Page 63 of Lord of the Lone Wolf
Sudryl snorted from the opposite cot, where he sat cross-legged, polishing his sword with methodical strokes. “That happens if someone so much as looks in your direction, Bitris.”
“Only the attractive ones,” Bitris countered, winking at Maseo. “And our halfling here is at the top of that list.”
A familiar heat crawled up Maseo’s neck. Even after months among the men, he hadn’t grown accustomed to Bitris’s shameless flirtations. In Kunushi, such open admiration toward him would have earned a swift punishment from his father’s guards.
“The battle tomorrow is only the start of this fight,” Maseo said, changing the subject. “My father’s elite guard will not surrender.”
Drayden looked up from his cot across from Sudryl, his expression somber. “You know them well?”
Maseo nodded, memories of black armor and cruel eyes flashing through his mind. “I trained with many of them. Or rather, they trained on me when I displeased my father, which was all the time.”
The tent fell silent. Maseo regretted his words. He hadn’t meant to darken the mood further, but the truth had slipped out.
Bitris was the first to recover, sliding closer to Maseo on the cot. “Well, tomorrow, they’ll learn what happens when they mistreat someone under Talwyn’s protection.” His hand brushed Maseo’s knee, the touch light yet comforting. “And I, for one, am going to enjoy teaching them that lesson.”
“We all will,” Sudryl agreed, his face hardening with resolve. “Your father’s men will regret every mark they left on you.”
It was hard to comprehend how men who had once been strangers months ago now spoke of avenging his suffering as if it were their personal mission. The concept of such loyalty remained foreign to him as a gift he wasn’t sure he deserved but treasured.
“I appreciate the sentiment,” Maseo said, “but don’t underestimate them. They’re?—”
The tent flap opened, cutting him off mid-sentence. Rylan ducked inside, his tall frame almost brushing the canvas ceiling. He wore simple leather armor, his black hair pulled back from his angular face.
“Maseo,” Rylan said with a nod in his direction. “I need to borrow you.”
Bitris let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his arm around Maseo’s shoulders. “Again, Lieutenant? You’re monopolizing all his time. Some of us were in the middle of important conversations.”
“Important conversations or important flirtations?” Rylan asked, arching an eyebrow in silent challenge.
Bitris grinned. “Is there a difference?”
Maseo stood, grateful for the interruption. “What do you need me for?”
“The king has requested your presence,” Rylan said.
Bitris sat up. “The king? At this hour?” He turned to Maseo with an exaggerated pout. “And here I thought I was the only one with designs on your evening.”
“Your designs will have to wait,” Rylan said, his voice carrying the calm authority of rank. “Royal business takes precedence over your attempts to charm our pup into your bedroll.”
Drayden chuckled, setting aside his quiver. “Bitris, you’re fighting a losing battle. Maseo has standards.”
“Excuse you,” Bitris huffed in mock offense. “I’m a catch. I’m charming, handsome, and I can breathe fire.”
“A useful skill for cooking,” Sudryl deadpanned, “but perhaps not the most appealing quality in a bedmate.”
Maseo smiled despite the tension in his chest. Their easy banter had become an unexpected comfort, especially on the eve of battle.
“You’re all terrible,” Bitris declared, though his eyes danced with amusement. He pointed at Rylan. “And you’re the worst for stealing him away when I was making such good progress.”
“Progress?” Rylan scoffed. “Is that what you call making him blush and retreat into his shell? At least when I flirt with him, he doesn’t look as if he wants to crawl under the cot.”
“That’s because you outrank him, and he can’t tell you to stuff it,” Bitris retorted. He puffed out his chest with arrogance. “ButI’m wearing him down. Once he sees how heroic I am in battle while defending his honor, he’ll be begging for my attention.”
Rylan laughed. “If anyone’s going to win his affections, it’ll be someone with actual charm and not an overinflated ego and a forked tongue.”
“My tongue is quite normal. And talented, I might add,” Bitris protested, licking his lips in a flirtatious manner to prove his point. “You’d know that if you ever let me show you.”
Maseo chuckled. “I’m still here, you know.”
