Page 27 of The Heir's Bargain

I coughed, my spoon clattering on the table as it fell from my grasp.

Jorian rushed forward, smacking my back, but I shrugged him off, my gaze set on the woman who had barged through the royal dining room.

"Leave us, Jorian," I ordered, my throat raw.

"But, sir?—"

"Leave us," I repeated, my voice clearer.

Jorian bowed. As he shuffled out of the room, he stopped twice to look over his shoulder, concern flashing across his countenance.

His concern was useless here.

When the door clicked shut, I asked, "What happened to you?"

"That's beside the point," Dani said, pressing her palms flat against the table. Her brown cheeks were flushed, the green in her hazel eyes wild. A few of her braids had fallen out of the loose bun hanging at the nape of her neck. Her blouse had a tear in it, dirt and grass stains smeared across it.

I lifted a brow. "I believe that is the whole point, actually. Have you seen your reflection lately?"

Dani made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a screech. She untangled her hair and let the braids fall behind her shoulders. Her frustration was palpable, sour.

Brows furrowed, I reached out for the strand connecting to Dani's mind. High walls made of stone surrounded her mind. But even the best-built castles had cracks. When Dani was emotional, I found her mind much more accessible. All I had to do was look for the way in.

There.

A fissure in her carefully crafted walls.

Get out of my head, Fynneares.

I slumped back in my chair. "You're no fun."

Dani rolled hers before plopping down into one of the chairs. "Fine. If you must know?—"

"I must."

Dani gave me a glare that I was all too familiar with, one that said shut-up-you-cocky-prick.

I smirked.

She rubbed a hand across her face and spoke through her fingers, "My mother set up a meeting with one of her suitors. A few meetings, in fact."

"And this"—I waved a hand in her direction—"is the result of a simple meeting?"

Dani's hands dropped, revealing an ice-cold gaze that was as sharp as the throwing knives she had hidden somewhere on her person—the guards knew better than to confiscate them. I also didn't need to read her thoughts to know that if she could—and if she wouldn't be marked a traitor for doing so—she would stab me right then and there. Still, I couldn't prevent the smugness from twitching at the corner of my lip.

In a flat, unamused tone, she said, "Two men have thrown up either on or near my shoes, Fynn. Two of them."

I didn't know if I should laugh or gag. Either way, the resulting noise from my mouth was some garbled combination of both.

I peered beneath the table. Thankfully, the black riding boots were clean. Or at least somewhat clean. I squinted.

Was that. . .?

I quickly snapped my attention up to Dani.

"It's mud," she clarified.

"And why, pray tell, are your boots covered in mud and your blouse torn?"

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