Page 88 of The King's Queen

Ryson’s is as claustrophobic as I remember it being the last time I was here, pretending to have my brains beaten in and saving damsels in distress. I keep my head low as I enter, only nodding subtly at my informant as he exits. I spot my personal target within an instant, drunk out of his mind and slurring at the bar. I recognize the owner entertaining him, offering refills on drinks and occasionally smiling at a group of patrons.

With a heavy sigh, I approach the former captain and lay a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Blaine?”

Blaine swivels in his chair to look up at me, his hand never leaving his glass. His usually steely eyes have been softened by the alcohol, and he squints with his mouth open.

“Do I knows ya?”

For the love of the gods, he is drunk out of his mind.

“Okay, now I really know you’ve had too much. Come on, we’ve got to get you home,” I grumble, not entirely thrilled to be doing this.You’re doing this for Vera,I remind myself.

My muscles groan in protest as I try to pull Blaine from his spot atop the stool without causing a scene, but the ex-captain remains firmly rooted in his spot. Despite my struggles, not a single drop ofleechespills. My mouth gapes open in shock. This man is incredibly strong when intoxicated.

“Thees es ma home now.” He giggles a bit, his eyebrows wiggling. He touches my arm friendly enough. “Oh, strong,” He mumbles to himself before he continues sipping on his beverage.

Gods, I hope he remembers this when he’s sober.

The tavern owner approaches with a knowing grin. He laughs a bit at the sorry excuse of a captain, then turns his attention towards me. There’s a friendliness in his gaze, hiding a wary edge beneath the facade.

“Are you a friend?”

I look at Blaine and try to hide my cringe. “Something of the sort, yeah.”

The man sighs wearily, prominent frown lines etch themselves across his forehead as he lets his guard slip. He pours a third glass ofleecheand motions for me to take a seat. I oblige, feigning small sips from the cup.

“We’ve had a lot of them recently. Knights from the palace, that is.” Woden takes a large swig as he scans the room. “We don’t know how they got here or what happened to them. At first, we joked that they’d just been brained a bit too hard in practice and tossed out, but then it became clear that something more sinister is happening behind those white walls.”

I try to keep my voice even and low as I lean in. “What do you mean?”

“Are you going to finish that?’ When I shake my head, the man finishes off the rest of my drink as well and sets the glasses aside. “Knights started coming in with more gruesome injuries. They started small, like a lost finger or toe. Then it shifted. They were coming in with burn marks, missing eyes and limbs, sometimes they’d stagger in still bleeding with a gaping hole in their side and a smile on their face.”

“Smiling?”

“This one here,” he motions to Blaine, “is the most sound of mind out of all the one’s we’ve had. Normally they come in thinking they’re enjoying an off day at the palace, or training with some friends. They all smile as if nothing is wrong, even if they’re crawling to get through the doorway. I feed them, give them something to drink, but I can’t house them all. Times are tough. They wander out of here, and within the next few days, there’s a rotting body somewhere in the streets.”

The hairs on the back of my neck begin to raise as Woden pushes his stool back. The seat screams terribly as it runs along the stone floors, and a few patrons shoot hurried glares our way. The Nevan man is quick to disarm them with a charming smile and a wave before his countenance switches back to that of a man who has seen far too much.

“Anyways, I’m glad you got here when you did. I’d hate for your friend to share their fate. You’re the first to come collect any of them, anyway.”

“Really? No friends or family?”

“None. Though we’ve got a group that goes out and gets them. We look for families, but most of the time, they’re already long dead, or the boys are orphans with no one to miss ‘em. So we bury their bodies, give them a ceremony if we can, and continue about our day waiting for the next one.”

“Good man,” I hum. Blaine’s eyelids begin to droop, and his grip on his drink loosens. He slumps against my arm, weary and morose. Without that armor he always wore, he looks less intimidating and large than before. In this light, he holds a romantic beauty about him, from his chiseled physique, dark curls, and angular face to the way he carries himself. He might as well be an old god; it’s no wonder Vera fell for him.

“Come on, Ver’s been losing her mind searching for you.”

“She’s better off without me. Now she can wear that crown.”

I stare at him in bewilderment while Woden turns to take care of another patron of the tavern. “What in the gods’ names are you talking about?”

“Can’t be together here. I leave, she stays.” He snorts. “S’oh well. Right person, wrong life.”

Blaine’s head hits the table with a heavy thud. I groan. Nothing like a deadweight on a seven-mile trek back in the snow. I loop my arm under his shoulders, hauling him from the seat. When I fish into my pocket and try to flip Woden a gold coin, he holds up his hands in refusal.

“Just get that man home safe. That’s enough payment for me.”

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