Page 97 of The Dragon King's Assassin

After putting on one of the outfits the King had bought me, I locked my hotel room and went downstairs. I could have ordered some food brought to my room, but I needed to be around other people. Eating in solitude would not alleviate the clawing ache in my chest. I needed to find a distraction. Once downstairs, I wandered around the lobby. Well-dressed people were coming and going, paying me no mind, but their presence alone was calming. I wove my way through them, then edged along the perimeter where a few small shops sold fancy, rich-people things like expensive perfume and frilly hats. There was also a restaurant.

I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, but all that drama with Taroc had suppressed my appetite. I began to rethink my decision to eat, but then a mouthwatering scent wafted out of the restaurant's open door. My stomach rumbled, my appetite returning with a vengeance, and I headed inside eagerly.

A lot of white greeted me. White table linens, white furniture, white flowers. It would have been blinding if they hadn't kept the lights low. As it was, it was perfectly lit, the color alone adding a certain amount of illumination. The place was nearly full, but a waiter greeted me at the door immediately, showed me to a small table, and discretely removed the other place setting. He left me with a menu and a promise to return shortly.

I sat there, staring at the empty chair across from me for a moment, then mentally slapped myself. This was my first time in a nice restaurant where they covered the tables in cloth, set out silverware, and had crystal glasses for water. For water! I wouldn't let Taroc ruin it for me.

The King didn't know it, but he had released me from his service, fully prepared to enter the upper class. I was one of them now, thanks to Yusef's money and the manners I'd learned by watching the courtiers. I couldn't stay in Mhavenna, someone would eventually recognize me and out me as an assassin, but if I laid low and didn't speak to any of those rich assholes, I could blend in with them for a while. Then I'd sail off with Teng. In another kingdom, I could use my wealth to become whoever and whatever I wanted.

“Are you ready to order, Sir?” The waiter was back.

“Uh.” I looked at the menu. Half the items I didn't recognize and the other half had names I couldn't pronounce. “This is my first time here, and I'd like to sample your best dishes. What would you recommend?”

The waiter beamed at me and rattled off about if I preferred meat to fish and so on. It would have bored me if I hadn't needed the guidance so desperately. I chose the meat option and the appetizer he recommended, declined a salad, but let him pick a bottle of wine for me. The man hummed as he left, he was so damn pleased with himself.

“You made his day,” a man at a nearby table said.

I looked over at him. He was alone (which made me feel a little better about myself), human, blond, handsome, and young. Oh, and physically fit. Very fit.

“Why is that?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Most of the people who eat here are . . .”

“Dicks?”

The man laughed. “Yes, dicks. I doubt they ever ask his opinion on anything, much less follow his recommendations.”

“Honestly, I was baffled by the menu.”

“It's like reading another language, isn't it? With some dishes, it really is another language. I mean, why can't they write everything in Seraian? We all speak it, for fuck's sake. Why do they think that giving a dish a Parsanian name makes it more appealing? There aren't any Parsans in this city; those humans hate everyone, even other humans. I certainly don't want to eat their food.”

I burst out laughing.

He grinned at me. “I'm Greven.”

“Locrian,” I said. “Uh, would you like to join me?”

“Yes, actually, I would.” Greven motioned at the waiter, who came hurrying over, then told him he was moving to my table.

The waiter moved Greven's place setting over to my table as if such requests were made all the time. After everything was laid out perfectly, he inclined his head to us and went to lay fresh place settings on Greven's abandoned table.

There went the whole laying low idea. But fuck it, Greven was hot and into me. I could tell by the way he leaned forward and kept looking at my lips. We finished the bottle of wine I ordered—that would be my second of the day, but who the fuck cared?—and then he paid the bill. I didn't try to dissuade him. As I've said before, I may be rich now, but I'd been poor too long to spend frivolously. If someone wanted to buy me a meal, I'd take it.

And since he'd been nice enough to pay for me, I decided to go for it. There's nothing like a good fuck to get you over an old lover. I tried to think of a come-on line a rich person would say and went with, “Would you like to see my room?”

It did the trick.

“I absolutely would.”

We went upstairs and before we reached my door, Greven had taken my hand. Grinning, we went inside, closed the door, and attacked each other.

“Hold on,” I broke away from his lips to say. “Are you a top?”

Greven went still. “No, I prefer to receive.”

“Fuck.” I let him go.

“You too? I thought you had a more . . .”

---