Page 143 of Royal Rebel

He slipped away, leaving her with Cardon.

His eyes on her made her feel flushed, so she took another drink, deeper this time. It burned, but it went down easier this time.

“What are we really doing here?” Cardon asked.

The deep cadence of his voice made the fine hairs on her body rise to attention. She couldn’t tell him the truth, so she shot him a smile over the rim of her mug. “I’m drinking, Wilf’s gaining information, and I imagine you’re about to lecture me.”

His full lips twitched, though his jaw remained firm. “What exactly am I going to lecture you about?”

“Possibly the risks of being in a crowded, chaotic place like this?” As if to emphasize her point, there was a shout from the corner—two men were arm wrestling, a crowd circling them.

Cardon glanced their way, then settled his gaze back on her. “I wouldn’t be wrong.”

“Perhaps.” She took another swallow of the potent ale. She could feel it swimming in her blood. It heated her body and relaxed her muscles. “I didn’t know you don’t drink.”

He shifted on the stool beside her, and his knee brushed her leg since he was angled toward her. “It’s not something that would have come up during our usual interactions.”

True. Still, she’d known Cardon since she was thirteen years old. She knew him—his laugh, his smile, his loyalty, his goodness. It was with a pang she realized there were things she’d never asked. They’d had thousands of conversations over the years, but Cardon had always managed to turn the conversation back to her. There was so much she didn’t know, and that seemed wrong. She was in love with the man; she should know him better.

Her thumb slid down the handle of the wooden tankard. “Why don’t you drink?”

“I won’t do anything to limit my ability to protect you.”

That sounded like Cardon. However, it wasn’t a full answer. Her eyebrows pulled together. “What about when you’re not on duty? Or before you became my bodyguard? Have you really never been drunk?”

“No.” He paused. Then, “Once.”

There was a story there. She wanted to ask, but something in his tone made her hesitate. “I’ve never been drunk,” she admitted. “Imara and I once speculated on what manner of drunks we’d be, though.”

Amusement sparked in his eyes. “Why?”

She shrugged. “It was entertaining. We decided Imara would stand on tables and sing. Terribly off-key, of course.”

He chuckled. “I think that’s a fair guess. And you?”

“Imara thinks I’d become insufferably morose. I think I’d be more likely to lecture everyone in sight.” She eyed him over her mug. “What sort of drunk are you?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “This is a strange conversation.”

“You’re avoiding the question. Is it because you sing?”

His mouth curved. “Terribly off-key.”

She had a hard time looking away from his lips. She busied herself with taking another drink, then cleared her throat. “For a man who doesn’t drink, I find it odd that—in the event of my death—you said you’d become a drunk.”

Cardon’s eyes grew hooded. Clearly, he remembered the conversation they’d had so long ago in Serai Tamar’s home. The admission had stunned her then, but it made no sense now.

She bit her lower lip, awaiting his response.

It never came.

Disappointment lodged in her throat, and she was once again struck by the dissonance of knowing him so completely, yet not knowing such simple things about him and his life. She took another pull from the tankard—longer this time—and determination settled in her shoulders. “Where did you grow up?”

Cardon pulled back a little, clearly caught off-guard by the unexpected question. “A small village south of Iden. You wouldn’t know it; it doesn’t appear on any map.”

It was a vague answer, but she wasn’t sure how hard to press for more. She took another drink of ale. “You told me once you didn’t have any siblings.”

“I don’t.”

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