Page 55 of The Heir's Bargain

"Mhm. When she puts her mind to something, she is determined to keep her word and hold herself to it. It's one of the qualities I have always admired about her."

Moris picked up his glass. "By the gods! Why couldn't you have been. . .I don't know? Less thoughtful?"

Fynn shrugged. "You asked for the truth; I gave you the truth."

"Your truth isn't very entertaining, now is it?" Sylvia mumbled, lifting the mug to their lips.

"My turn," Moris said, his hand smacking the deck. He flipped the card over. "Ugh, even again! Are you sure you shuffled these?"

"He shuffled them, Moris," Sylvia said with an eye roll.

"Whatever," Moris mumbled. He slapped the card against the table, looking around the table.

When his gaze finally landed on me, I straightened in my seat.

"How do you truly feel about Quint being promoted instead of you?"

I reached for my mug, but Sylvia slapped my hand away.

"Come on! What's the fun if you drink to every question?" Sylvia asked.

I quirked a brow and sneered. "First of all, I haven't drunk to a question."

"Yet," Sylvia retorted. "It's still early, and if this is any indication?—"

Ignoring them, I continued, "Second, how else will I get drunk if I don't drink anything?"

"But this is an easy question!" Sylvia whined.

"Fine." My shoulders sagged as I gripped the mug between my hands. "I'm fine with Quint being promoted. What type of leader would I be if I questioned my own leaders' choices?"

Moris slammed his pint on the table, the golden liquid spilling over the rim and splashing onto the oak. "That's a bunch of horseshit, and everyone at this table knows it. Gods' breath! Everyone in this tavern knows that!"

I flipped my hair over my shoulder, lifting my chin. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You mean to tell me," Moris said, leaning forward, "you're not somewhat annoyed? A little jealous?"

"What do I have to be jealous about?" I said with a nonchalant shrug. "I obviously have more training to do. I just need to work harder to show them that I'm fit for the position. It's not my time, and that's all right."

Beside me, a huff escaped Fynn's lips, and I snapped my gaze toward him, eyes narrowed. He looked away as he raised the mug to his lips, nose twitching and lip curling as he swallowed the ale. The bitter taste of wheat was only marginally easier for him to swallow on his third pint. He shook his head, disappointment tousling his hair. "You're not fooling anyone, Dani. But if you want to lie, drink up, love."

"I'm telling the truth!" But when everyone groaned in disbelief, I sighed. "Fine. I'll drink."

Perhaps fifteen hundred would have been a better choice.

At first, the questions were light and easy. Everyone was merely dipping their toes in the water to see how far we could push one another and what lines people would and wouldn't cross.

Everything Fynn had asked Moris and Sylvia and everything they had asked him were things I already knew.

"When was the first time you were drunk, Fynn?" Moris asked.

"The winter solstice eight years ago," Fynn said.

I recalled the night easily. The four of us—Fynn, Terin, Graeson, and I—had snuck into the castle's alcohol cabinet. The three boys had drank nearly the entire bottle but had only let me have a sip. I was too young, they had said. At first, I was mad. But when I saw how terrible they looked the next day, I was grateful.

"Who was the first person you courted, Fynn?" Sylvia asked one round.

"Rosalina."

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