Page 163 of The Throne Seeker
A group of men wearing the same family crest as Lorance circled the pair. Some of them even drew their swords like she was a real threat.
“Enough!” Moretti bellowed over them as he stood. “Let her go, Lorance, and tell your men to stand down. Or I’ll let her put that blade to good use. I wouldn’t mind seeing my greatest competition eliminated.”
Lorance gifted Rose a defeated scowl before striding away with his “jolly” band of men. She steadily lowered her arm and hid her shaky hands, stowing her knife back in its hiding spot.
Curse these bloody taverns.
Moretti was waiting by the window with a drink in his hand. The storm that had poured at the Snorri now splattered over the glass in fierce droplets, filling the crowded room with the pattering.
“You hold your own. I’ll give you that. Fuck, that might have been the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen.” His bright blue eyes flashed back to her. “You’re a walking magnet, aren’t you, Santres?” The mention of her fake name reminded her she was supposed to be pretending to be someone else. “You must hear that all the time.”
She gave him a humble smile. “I’ve been told once or twice.”
His mouth slipped into a large grin, letting her know he liked her fire. He pulled out a chair for her, all the while looking down at the oval black ring she was wearing. She knew he’d like that she kept it on.
“So, are all these men friends of yours, or do they work for you?” she asked.
“Both,” he answered. “Though the latter is what keeps them around.”
She gazed at him with empathy. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
“Yes. If you’d had an upbringing like mine, you’d say the same.”
Her father had believed the same thing. “I’m sorry, but that’s just too sad to believe.”
Moretti’s eye twitched with curiosity. “What is it you’d have me believe, Draya Santres?”
“I’d like to believe true wealth comes from something that cannot be bought.”
“Such as?”
She picked up her glass from the table. “Such as love, family, friendship. From the looks of it, you could use better ones.” She took a sip.
Moretti’s eyebrow lifted. “Is that so?”
“Yes. You should be able to trust friends with anything.”
“I trust them enough.”
“But not around me.”
“Oh, not a chance in hell, goddess—I don’t even trustmyselfaround you.”
Blood rose to the surface of her cheeks. Her stomach rumbled not a moment later, reminding her of how hungry she was.
He gestured to the food spread on the table. “Come on, let’s eat before that stomach of yours shakes down my fine establishment.”
Dinner was exquisite, with no expense spared. Every dish had the finest luxuries available. Her plate was lined with gold, as was the silverware and the cup. Even the chair cushion was filled with goose feathers. The food was almost too beautiful to eat, and once she tasted it, it melted like butter in her mouth.
Time and time again, she waited for a chance to slip the powder into his drink, but the public setting made it impossible.
She needed to stay guarded around Moretti, and she was. But against her better judgment, she felt an unexpected sense of ease with him. Their conversations were effortless, and even his casual movements around her seemed as instinctive as breathing.
Once they were done eating, the servers came too quickly to take their plates—and, more importantly, their glasses. She cursed.
It was time to enact plan B.
She strategically shivered, putting her arms around herself as she rubbed her upper arm.
