Page 65 of Heirs of the Cursed

Ward could almost taste the blood in his mouth as the interaction between the two became more intimate. There wasno fear or annoyance in Naithea’s face as there had been every time their paths had crossed. On the contrary, there was amusement and a hint of happiness as she approached the soldier.

He looked away before he saw something that would haunt him later.

“Or not . . .”

The commander’s eyes lifted once more to notice Leonel turning away from Naithea and heading back to the table, where his friends awaited him with jeers and questions.

“Great failure, Leonel!” A dark-haired soldier patted him on the back. “Clearly, the hetaira isn’t satisfied.”

“Come now. That’s enough torture for one night,” a middle-aged soldier said and handed a glass of ale to Leonel, who thanked him with a half-smile.

“No, no,” Stephas interrupted him. “Tell us. What’s she like? Is she as good in bed as she looks on that little altar?”

“I’ll keep those memories to myself,” Leonel responded.

“Oh, come on! Give us some details,” Eames insisted. “If I had ridden a woman like that, I’d want to brag about it all over the kingdom.”

“Or if she was the one who rode me.”

The creak of a chair rose above the soldiers’ laughter before their table fell into a deafening silence.

Ward rested the iron tankard on the table, tipping some of the contents onto the played cards. He could feel their gazes on him, curious by the hard expression on his face and trying to figure out his next move. Fawke stood up, thinking his commander had noticed something suspicious.

Still, he did the last thing he had planned to do that night.

After a gesture to stop them in place, he made his way to the young man standing by the tavern door, whom he recognized as Madame Dimond’s nephew. If he wasn’t certain news wouldrush to the capital, Ward would have cut his face with his dagger for what he’d done to Naithea in the brothel.

The commander shoved a bag of vramnias against his chest, making him recoil, before pointing to Naithea with his head. Senan frowned with intrigue and shook the leather sack to hear the gold vramnias tingling inside.

At once, the madam’s nephew moved among the customers who whistled toward the hetairas every time a part of their attire revealed their skin. Ward kept his blue gaze on Senan, who grabbed Naithea’s wrist to drag her down from the platform, her happiness draining away. His lips moved quickly in a smirk that concealed the unspoken threat and, when his hand pointed to the place where the commander stood, she froze completely.

She nodded, masking her emotions behind that burgundy veil before carefully descending from the circular altar. Naithea received cheers, whistles and leering from the Bellmarians, but she didn’t stop to speak to any of them as she walked toward him.

And toward a night that could be their end.

Ward had come to collect what he could take, for according to his narrow mind, a hetaira’s body always belonged to others to do with as they wished. And Naithea, as the whore she was doomed to be, could do nothing but obey.

“Commander.”

“Ausra,” he said with amusement. That made Naithea even angrier. “It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?”

“It was.”

Senan cleared his throat by way of warning. “She’s all yours, Commander,” he told him with a cold, unwavering gaze. “I hope you understand the importance of returning her in one piece.”

“It wasn’t in my plans, but I can make an exception for your madam.”

Ward gestured down the path, and Naithea walked past him, her prideful arrogance intact.

The icy breeze of Salismar Ocean tucked them in as soon as they left the tavern. Naithea was grateful that The Grumpy Dwarf was located nearby the brothel, for she wouldn’t endure a long and tense walk in the company of the ice-hearted commander.

Reaching the bedroom door, Naithea paused at the sound of Jehanne’s voice in the room across the hall.

When had she left the tavern?she asked herself.

Something inside her stirred as she heard a dark voice just across the hall. Her magic reverberated in warning; something was wrong. Yet she could do nothing, as Ward had already entered the room. Like she’d been trained to do, she closed the door behind her, locking herself in with the Commander of Death.

Naithea took deep breaths, without breaking away from the oak door. She’d been in the company of people she didn’t want hundreds of times; she’d even slept with disgusting dryadalis, fearing for her life during every second of the encounter.

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