Page 17 of Chosen

About four or five men remained in the tavern. All of them were giving us filthy looks. Gisla just carried on oblivious to it all. A bartender with a few missing teeth made his way over.

“You’ll drink like ladies in my establishment,” he condescended, before placing a tiny glass in front of Gisla. She downed it and handed it back to the bartender before he could even pass me mine.

“We will have the bottles. As I ordered,” she firmly told him.

They had a little stare-down that ended in her hiking her brows up in question and him stomping off to the bar. He returned a few minutes later with a bottle of wine and slammed it on the table between us. Gisla flipped the entire table, sending the bottle flying. Her sword sang against its sheath, and she placed it to his throat with a grin.

“You know,” I mused, unable to keep the smile from my voice. “From where I am sitting, it looks like you’re about to find out for yourself just how much of a lady she is.”

I had remained unmoved throughout her outburst. The Gods knew I had seen twice as bad out of her brothers, and that was probably at the dinner table.

The bartender’s palms trembled in the air where he held them and his Adam's apple bobbed repetitively.

“Get. The. Bottles,” Gisla managed, through gritted teeth.

The man took a step back and ran toward the bar. We chose a table next to the one she’d left upturned and were soon sipping our poison of choice.

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