Page 38 of The Princess's Chosen

"Loyalty," he answered, frown almost invisible through that dense beard of his.

I grunted. Figures. Thieves were mercenaries at heart. Even the ones who ran by the code.

"You should go and—"

"I will," I hissed at Griffin, who glared back at me and reminded me that king or not, she didn't tolerate men baring their teeth at her. I rolled my head on my shoulders, wincing as muscles twinged and bones cracked. "I will. I'll go tomorrow."

"And apologize," Griffin said sternly. "What will you say?"

I laughed at her and shook my head before she could take it the wrong way. "I do know how to make an apology, Griff. I was married to Charlotte. She demanded them and practically composed them for me until I'd mastered my own."

Griff's smile was soft, a rare sight, and she lifted her glass in a brief toast between us.

Truth be told, Ididn'tknow what I would say to Bryony. I'd done my digging as I'd promised, found old texts that referred cryptically to the 'source of magic' and the queen's line together, a loose record of when the source became the Hunger. Old magicians were like poets, fashioning words together oddly into metaphor to keep their secrets from one another, but it led to a long line of misinformation trickling down the generations.

And none of that was really at the crux of what needed to be repaired.

I had injured my princess, and I knew it was because I'd meant to injure the part of myself that had developed feelings for her, as if I could break that piece off like a branch of a tree, not realizing until after the wound was there that the feelings went down to my roots too. I had thrown her desires back into her face. I'd treated her as if she were like her sister, as if after all she'd already accomplished, she were a selfish creature.

It wasn't just forgiveness I would be asking for, either. I needed to decide what I really wanted from Bryony, and then learn if it were even still possible after all the shit I'd spouted at her.

"It starts with 'I'm sorry,'" Griff said with uncommon gentleness.

I nodded and stared down at my half-drunk cup before sliding it back across the counter to Otto, who scoffed and poured it into a new cup, topping it off before taking it down the bar as Griffin and I gaped at him.

"Disgusting," Griff said, looking down at her own mug.

"He's always been a little too penny-pinching," I agreed.

The door to the bar banged open at that moment, and I glanced over my shoulder, frowning at the sight of Scrapper dragging himself in with scuffling steps, an eye swollen and bruised, blood blooming on his sleeve.

"Scrap!" I called as he twisted and searched the room until his good eye found mine.

Goody and Robert Jupe jumped up from their table, taking Scrapper's arms over each of their shoulders and helping haul him to me.

"What's happened?"

"I was listening at the Yawning Pig's windows and some of Emory's men caught me," Scrapper rasped, spitting up some blood.

"Matthew, over here!" Griffin called to Matthew Sloan, a former country doctor who'd lost his practice when it was given away by the council to someone's polished son.

Scrapper nodded in begrudging thanks to Griffin before turning back to me. "He's on his way, Your Majesty. He wants to challenge and he wants to do it here. Tonight. I got away, but they meant for you not to know."

Griffin and I exchanged a long look until Otto interrupted it, slamming an empty bucket down on the counter and catching my eye. "You'd better hack that ale up before it catches up to you while he's got a sword at your throat."

"Aric, you have allies," Griffin murmured.

I glared at the bucket, my hand flexing. They were all right though. I'd drank too much tonight—and the past four nights—to win a fight. I'd not only lowered my guard, I'd left Emory's opportunity a wide hanging gate for him to pass through. I scanned the room, eyes narrowed, all too aware that I was already a little dizzy, and that someone in my court, in mybar, had probably been the one to tell Emory I was getting pissed every night.

"If I fly up the mountain, I might get word to them in time," Griffin hissed in my ear.

I nodded. "Yes, go." Emory might take my crown, but I'd rather he didn't take my head off with it. If Griffin could get to the palace… "You'll have to start my apology," I said, pulling a ring from my finger and passing it into Griffin's hand, pressing magic into it until it transformed between our skin. Griffin stared down at the small blossom ring, her lips twitching. "Go to her directly. Guard Stark won't intervene on my behalf unless Bryony orders it."

Because he heard what I said to her, and knows I'm an ass, I added privately.

Griffin nodded, closing her fist around the ring before glancing at Scrapper in his bloodied state. "Try not to die, the both of you. Stall, Aric," Griffin said, arching an eyebrow before rushing for the door.

"Doc, patch up our man," I said, nodding to Scrapper. I turned to the bar and huffed out a sigh before jamming my fingers into my mouth till I started to gag, grabbing the bucket just in time. When I'd finished emptying my stomach, Otto held out a stained and soggy rag and I glared at him.

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