Page 37 of Forgotten Queen

Phaidros.

Chapter XVIII

“Phaidros.”

The Libra demon winked at me over the mutilated corpse of the ogre. “Hello again, love.”

It was a warmer reception than I’d gotten from the demon last time. A couple of weeks ago, I’d had to make a nuisance of myself and plead with the male to make a portal to get back to the realm of the living.

I turned myself toward Phaidros. The demon wore simple leather garments over a puffed white shirt that opened into a deep vee that revealed the stars tattooed on his skin, a more casual appearance than what he’d sported the last time I saw him. He still had too-pretty features, yet they clashed with the three-foot-long blade he was cleaning with the ogre’s shirt. His own clothes were miraculously spotless, without a speck of blood on him.

Though I focused on Phaidros, who was clearly the biggest threat here, I kept an eye on the rest of the would-be attackers. Yet at Phaidros’s quick dispatch of the ogre, the rest dispersed, gone back to their tables and mugs of ale as quickly as they’d risen. The air was wet with hostility and blood, but no one dared look at me.

The tension didn’t ease out of my muscles despite the threat passing. Especially not when Phaidros stepped over the corpse and settled into the seat next to me.

“Betsy! Another ale, please,” the demon called out as if he hadn’t just vanquished a foe three times his size in the span of a breath.

The barkeep, who had fled to let Daphne and me fend for ourselves, reappeared with an uneasy grin and placed a cup in front of Phaidros without a word before settling on the other end of the bar.

My lip curled in contempt.

“Who is this?” Daphne murmured in my ear.

“Name’s Phaidros, love,” the Libra demon said, fixing his attention on Daphne.

And it was quite a bit of attention. His eyes roamed her body, taking in each curve with an appreciative gleam in his eye.

My mouth contorted into a silent snarl again.

“A thousand pardons. Didn’t realize you were so jealous of my attentions.” Another wink. A careless swig of alcohol. Phaidros set the mug down with a satisfied exhale.

I wasn’t jealous of the demon’s blatant lust for my best friend. But I didn’t trust him. If he turned that sword on me, I’d have no defense against it. My fur was sturdy, but it wouldn’t survive solid steel.

“Join an old friend, won’t you?”

With nothing better to do, I sat in my original seat. Daphne followed my lead.

“I’d hardly call us friends. But I guess it’s all relative.” I cast another glance back to the room, but no one seemed the slightest bit interested in us now that Phaidros had clearly positioned himself as an ally.

Was he someone powerful? When I’d found him before, he was sitting in the dark corner of a tavern by himself. He hadn’t seemed especially serious, just a bit dismissive with his devil-may-care attitude.

“Truer words!” Phaidros lifted his cup to toast the two of us. I lifted my own mug but didn’t take a sip before setting it down.

He glanced at my mug with a frown, snatched it, and took a sip before spitting the liquid out a fraction of a second later.

“Hey!”

“Don’t drink that,” he commanded.

I bit back a growl at being ordered. I’d had enough of males ordering me about for a lifetime. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Betsy!” Phaidros called again. “Two cups of ale. Without the jonquil powder, if you wouldn’t mind.”

The barkeep’s eyes widened in shock before nodding.

“Jonquil?” Daphne asked.

I frowned. “It’s a poisonous plant. Not lethal though.”

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