Page 32 of Heirs of the Cursed

Ward must have sensed the disgust hidden in her words, as he set his gaze on her with nothing but amusement. “Unlike my soldiers, I take my beauty sleep very seriously.”

“Some men prefer another kind of diversion,” she said, stroking the edge of her robe with her index finger. “You can’t blame them for that.”

The commander kept his hand on the hilt of his sword and his fingers clenched tightly around it as he watched Naithea’s smooth movements on the cloth, as if he were . . . slightly intimidated.

Good, that was her intention.

Maybe if she found a way to keep him interested in her, she could find more information regarding their mission.

“That’s a beautiful gallows you set up over there,” Naithea went on.

“Useful, if you ask me,” Ward replied.

Naithea froze as she noticed the commander raise his hand and draw it toward her throat. When his calloused and scarred fingers from years of training rested on the smooth skin of her collarbones, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from pulling back. Ward took the star hanging from the silver chain and stroked the borealis stone in the center gently.

“The king must be really worried if he has sent the Royal Army to investigate a city of whores and drunks,” Naitheasaid innocently, before stepping away. “What’s the matter, Commander? Any dead on your hands?”

She knew she’d gone too far, that she’d revealed more than she should have, but she couldn’t help it. Because the commander before her was so dominant, so confident, that she wanted to break that façade until he became a vulnerable child for her to play with.

For years, the Royal Army and highborn families had mocked Bellmare and the trades of its citizens—those the soldiers themselves consumed. They’d mistreated them, using and discarding them like trash. Naithea was tired of it.

Ward’s white eyebrows furrowed, shooting a murderous glare at his soldier as if testing his loyalty.

“I . . .” Leonel tried to defend himself.

“Don’t go all murdery on him,” Naithea interrupted. “As much as I tried, your little bird didn’t sing. You must be proud to have such tough men as Soldier Ramsdean in your army.”

“Are you admitting that you tried to persuade him to tell you about our mission, Miss Ausra?”

“Of course. I wanted to find out how long the Royal Army will delight us with its presence,” she excused herself seductively. “We never have such . . . warm visitors.”

Ward arched an eyebrow. “I thought hetairas never had their beds cold.”

“Should I take that as an insult, Commander?” Naithea asked, tilting her head back to look him in the eye. He was so tall that he covered the sun’s rays from her face. “Maybe you should join us next time.”

One corner of his lips lifted, relishing the challenge, before saying, “You wouldn’t be able to take me.”

Naithea moved her face closer to the commander’s.

“Try me.”

“I see you like to play with fire.” Ward flashed a devilish grin and leaned in closer to whisper in her ear, making Naithea tremble slightly at his words. “Be careful, love. I wouldn’t want you to get burned.”

11

Dawnfall

The moon had always been her faithful companion, showing the way ahead in the darkness.

She hadn’t been able to sneak out to see Caeli after the big show, the profits of which were more than a hundred gold vramnias. Apparently, the illusion she had created the night before—which involved exotic dancers—had pleased the king’s soldiers enough to buy another ticket for the following week.

It was the next day when Darcia made her way to her girlfriend’s hut.

Caeli didn’t deserve such mistreatment from Conrad. She knew the smart thing to do would be to break up with her, but if she did so, her girlfriend would know it was out of protection and find a way to convince her otherwise. She was too smart for her own good, and Darcia loved her too much to let her go.

She plunged into the autumn evening, the dry leaves crunching under the weight of her feet. Darcia tilted her head back to admire the moon and stars that greeted her, crossing her arms over her chest to shelter herself from the cold. The fabric of her green dress was so thin that she regretted not bringing a cloak. If she fell ill, Conrad would see that she paid dearly for it.

Darcia spun around and turned her back on the tall houses to admire the darkness of the forest. The smell of wet earth intertwined with the soft wind that stirred the branches of the trees, as she climbed up one of the steep slopes to the market street. The echo of her footsteps was accompanied by the distant rumble of thunder. With an uneasy heart, she continued walking until she crossed into one of the alleys, feeling something watching her sibylline.

---