Page 41 of Zel
True. Ulrich had never locked Zel away or barred him from going where he pleased. But he still kept tightening his hold the more people they passed.
People they passed who cast appraising glances at Zel.
Ulrich was jealous. Possessive. Which was what Zel needed. He needed Ulrich to want him, but he also needed to stop being pleased about that for any reasons other than for the sake of the mission.
When they reached Hessen House, it proved rowdy indeed, even at this early hour. It was one of only a handful of establishments that always had enough food and drink for its patrons—for the right price—no doubt from some deal with the Queen to help combat the pitfalls of the Great Famine. It still wouldn’t be much or anything like the meals Ulrich provided and meant coming early was the only way to ensure a decent seat along the wall rather than standing at the taller tables in the center.
Zel wondered as they searched for a table if Ulrich might change his mind about the locale with so many patrons about, but the sorcerer seemed more at ease now. Perhaps because a crowd meant most onlookers at Zel were accompanied by their own companions, courters, and wives.
An empty table appeared and in an ideal location, secluded yet not outside the throng of merrymaking, with a clear view of the area reserved for bards and players. Whether by Zel’s luck or Ulrich’s magic, they claimed it quickly.
They dined, with Zel sneaking bites of hisrapunzelwhile eating his stew, and the din of the tavern was never without music. They even conversed a bit with a neighboring table, which hosted two younger married couples whose children were being looked after by one of their mothers. The couples were already drunk but in good spirits, so when one of the wivesmentioned how much she adored the flowers in Zel’s hair, he plucked one out to tuck it behind her ear.
They also drank. And drank. Anddrank. Zel did not need to come up with excuses for them to stay, for Ulrich seemed content, enjoying himself as much as Zel was. Honestly.
There was an eventual lull in the music for the bard who had been playing to be replaced by a full band, and the standing tables in the middle were moved closer to the ones along the walls, leaving room for dancing.
They could indulge as much as they wanted with Ulrich’s unlimited coin, and Zel was contemplating their next drinks when Ulrich’s hand slid onto his knee.
Zel looked at Ulrich, feeling the heat in his cheeks from all they had drunk so far flood lower and spread through his loins. He was supposed to be working, manipulating, but Ulrich was so handsome. So compelling. Zel wished he looked like he normally would, with starlight hair and a purplish complexion, but the shape of his face was the same, even if he was dimmed from his true radiance.
“Thank you for this,” Ulrich said. “I went too long without partaking in such things.”
“I worried you might not enjoy this as much as I was hoping.”
“I am in good company. And while one can, one shouldlive, should one not?”
While one can…
The desires blossoming in Zel’s gut turned sour.
“Indeed,” he said. “So let us keep living. I will fetch us more drink. It gets difficult to obtain service once the dancing starts.” Zel slipped from their table, out from under Ulrich’s hand on his knee, like a fleeing coward.
He had Ulrich right where he needed him, drunk and compliant enough that it would be easy now to ask him more about the curse and learn what Zel required…
To kill him.
Zel blinked a rush of heat from his eyes. Let it keep to his cheeks from drink, or his loins from Ulrich’s touch. But not tears. He could not afford tears.
He moved for the bar, which was crowded with others trying to secure more drink before the new band of players began. Zel’s beauty commanded a bit of chivalry, however, even from stumbling louts, and several parted to make way for him.
“Yes, please, barkeep, two—”
“Ain’t you a pretty thing?”
Zel’s beauty also commandedunwanted attentionfrom stumbling louts. Such a presence pressed up against him from behind, and hot, ale-tinged breath struck Zel’s cheek. “Thank you, sir, but I—”
“Have a dance with me, will ya? Though I’d rather see more of what’s under that cloak, to be honest. Ain’t you warm enough, pretty?”
“I am quite comfortable, and I’m afraid—”
“Dance with me.” He tugged Zel’s arm, whirling him around to face what was a perfectly unremarkable man, but one well into obnoxiously inebriated. “I ain’t taking no for an answer.”
Every instinct in Zel wanted to flip this man on his ass, but that would call attention. It would signal that he was from the Thieves Guild, and the evening would be ruined. “Sir—”
The man tugged Zel’s arm again, forcing him onto the dancefloor and into his arms. Zel could easily escape, but could he do so without causing a scene? The music was just starting, and other drunken patrons crowded in around them, drowning Zel in the throng. He couldn’t see their table anymore, being shorter than most of the other dancers.
Perhaps it was good the crowd rushed in quickly. Surely, Zel could spin out of the man’s grasp and escape amid the otherbodies. He had a tight hold around Zel’s waist though, too tight, and was starting to drift his hand lower.
