of them.

“Then why?” I pressed.

“It takes the edge off.”

“What edge?”

A dark, humorless chuckle rumbled out of him as he studied me with a deliberate glare that made me shiver delightfully. “The edge that makes me want things I can’t have.”

My skin burned so hot I could practically feel red blotches forming on my neck, my chest, my cheeks. Good gods .

“Careful, Ary.” My eyes snapped to see Damond standing behind the bar, watching us. “Smyth here, he’s an old man.” He poured another knuckle’s length of whiskey in Gavin’s glass, winked at me, and added, “You might give him a heart attack.”

Doubtful, considering the ridiculous shape he was in.

I turned on my stool when the sound of dueling fiddles paired with a tin whistle filled the air, eliciting shouts of joy, followed by clapping and multiple people rushing to the center of the room, where they began to dance.

I watched with a silly grin plastered on my face.

Minutes passed before I realized I was mindlessly swaying and bouncing to the music.

It was intoxicating, with a mind of its own.

I didn’t mind him watching me. I felt beautiful when he did. I felt free, and I wanted him to see it. To see me.

Gavin shifted in his seat beside me and cleared his throat as he asked Damond for another. Damond complied, and then placed a glass of a light-brown liquid in front of me too. I smiled and fully faced the counter. Looking a little too eager, perhaps.

“No!” Gavin bit harshly, lunging for the glass the same time I did. Damond beat us both.

“Oh, come off it, Smyth!” He jerked the glass out of Gavin’s angry reach. “Don’t be such a grumpy old codger and let the poor girl have some fun! No one’s going to come anywhere near her after your little pissing match.”

I could feel his eyes on me, seething and worried, as I lifted the glass to my lips and tasted warm, sweet, cinnamon with a hint of camphor. I threw it back and forced it down with a cringe and a grin while delicious heat threaded through my body.

Damond shrugged, eager for my reaction.

Nodding, I pushed the glass toward Damond and motioned for a refill like Gavin had done multiple times tonight.

“Ah! Atta girl!” Damond guffawed, clapped, and pointed at the man—a mass of nerves and fury—beside me. “Learning from the best!”

Gavin cursed under his breath, gritted his teeth, and threw back another finger of whiskey before slamming the glass onto the wooden bar top with a force menacing enough to startle those around us.

But the music was loud, the jubilation mighty, and even the sour attitude of my teacher couldn’t dampen the mood.

I drank the second glass, but when Damond served up a third, I found my wrist fastened in Gavin’s grip, gentle, but too firm to break out of.

“Just—” He released me immediately, realizing he’d stopped me on instinct and probably shouldn’t have.

He reached for a small basket of bread rolls from down the bar.

“Eat two of these first, and give it a few minutes.” I lifted an eyebrow, and in response, he gritted out, “ Please .”

To my chagrin, he was right. Within ten minutes, my swaying in place became a little less to-the-music and a little more uncontrolled.

I felt warm, light, and carefree, but I had seen Phillip drunk enough to know I wanted to keep my wits about me.

I turned to ask Damond for water instead and saw a glass already waiting for me.

Moments later, Gemma skipped up to me. I tensed, thinking of earlier, but she took my hands, and leaned toward my ear opposite Gavin.

“I’m sorry!” she said, loud enough for only me to hear. “For earlier, in that shop. I shouldn’t have called you na?ve or been so harsh, I just—you’re dear to me, Ary.” She squeezed my hands. “As a friend, not just the queen, and I want to look out for you.”

I grinned, wide and true. “You don’t need to apologize for being my friend.”

Gemma threw her long arms around me in a loving embrace. When she released me, her caramel eyes were sparkling against her beautiful mahogany skin. “Dance with me!”

I could dance to something slower, less complicated maybe. But the fiddles were fast and picking up speed with every refrain, climbing a never-ending staircase of rhythm and joy.

“I don’t know how to dance to this kind of music.”

“You’ve been dancing for the past twenty minutes, there on your seat!” She laughed, pulling me down from my stool. “Just do it standing up!”

I glanced back, only to witness the subtle flex of his hand, as if he’d reached for me as I left him. His glazed eyes were empty as they glued to the seat I had occupied.

The bounding rhythms and rousing melodies took me over. Gemma held my hands as we jumped, spun, and laughed. It was surreal.

Just over a week ago, I’d hid beneath heavy shawls, ashamed of my weak body, and buried myself in a bed of blankets on the floor. Too afraid to face reality without the little soul I had come to love.

But one thing I would always remember about Ollie?

He loved to dance .

If all the hard parts of this world led to moments like this, maybe being queen—being a friend— wouldn’t be so bad.