Page 37 of Through the Wicked Wood

“What?” My voice shakes, nerves settling into my gut. The earlier wine from dinner now, apparently, a very bad idea. I glance at each face around the table, but I’m only met with grins. They can’t be serious. “I’m not stripping my clothes.” Setting down the pile of cards, I cross my arms.

“Well, there won’t be any need to,” Sorin says, leaning forward so his elbows rest against the table. “If you’re as good a player as you say you are, there’s nothing to worry about.” His smile makes the erratic thumping in my chest beat even harder.

“Are you always so arrogant?” I gruff at Sorin as I pick up the cards to deal the rest of the hand.

“Yes,” Sam, Jarek, and Galen say in unison.

Sorin laughs it off, scooping up the pile of cards I’ve dealt before him. “Are you always so angry?” he asks, keeping his eyes on his cards.

Yes, I think to myself. But instead of voicing it, I roll my eyes and turn my attention to Sam. “You play this way every time?”

“Not always,” she says, setting her now empty mug onto the floor. “But, seeing as how we leave in a few days, and there won’t be much time for relaxation, I don’t see how a bit of fun could hurt.”

“Just remember,” Jarek whispers, leaning around Sam so he can meet my eyes more clearly, “Sorin’s got a reputation for a reason. Don’t believe him for shite.”

“I heard that,” Sorin deadpans before flicking his attention to me. “So, Elora, are you in?” His eyes meet mine from across the table and the challenge in his tone has my competitive edge flaring up. I think of this morning, when Jarek challenged me to throw the ax. Even further back my mind goes, to every challenge Cade insisted on as we trained together. I curse myself for being so stubborn as I square my shoulders. I don’t break his gaze as I deal the final card. If he expects me to back down, he has severely misjudged my character. Besides, I know how to play the game, I’ve played it all my life. Perhaps it’s him who should be nervous.

“I’m in,” I finally say.

“I’m not.” Galen’s voice tears my gaze from Sorin, he’s been so quiet I almost forgot he was there.

“Oh, come on, mate,” Jarek groans, as if Galen’s unwillingness to play is a usual occurrence. “We’re all here, it’s just a bit of fun.”

“I have work to do, or have you all forgotten we’re leaving in a few days?” Galen pushes his cards away, glaring at Jarek as he does so.

“All the more reason for one last hurrah!” Sam says, her bright smile splitting across her face.

“No,” Galen says, pushing back his chair and standing abruptly.

“Sit.” Sorin points to his chair. “Indulge in something exciting for once in your boring, scholarly life,” he says through a laugh. As if reading each other’s minds, Sorin, Sam, and Jarek all break out into a chant.

“Galen! Galen! Galen!” The trio yell in unison, timing the pounding of their fists onto the table. This continues several more times, and the smile that threatens my lips takes over completely.

Galen pulls his chair back before raising a hand to stop the outburst of chants. “Fine,” he grumbles. “I’ll play one hand.”

* * *

It doesn’t take long for Galen to lose his first article of clothing. As soon as he dropped his vest, he folded his next hand and excused himself for the night. Sam has somehow managed to lose every round, leaving her in just a camisole and undergarments. I’m not sure why she kept bluffing, maybe she thought if she believed she could win, eventually she would.

She didn’t.

But now, she’s out of the game, having lost her share of shillings we divided.

Jarek studies his cards, holding them close enough to his face I can’t see his eyes. “I call,” he says, pushing the last of his shillings onto the table.

“Confident, are we?” Sorin laughs, crossing his arms across his bare chest. The sculpted muscles of his arms flexing as he does.

“Oh aye,” Jarek says, mocking Sorin by crossing his arms. “Let’s do this brother.” I sit at the end of the table, already out this round, leaving just Sorin and Jarek. The five cards dealt onto the table don’t leave much to work with, but before Sorin flips his cards his hands linger in his lap. His brows furrow before he leans down to gather his discarded shirt, frantically patting it.

“Looking for something?” Jarek asks with a smirk, I’m completely lost as to what is happening but with the two men shirtless, it’s difficult to pay attention anyhow. Sorin glares at Jarek as he lays a Queen of Spades onto the table.

“You cheeky bastard,” Sorin says with a laugh. “How the hell did you steal it this time?” Jarek joins in on Sorin’s laughter, and soon Samaria does as well.

“You were awfully generous with your hugs last night,” Jarek says, tossing the clearly old and used card in Sorin’s direction. “You made it too easy for me.” Sorin catches the card, kissing it before tucking it lovingly back into his pants pocket.

“I don’t understand,” I finally say. Sam, Jarek, and Sorin all turn to me, smiles lining their faces.

“It’s a silly prank these two have had for years,” Sam explains, standing to refill her mug of tea from the kettle. “The Queen of Spades is a sacred card, and for some reason, these idiots always steal it from each other.”

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