Page 2 of Ruthless Scoundrel
Ah. So he’s Wolish, then.
The Wolish people, from Wolfsheim across the sea to the west, are all merchants or brigands. They’re a powerful kingdom in their own right and have a powerful king. That king’s first son has married the third princess of Fynren tonight, ensuring a lasting peace between them.
Right.
As if Ki’ah Ohn know the wordpeace.
They only know violence. Conquest. Domination.
The drink sours in my mouth, but I keep my mood light. “Why do you say that?”
The man rolls his eyes. “Because of her basic magus ability. Everyone whispers, you know. The first princess was a nomaj, and the second had to go off to school to develop her skills,” the man says, pausing to take a drink. “So of course, the thirdprincess can’t be much better. Though, I’ve heard the fourth is quite a wonder.”
His gaze locks on Reina across the room and some part of me doesn’t like the way he grins. My fist clenches on my drink and I consider the three-shooter concealed under my coat.
No. I can’t shoot a man right here.
Can I?
I shake my head to clear the idiotic thought. I’m here to collect Reina and be on my way.
The air slides into my lungs and the scent of perfume, food, body odor, arousal, and more slides in with it. The act of deep breathing in here doesn’t calm me in the slightest. I don’t know how I’m going to get Reina out of the palace, but she must be mine. I have to have her.
She’s my bait.
“What say you, son?” the man asks.
“Well, as it’s known, one cannot judge the whole litter by one pup,” I say, reciting selkie rhetoric that I hope translates.
He laughs. “I suppose that’s true. The royals keep their magus abilities so secret, it’s hard to know anyway.”
“Better to keep the secret than let it control you,” I say, then take a sip of my drink to hide my disgust.
“Hear, hear,” the Wol says, raising his own glass and taking a drink.
I tire of this dull gossip.
I made it here under the guise of a Wolish captain I had to do away with. No matter. I’m here now, and while I can’t stand this event, it is getting me the one thing I need: a princess of royal blood so powerful the false king of the south—Erik Vansen—won’t be able to refuse an audience.
And then I can cut out his heart and reclaim what is mine.
“What’s your name, sailor?” the man beside me asks as he picks up another drink from a passing servant.
Jasper Luvine. I’m a captain from Wolfsheim, I remind myself.
Fuck. This man is Wolish. What if he knows every Wolish captain?
“Sir?” he asks, adjusting his monocle with annoyance.
“Jasper,” I say, jutting my hand out for a shake, something Men are so fond of.
He scowls deeply and rears back as if I’ve offended him. I drop my hand, a similar scowl pasted to my features.
“Been abroad a long time, eh, sailor?” he asks, sticking out his foot.
What the fuck is this?
“Too long,” I say, sticking out my opposite foot.
