“No, no, it’s alright.” She’s too flustered to berate me as she brushes the wrinkles out of her gown.
It’s at that awkward moment when Rian walks into the stable.
The breath dissipates from my lungs. I’m instantly a paragon of control—not a lovesick drunk at all, oh no—as I give him a tight nod.
“Wolf.” His voice lifts in surprise. “I thought you’d be in the forest.”
“I brought down a stag this afternoon. I was delivering it to the kitchen.”
“Hmm.” He touches Sabine’s back briefly, and I flinch. It’s barely a touch, but it shoots me through with white-hot jealousy. What happened to her hatred of Rian? Her defiance? Does she really let him touch her like that?
She subtly shifts away from his touch, to my dark satisfaction.
Rian says smoothly, “I promised Lady Sabine that as soon as she was well, I’d take her for a tour of Duren on Myst. I believe there’s a horse race in the arena tonight.”
Yeah, that’s not by chance. He wouldn’t show Sabine the dog fights or warriors wrestling until one of them loses an eye. He picked the least offensive of the arena’s entertainment.
I give a stiff nod. “Enjoy the tour, Lady Sabine.”
I can’t get out of there fast enough, but even before I reach the entrance, Rian calls, “Wolf. Wait.”
He jogs over to me while Sabine strokes Myst’s long neck through the stall bars. Once we’re out of earshot, he lowers his voice.
“The job you mentioned. Being her guard. I changed my mind—I want you to do it. You can start tomorrow night.”
My heartbeats kicks up again in its steady hammer, unsure what to make of this. “What changed?”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “My father. He’s taken an . . . interest in her.”
Revulsion turns my stomach, but I can’t say I’m surprised. Lord Berolt has committed far greater sins than coveting his future daughter-in-law. This suits me, however; I can protect her from the old bastard and Volkish raiders at the same time.
I try to keep the magnitude of my relief hidden as I give a gruff nod. “Whatever you need, my lord.”
I head straight to the Velvet Vixen after leaving the stables. If I’m going to be guarding Sabine, I’ll have even less time to slip away and investigate the border, so tonight has to be the night I get answers, even if I am still sloshed and prickling with adrenaline after seeing her again.
I pound my fist on an oak door carved with a none-too-discreet outline of a copulating couple. A second later, Madame Anfrei throws open the door.
I cough at the wave of perfume that slams me in the face. It might mask other scents from her other customers, but I can easily pick up on the reek of body odor and opium.
“Wolf Bowborn,” she says, folding her arms as she leans in the doorway. “Haven’t seen your handsome face in a while.”
Madame Anfrei is a distant Valvere family member, by marriage. She divorced one of Lord Berolt’s second cousins twenty years ago, and rather than being sent back to the hogwash village she came from, she took up management of the Vixen.
I lean in the doorway, keeping my face stony. “I’m here for business, Anfrei. I need to ask you some questions about . . . politics.”
Her painted-on eyebrows arch dramatically. “Is that so? Hmm.”
She beckons me to follow her with a hooked finger. My jaw clenches as I duck through the doorway into a darkened den of silk settees and lanterns draped in cheap colored cloths. It’s the receiving room—private rooms in the back room are where the action happens. Girls lounge on the settees and floor cushions, perking up at my entrance. I’m a lot younger and less paunchy than most of their clients.
“If there’s a private place we can speak—” I start.
My thoughts fall off a cliff as a girl walks in from the back, pushing aside a curtain. She’s pretty and petite. Her honey-colored hair is pinned to make it look shoulder-length. Her face is scrubbed of fae makeup. And there are fucking wings strapped to her back, and paper moths pinned to her flimsy dress.
What in the name of the gods?
Madame Anfrei notices my attention and smirks. “Every man in Duren wants to fuck Rian’s Winged Lady. A few women, too. Mathilde here fulfills their fantasy.” Her cold eyes turn dangerously perceptive. “Why, Wolf Bowborn? Did you want a turn on your master’s pretty new bride all that time you were with her, able to look but not touch?”
Her aim is too close to a bullseye, and I scowl and turn away from the girl dressed as Sabine.
Patience thin, I grab Madame Anfrei and drag her into the small closet of a bedroom that doubles as her office. I say, “Tell me everything you’ve heard about King Rachillon. I’ll pay you.”
“King Rachillon! That isn’t politics, Wolf, it’s madness.” Before I can say more, she lifts a hand to silence me. “No. You aren’t in that line of work anymore. I once took your coin for secrets, but Rian made it clear that you’re out.”
I groan. I’m getting really fucking tired of being stonewalled. “This isn’t about Valvere business. It’s—”
“It’s always about Valvere business. Everything is Valvere business. Now, pick a whore or leave. Rian said you’re to have anyone you want. How about that pretty thing dressed up as Lady Sabine, eh? Don’t tell me you didn’t have a hard-on every night watching her sleep naked.”
My jaw clenches so hard I think the bone might shatter. It’s getting harder to swallow my fury when I need answers as badly as I do.
“Fine.” I force my shoulders to relax. “Fine. I’ll take a whore, then. You’re right. It’s been too long since I’ve visited your fine establishment.”
Her smile is both triumphant and nasty.
I return to the reception room and search out the Volkish girl. The lights are intentionally low, but my heightened eyesight easily picks up on the one with warm skin and light blond hair.
“Her.”
Madame Anfrei snaps. “Carlotte. You have a gentleman. Just don’t expect him actually to have manners—we’ve all heard Wolf Bowborn fuck, and there’s nothing gentle about it.”
The other girls titter. One voluptuous brunette pouts that I didn’t pick her.
The Volkish girl, Carlotte, takes my hand with a tempting smile and leads me to one of the back rooms. Walking down the long hallway, we’re assaulted by grunts and moans from behind closed doors. She takes me to the last room, then starts to peel her gown’s strap off one shoulder.
I lay my hand over hers. “I’m not here for that.”
She laughs like I made a joke. “It’s okay. I don’t mind taking a tumble with you. Every girl in there was hoping you’d pick her. I mean . . . look at you.”
I hold up my hands and start again. “I want to talk to you. That’s all. I’ll pay you the same price, but for your discretion, not your cunt.”
She slowly realizes I’m serious. One hand nervously runs up her other arm. Eyebrows furrowing, she says uncertainly, “Why do you want to talk to me?”
In a low voice, I ask, “Were you born in Volkany?”
Her eyes widen, ringed with fear. “Where did you hear that? Not even Madame Anfrei knows about that!”