Page 41 of Reluctant Rebel

Sabre watched him with a mix of concern and exasperation. “Navigating the challenges of re-entering society after faking your own death is a lot,” she told him calmly. “You just need to get your groove back, that's all.”

“What if I can't?” Mikhail’s voice cracked with frustration and self-doubt.

“Since when do you use words likecan't?” Sabre countered, her eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“Since I faked my own death and was unable to solve the mystery of who was killing my family,” Mikhail retorted, his frustration boiling over. “Since I failed.”

“Wait, is this an ego thing? You’ve never cared about who has the biggest dick before, Mikhail.”

“I’ve never had anything to prove before, have I?” Mikhail retorted angrily. “I was handed everything on a silver platter.”

Sabre took a deep breath, knowing that she needed to help him see past his pride and return to being the brilliant king sheknew he was. “Okay. I’ll give you a minute.Oneminute to have a panic attack. You’ve earned it. Then I’m going to crack you like a glowstick. You weren’t born first just so you could turn into a weak-arse bitch.” She shooed him with her hands. “Go ahead. I’m timing you.”

It probably wasn’t the sensitive guidance Draven would have bestowed uponhischarge, but it was the best she could do. Mikhail stared at her for a moment, his green eyes flashing with fire. His hands opened and closed in tight fists, and his lower fangs poked his upper lip.That’s my boy,Sabre thought.Get mad.

“What? No panic attack?” she goaded. “Want to go straight for the cracking?”

For a tense minute, she thought he was going to take her up on it, but in the end, he shook his head, flashing her a toothy grin. “I’m notthatstupid. I have no desire for a broken back today. But thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Seriously, Mikhail, you weren’t handed anything. You worked your butt off to become the best king you possibly can be. You and I were handed a raw deal—destined for something bigger and more important than just ourselves. I’ll be fucked if I know why, but I do know one thing; youcando this. Youwilltriumph. And I’ll be here to witness it.”

Mikhail strode over and pulled her into his arms. “Thank the Heavens for you, Sabre.” He squeezed her extra hard, talking into her hair. “I just feel like everything is falling apart.”

“It’s not falling apart, Mikhail,” she told him, hugging him back. “It’s falling into place.”

Mikhail squeezed her one last time before setting her loose. “Into place, huh?”

“You bet,” Sabre confirmed confidently. “Just like one of those things with all the pieces that you have to fit together in a particular order to see the bigger picture.”

Mikhail laughed. “Do you mean a jigsaw puzzle?”

“Whatever.” Sabre shrugged, happy to see him laughing, even at her expense. “Now, I’m off to gather intel about this supposed uprising. Play with the hounds.”

17

Sabre pushed open the grimy door of The Howling Moon. The stench of stale beer and wet dog assaulted her senses. Neon signs flickered weakly, barely illuminating the motley crew of supernatural outcasts hunched over their drinks.

Jinx wrinkled her nose, her eyes scanning the dingy interior. “Charming place. I feel dirty just standing here.”

“You don’t have to come in,” Sabre reminded her. She’d run into Jinx on her way out of the palace grounds. Jinx was looking a little lost, so she’d invited her along. There was nothing like a little bloodshed to cure what ailed you.

“I’m coming,” Jinx said, determinedly stepping over the threshold.

Sabre smiled, her hand instinctively brushing the hilt of her gorgon sword as she strode toward the bar, drawing wary glances from the patrons. A hulking figure hunched at the end of the bar, nursing an oversized mug of something thick and red. “There's our mark,” she murmured.

They made their way through the crowded room, ignoring the curious stares and whispers that followed them. The satyr barely glanced up as they approached, his attention focused onhis drink. “Excuse me,” Jinx said, leaning against the bar next to him. “We were hoping to have a word with you.”

The man grunted in response, taking a long swig from his mug. Sabre studied him closely, noting the thick fur covering his arms and torso. His upper half looked very human if you discounted the two curling horns on his head. But from the waist down, he was all goat. His powerful legs were covered in coarse brown fur, ending in cloven hooves, and he wore no clothes.

“What do you want?” he snarled, still not looking up.

“We're looking for someone,” Sabre chimed in, resting her elbows on the bar. “A satyr who goes by the name of Azim. We heard he frequents this establishment.”

“Did you just?” Azim grunted, draining his mug. He slammed it down before finally looking up. His creepy goat eyes widened in fear when he saw Sabre. “I-I don't know what you're talking about,” he stammered. “I don’t know no Azim.”

“Is that so?” Sabre drawled. “Because you sure look like him.”

Azim jumped up, bleated, then ran for the door. Sabre and Jinx looked at each other before bursting into laughter. “Did you hear the sound he made?” Jinx asked, moving after Azim.

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