Page 68 of Faking with the Fae King

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Severin

A bar fight in an orc pub is nothing new. Orcs are quick to anger and quick to forgive, and brawling is an accepted part of their culture.

Yet that’s not what’s happening here.

Meloria and her stooges started this fight, all to threaten my betrothed.

How dare they? How dare they threaten Hannah? I’ve led wars and felt less rage than fills me now, especially because I can’t touch Meloria, since she’s one of the contestants in the bride trials.

Without her to stoke it along, the bar fight dies down rapidly, more’s the pity. Punching Meloria’s minion wasn’t particularly satisfying, the whelp too green to offer a good fight.

Soon she stands before me, wearing a glamour, but themalicious sparkle in her eye makes it clear she knows I know it’s her. “Poor Severin. Did something almost happen to your little human pet?”

“Get out, Meloria. You’re not welcome here.”

“Funny.” She taps a finger to her chin as if deep in thought. “I heard this was an orc pub.” Her eyes slide past me to where Thorvinn stands. “I didn’t think orcs liked you very much.”

“Whatever I feel for him, I like you even less.” The orc bares his tusks, and his hand drifts down to where he’d be wearing a sword if he were in Faerie. Even if he can’t carry such obvious weapons here, knowing orcs, he has at least one formidable knife on his person. “Get out.”

She sneers one final time before spinning and marching for the door, her minion scurrying after her.

I release my shadows from around Hannah and her friends, my eyes raking over her, searching for injuries. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, thanks to you!” She throws her arms around me.

Is this fake? Is it, as she said earlier, “putting on a show”? Goddess, it doesn’t feel fake. And my worry for her was real.

I freeze, holding her to me. I was worried about her, worried about someone other than myself. Have I ever felt that before? I don’t think so. What does it mean? I always thought the finer feelings in life were not for the likes of me. But if I’m no longer a villain…

Hannah snuggles her face into my neck.

I stroke a hand down her back, and the movement’s more about comfort than seduction. Who even am I rightnow? I hold her until she stirs and pushes away with another thank you before turning to see if everyone’s okay.

My eyes scan the crowd. No one’s seriously injured, but I wave over one of my healers. “Heal everyone involved. Don’t let the humans realize what you’re doing.”

“Yes, My King.” He works his way through the crowd, brushing his hands against shoulders and elbows in little pulses of magic.

“I apologize that this came into your pub,” I say to Thorvinn. The words don’t come easily. Ineverapologize. But if I’m truly to be reformed, I need to start acting like it.

“It’s because of me,” Hannah says. “Sorry.”

“Hell. It’s not an orc pub without a brawl.” Thorvinn jabs a finger toward me. “You can make it right by buying a round.”

I nod.

Thorvinn vaults over the bar and roars, “Next round’s on King Severin!”

The entire pub cheers and surges toward him, people smiling at me and calling out thanks.

What an odd feeling. I’ve never been cheered before. I think I like it. This “good guy” thing might be a little addicting. And it’s all because of Hannah.

When she looks at me like she does now, as if I’m worthy of her regard, she spins the hand of my rusty moral compass, swinging it toward true north, turning me toward good.

And I don’t even hate it.

The next morning, Varyn finds me watching over Hannah’s cottage.

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