Page 41 of A Crown of Lies

“Yes,” Aryn croaked out.

“You must convince me,” he murmured. “Make me believe you want me.”

That will be easy, Aryn thought.I won’t even have to pretend. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Before he could question it again, the elf’s lips pressed against his.

At first, Aryn just closed his eyes and leaned in, holding back. He didn’t want to seem too eager. It still felt like a betrayal to Mercia, even though they’d agreed they could both go this far. Then the masked elf pulled away and Aryn panicked, knowing he hadn’t done enough to convince him. He threw his arms around the other elf’s neck and pulled him close, this time for a messy, desperate kiss that held nothing back.

The masked elf’s lips were as soft and warm as they looked, but it wasn’t like kissing Mercia. There was a roughness to his chin and cheeks, the mildly scratchy texture of stubble, and he tasted nothing like her, or any of the other men he’d kissed. There was something dark and seductive about the taste of him, something Aryn couldn’t put to words.

The elf let out a deep, vibrating groan and traced his tongue over Aryn’s lips. Aryn opened to him without thought, all his worries about the information he needed suddenly gone. The world shrank to that room, and the two shadows joined in it.

Gods above, it’d been so long since he’d kissed anyone like this. He hadn’t even kissed Mercia that deeply in some time. When was the last time they’d even had sex? He’d just been so tired lately, so distracted. Maybe that was why he was responding so strongly to this stranger’s touch. Maybe that was why he found himself rutting against this stranger’s hip, so desperate for attention that he let out a whimper when the masked elf pulled away.

The masked elf nuzzled against him, panting against his cheek. “That was an incredibly convincing performance. Unless it wasn’t a performance at all?” He again tipped Aryn’s face up, desire darkening his eyes. “What do you say, little bird? Would you like more? I could take you to bed, perhaps introduce you to my wife and whomever she’s chosen for the evening as a companion? I’m quite taken with you.”

Everything in Aryn wanted to say yes. His cock was throbbing and his mind muddy with lust. But he had promised to check in with Mercia, and he’d come there to work.

He shook his head. “I… I can’t.”

“Pity. Perhaps another time, then.” The elf released him and took a step back. “As to our agreement…” He hesitated, considering. “His clan name.”

Aryn cleared his throat and tried to work through the fog in his head. “What about it?”

“Shaking the right hands and paying the right bribes can bury paperwork deep in a republic. Beggars can become lords. Thieves can disappear from the dungeons… And bastards can become the Voice of the Sagacious Assembly.”

Aryn stared at him in shock. “Are you saying Niro Wolfheart is a bastard? Do you have proof of this allegation?”

If that were true, it would be an inescapable black mark on his otherwise flawless record. Niro would be ineligible to carry the clan name, making him ineligible to serve on the assembly, let alone as its Voice or Primarch. Clan names were everything in elvish culture. Without a clan, they had no standing, no claim to anything. Not even a place to live, not unless they worked for a clan, or one took pity on them. Every elf in D’thallanar was connected to one of its twelve clans, indebted to one, or sworn to one. That was the very core of their way of life.

“Ask Isheda Runecleaver. He knows the truth.” He turned and pulled open the door.

“Wait!” Aryn pushed away from the wall. When the masked elf turned back, Aryn’s heart pumped in his throat, blocking all the air. “Thank you.”

The other elf smirked. “Thankyou. Yours is a kiss I will be poorer for not having again. Farewell, little bird. Fly home safely.” He ducked out of the room.

Aryn rushed to the door, looking up and down the corridor, but the masked elf was gone. He let out a breath and shook his head, trying to clear it. At least that was over, and he’d gotten what they came for. Now he just had to collect Mercia and get back.

He crossed the courtyard, pushing his way between the dancers and ignoring the band. As he walked, he scanned the rooftops and the masked faces, hoping to catch sight of the masked elf he’d kissed, but he was nowhere to be found.

Aryn returned to the main room where he had last seen Mercia, but she wasn’t there. When he asked the bartender where the women had gone, he pointed to a smaller sitting room just off the main one. Inside, the lights were low, and small groups of people sat on cushioned couches, whispering, kissing, or holding hands. He leaned into several booths, searching for Mercia, but didn’t spot her until the third one.

And then, there she was, lips locked with the woman from before, one arm around the other woman’s neck while she was splayed out in her lap. He stood awkwardly in front of their little booth for a moment, watching them together before the elf broke the kiss to scowl at him.

“Go away or join in,” she said firmly. “Just don’t stand there like a creep.”

“He’s with me.” Mercia pushed away from the woman. “Is everything all right? Dammit, did I miss the check in?”

“I…” Aryn’s voice cracked, so he stopped to clear his throat. “We need to go.”

“But we were just getting started.” The elf smiled and pulled Mercia’s lips back to hers.

“Now,” Aryn insisted, though he wasn’t sure why he was so desperate to get away. Those two were clearly enjoying each other’s company. “It’s getting late.”

Mercia finally tore herself away from the elven woman and slid out of the booth. “All right. I’m coming.”

The elven woman grasped Mercia’s hand before she could get away. “I had a wonderful time, love. Will I see you again?”

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