Page 68 of A Kingdom of Lies

“You want me to steal holy wine from beneath the nose of a man who has shown us nothing but welcoming kindness?” I grinned as I spoke, chest warming as though I was a kid enthralled in mischievousness.

“I do indeed.” He turned on his heel, walking towards the door with a confidence that demanded attention.

Before his grubby hand reached for the doorknob, I called out a final question. “I know that the older the wine, the more potent it is. Any preference on the age or are you happy with anything?”

“Surprise me,” Duncan confirmed. “You seem to be good at doing that.”

CHAPTER 23

I never intended to get drunk, but as the wine continued to fill me, my concerns dampened to a barely audible simmer in the back of my mind. Duncan clearly was the same. We drank until time became nothing more than an inconvenience, and the meaning of fey and Hunter faded into nothingness. We tipped bottles back as though feather-light, replacing them with another and another. There wasn’t a need for gentle-stemmed glasses or tankards. Candles burned around us, covering the darkened space in a halo of amber and warmth. Not that we were cold with the alcohol roaring like a fire in our bellies.

The burning liquid hazed my mind and made my body sluggish. However, it did little to drown out the chanting of the church far below us. Floors beneath us, evening mass had begun some time ago, ensuring Abbot Nathanial was occupied. Just the thought of him finding the missing bottles had small laughs passing my lips alongside rushed hiccups.

Duncan sat upon the bed, leaning on his knees as he swung the half-finished bottle of dark wine before him. His fingers clasped the bottle’s neck as though it was a lover, grip as gentle and firm as one would desire. He had washed what felt like hours ago, his chest still shirtless. Duncan had only bothered to pull on trousers, which I was thankful for at the time. But now, with the rush of alcohol present in every vessel of my being, I cared little for where I looked.

And look I did.

When Duncan laughed the muscles across his stomach would ripple like water disturbed by a stone. Hair coated his broad chest, spreading down and thinning as it reached the extremely prominent V-shaped carving at his hips. His hair was still damp, even now. It was at a length that could easily be swept behind ears, all but the two pesky strands that hung at both sides of his face.

Skin cleaned of blood, and half-dressed in the clothes of a common man, Duncan didn’t like someone who had it in him to kill. He was my enemy yes, but somehow the more we drank, the less that title mattered.

“Ridiculous,” Duncan bellowed, jabbing the bottle at me with one eye squinted. “You are expecting me to believe that your father was a Hunter?”

My tongue lapped the dribble of wine off my lips. “Are you suggesting I’m a liar?”

Duncan had shown keen interest in my parentage, firing questions at me whilst we drank, preventing what could’ve been an awkward silence. But what he did was incredibly smart, hardly allowing me any time to question him.

And I had a lot of questions.

Duncan bit down on his lower lip, head shaking slightly in disbelief. “With everything you say, I uncover more about you. You’re like a puzzle, which is all well and good, until I find a missing piece. Then that’ll piss me off again.”

“You have patience for a puzzle? I don’t believe that for a second.”

“I too am full of surprises, Robin.” Duncan took a long swig from his bottle, prominent lump in his throat bobbing with each gulp. The silence was utterly controlled by him. And he knew it. Eyes never leaving me as he drank, he lowered the bottle and then spoke again. “By the time we reach Lockinge it would not shock me if we’ve revealed too much about one another.”

My thumb rubbed around the rim of the bottle, staining my skin red. “Have you not met the Hand before?”

The question came out of nowhere, whilst being one of the most pressing issues in my mind.

“A low life like me?” Duncan laughed. “No, never. The Hand is an elusive character. My orders come from higher stationed Hunters, whose orders come from those above even them. The Hand is occupied doing what one does when in commune with a god. We merely dance to his tune, and he dances to Duwar’s beat.”

My skin bristled at his flippant comment. “And if you don’t know the Hand personally, how did you expect to grant me my audience?”

“At last, he asks the question that I would’ve thought was most important above others.” Duncan sat back, stomach flexing and arms bulging. “The Hand will want to see you, even I know that. Son of one of the four fey Courts, your presence will be most interesting to him. Of all the fey he collects, it’s the royal bloodlines he likes the most. The Hand likely knows of you even now, expecting your arrival, which we will be terribly late for.”

“This sounds more like a hunch than fact.”

He winked, the dark pupils of his eyes taking up most of their colour. “A strong one I must add.”

It was my time to drink, doing as he had and not taking my stare off him. I took my time, enjoying the gentle burn as the liquid raced down into my belly, warming me from the inside out.

“Reading between the lines it would seem that I don’t need you,” I said, watching as his brows furrowed ever so slightly. “If you believe the Hand is expecting me, then surely I could leave you here and still make it to my destination without issue. Am I right in thinking that?”

“Indeed, you are,” Duncan replied, scar deepening as he smiled. “It still doesn’t mean I’m not going to be by your side as we reach Lockinge.”

“And why is that?”

“BecauseIneed you.”

---