But when she didn’t come out of her tent, I had my answer, so I’ve been avoiding her ever since. Not letting myself ride next to her carriage during the day, trying not to look for her every time I walk around camp, keeping my distance.
I still make sure the front of her tent is shoveled and her food is delivered, but I’m just not the one to do it, even though it fucking bothers me. How this woman got under my skin so quickly, I’ll never know.
“Alright, I’m turning in,” Ryatt says as he gets to his feet. “Sick of wearing this fucking helmet.”
“I prefer it. Means I don’t have to look at your ugly mug.”
Even though I can’t see it, I can feel him roll his eyes. “Yeah, fuck off.”
“Just admit that you missed me,” I tell him. “I know that’s why you came back. Using Hojat as an excuse.”
I chuckle when Ryatt flips me off and then walks away in the direction of his tent. The soldiers around him nod deferentially and clear out of the way. Him coming back has been a big morale boost too. Definitely helped to have him here while we crossed over the last of the rot.
I know I should turn in soon too, but I take another drink of wine, listening to Keg and the others strum and blow into their instruments. But when I’m wiping the drink off my beard, I suddenly catch the faint scent of flowers.
Think of the vixen, and she will appear.
I look up as a shadowed silhouette blocks the flames in front of me. The little she-demon stands there in borrowed clothes that swim on her, all but hiding her form beneath my oversized shirt and coat. I could’ve given her someone else’s spare set, like Himinn who’s much closer to her size, but the thought of her wearing any other man’s clothes other than my own sets my teeth on edge.
“Evening, Yellow Bell,” I drawl.
She glares at me, hands on her hips, and then glances around at all the soldiers. I shoot them a look, making them instantly scatter. With a small pocket of privacy now, Rissa sits down on the vacated log the others were sitting on, tucking her legs beneath her.
The brazen woman reaches over and plucks the cup right out of my hand and takes a sip of my wine. A grimace pulls at her face that’s Divine-damned adorable, but I’m more focused on the way her pink tongue slips out and drags across her lips. “You’ve been avoiding me,” she says.
My brows lift. “Thought you wanted me to avoid you.”
She opens and closes her mouth like she’s not sure how to answer. It’s only because of how watchful I am of her that I’ve discovered her tiny tells. She’s got a very good poker face usually. Most people probably wouldn’t notice the way she curls her pointer finger, scraping it against her thigh when she’s anxious. But I do.
“You kissed me, then you left. Figured that meant you didn’t want to repeat the mistake after all,” I say with a smirk as I take the cup back from her, making sure to drink from the same exact spot she just did. The way her eyes darken lets me know that she’s fully aware of it, too.
“Well, it was a mistake,” she finally replies.
“Yeah? Well, it all depends on whether or not you want to make those mistakes, Bell.”
She faces me fully, the fire making one side glow a soft orange and her coiled hair look like a sun-ripened peach. “Why would I want to?”
“Didn’t you ever have your rebellious years when you were young?” I ask. “Sneaking out to get drunk when you knew you shouldn’t? Picking fights even though you knew you weren’t going to win four against one, but instigating it anyway because you wanted to punch something? Fucking someone you knew you were gonna regret, but doing it anyhow because you had an itch to scratch? Some mistakes are just too damned gratifying.”
Rissa snorts and shakes her head, but she doesn’t deny it. “Why does it not surprise me that you’d pick a fight with four men?”
“I didn’t become captain because I shied away from fights. Or killing.”
“What did you do before you became a captain?”
“I was a mercenary in First Kingdom.”
Her eyes widen.
“Don’t ask questions unless you’re ready to hear what the answers might be,” I tell her. “I killed for coin, and I was good at it. Liked it, even. Does that bother you?”
I watch as she processes what I’ve said, watch as thoughts practically stream across her blue eyes. “Well, some people claim that saddles fucking is just as big a sin as people killing, so I suppose I have no room to judge.”