Page 38 of Court of Rivals
Glancing at the door, I feel them even before I see them. The three princes enter through the door without glancing in my direction. Instead, they head straight for the back of the room, a commanding air to their massive frames, even without them saying a word. They split off in different directions when they reach the back. Prince Gareth joins the people throwing darts. Prince Lucien sits with the men playing cards, and Alaric finds a seat near the fire, where a few other dragon riders talk.
I try not to notice how good they look. I swear, I really try. It seems a crime against nature that men who are that awful, that full of themselves, that threatened by just the existence of women, can look that good. But there’s nothing I can do about it. Nothing but fuck my frustrations away.
The barmaid sets my ale down. I reach into the pouch to pay when a man stops me, “I got this.” He shoves his way through the men around me, until we finally have some space, then pays the barmaid.
“Thank you,” I say, studying him beneath my lashes.
He’s six-foot-something with a mop of auburn hair and pale brown eyes. He’s built like a farmer, not a dragon rider, with a lean frame and lean muscles. He’s wearing a tan shirt made of inexpensive fabric and tight pants that do an excellent job showing off his nice legs.
“I’m Harper,” I say, stretching out a hand.
He smiles, and he has a charming smile. “Lee.”
The stool next to me opens up, and he snags it without another word, ordering another ale for himself. I can see him watching me, barely taking his eyes off of me, but it's flattering rather than upsetting. He has… kind eyes. And although he could be hiding a monster behind them, I seriously doubt it. I’m usually a pretty good judge of character.
“What brings you to the tavern tonight, Lee?” I ask.
His smile never wavers. “Spent the day weeding and hoeing the crops. You?”
“Working at the dragon riders academy.”
“You work there?” he asks, his gaze scanning over my leather-clad outfit.
“I do,” I answer, knowing that he probably thinks I’m some kind of strangely dressed maid.
“And where are you from?”
“You don’t think I’m from here?” I tease, taking a swig of my drink, which is actually really good. I see why the dragon riders hang out here.
He shrugs. “It’s the way you talk. You sound like you’re from a small town.”
“I am,” I admit. “Pennyvale.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think you would have.”
We talk for a while longer, finishing our drinks, then getting another round. He tells me about new foals that were recently born on his farm. Twins! Which rarely happens. He tells a harrowing story about the night he had to help the mother birth them or risk losing her. I learn about his brother and his sister, his mother and his father, and about how his grandfather mixes up things, often resulting in hilarious situations. He’s a nice man, with a nice life.
He asks me more about myself. I tell him about my four brothers and my parents. I tell him about harvest time in our small town, and about Tesson’s father, the lord we all hate.
By the time we start on our third drink, the liquor is burning through me along with desire. This man doesn’t excite me. Doesn’t make me want to do crazy things, but he’s handsome, and kind. The perfect situation for a quick night of fun.
Leaning close to him, I put a hand on his thigh. “Lee, are you married?”
I can practically see his heartbeat racing. “No. Definitely not.”
Smiling, I lean closer and whisper in his ear. “What are you doing tonight?”
Then, I pull back watching him. He looks like a man who just won a hell of a lot of money. Shock and happiness dance over his face, followed by pure disbelief.
“You want to know whatI’mdoing tonight?”
I move my hand a little higher on his thigh. “Yeah, are you busy?”
There’s a flash of movement and suddenly there’s a knife sticking into the counter between us. My head whirls in the direction it came from, and I see Prince Gareth holding another knife, looking prepared to strike. Those deep blue eyes of his are filled with absolute rage, and his stance is that of a man ready for a fight.
“Is that Prince Gareth?” the man beside me asks in shock.
