Page 50 of The Heir's Bargain

Sure enough, none other than the Crown Prince was walking into the soldiers' tavern, the doors slamming closed behind him. Wearing tailored trousers and a linen suit jacket, Fynn stuck out among the crowd like a diamond in a pile of coal. His jacket was left open, revealing a freshly pressed button-down with silver embroidery that shimmered in the sunlight. When his gaze met mine, he smiled, teeth sparkling as he waved.

Moris reached across the table and grabbed a handful of peanuts. He shoved them into his mouth and asked, "Now that you two are courting, does this mean that drinks are on the house?"

"Moris!" Sylvia chided. "You can't just ask that!"

"Why not? It’s a simple question."

"It's rude." Sylvia sat back, arms folding over their chest. They tipped their head in my direction and arched a brow. "But are they?"

I snorted. "In your dreams."

Meanwhile, Fynn weaved through the bustling crowd, tipping his head toward the patrons who greeted him. A few tried to stop him, but he shook his head and pointed in my direction.

I looked away.

"Are you blushing, Ferrios?" Moris asked through another handful of peanuts.

"What? No, why would I?—"

"She most certainly is," Sylvia interrupted, nudging me again. If Sylvia kept it up, my side would be covered in bruises before the night's end.

Nerves be damned, I raised the mug of ale to my lips, chugging it as Fynn reached the table. I was not blushing because of the Crown Prince.

I refused to.

"Your Highnesses, what a pleasant surprise!" Sylvia said, tipping their head in respect.

Fynn's thick brows bunched together as he tilted his head, a silent question on his lips as he looked at Sylvia.

My gaze bounced between Sylvia and him, watching them as Fynn tried to wipe the confusion from his face.

Sylvia pursed their lips and pulled the mug to their mouth. Sylvia might have been a great arsonist and alchemist, but their gift certainly did not enhance their ability to be sly.

I snorted, realizing that Fynn, in fact, hadn't come here by chance. Leave it to Sylvia to butt into something that had nothing to do with them.

"Yes, Your Highness," I hissed, "a surprise indeed."

Fynn scratched the back of his head and smiled down at me. "They said I should come, so?—"

"Here," Sylvia cut in, hurrying out of the booth. "You can take my seat."

I tried to grab Sylvia's hand before they got up, but Sylvia swatted it away.

"Oh no," Fynn said, shaking his head. "That's not necessary. I can sit?—"

"I insist, Your Highness," Sylvia said, already up and pointing a hand at the seat.

"Very well then," Fynn mumbled, nodding in thanks before taking the offered seat.

"Moris, do you want to come with me to the latrine?" Sylvia asked.

Moris' face contorted as he looked up from the empty bowl of peanuts. "Why would I?—"

With an exasperated eye roll, Sylvia dragged him out of his seat. As they walked away, Sylvia mumbled something about wanting to give the two lovebirds a moment of privacy.

I wanted to gag. Instead, I shifted in my seat, turning to Fynn as I slammed my mug down. "What are you doing here?"

Fynn jerked back slightly. "You said I needed to take our relationship more seriously."

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