Page 55 of The Curse of Golden Blood
"Why?"
She blushed. "Let's just say... he's skilled at more than just swords."
"Pelbie! You did not sleep with him!"
"Of course not!" She feigned shock. "But, ah... I may have... allowed him certain liberties."
I raised my brow.
She glanced down at her hands, hiding her sheepish grin. "We might have kissed."
"Just kissed?"
"Twice."
"Pelbie!"
Her smile was infectious.
I laughed. "I didn't think you had it in you."
"Neither did I. But apparently, I've been missing out."
I shook my head. "Just... be safe."
Pelbie's ears went pink, and she fumbled with the dice in her hands, dropping them back into their leather pouch. "Don't worry. I won't get caught with him under my skirts."
I let out a soft laugh.
Pelbie cinched the pouch shut and set it on the table beside her, the soft clink of the dice fading into the low crackle of the fire. I smiled, but my mind had already wandered.
Intimacy. The word felt strange in my head, heavier than it should be. I’d only ever shared my bed with one person before. The baker’s boy from the lower quarter, with his calloused hands and easy smile.
Tomos.
He had always smelled of beeswax and fresh bread, the flour on his hands catching in my hair, making it itch.
We had snuck him into my tiny bedchamber nearly every day after the bells had rung, when the sunlight melted like butter into the cracks between the cobblestones. Did I love him? Perhaps. Or perhaps I had simply wanted the life we once could have had, before he was taken as a Vessel.
After that, I’d promised I wouldn’t let anyone close enough for it to matter again. Promises are easier when you have nothing left to break.
Love meant weakness, and weakness was something I couldn’t afford.
Pelbie shifted against the pillows, breaking me from my thoughts. “Well,” she said, her voice carrying that stubborn spark again, “if you’re going to sit there brooding, we might as well do something useful.”
I arched my brow. “Useful?”
She patted the table between us. “Let’s play a round. Dice. Just to see if I can still beat you.”
I smirked. “You’ve never beaten me.”
Her grin widened. “Then I’ll enjoy changing that.”
She loosened the pouch again, the dice tumbling into her palm with a soft, satisfying click. They caught the firelight as she set them down, gold glinting in the carved pips.
“The winner gets… bragging rights,” she declared.
“That’s all?” I asked.
