Chapter Twelve
An Ode to a Sad Toad
Taverns. The den for bandits, rogues, ruffians, and other individuals with questionable moral codes. But the food was amazing.
My mouth watered as soon as we stepped inside: grilled meat, onions, and bread baking in the oven.
“Over here.” Callum guided us to a table in the corner. So much like Maddox, who always had to sit against a wall so he could see the whole room.
A pretty girl rushed over to take our orders. A, um,veryblessed pretty girl who looked to be one deep breath away from busting open the front of her corseted dress.
“What are you fine gents havin’ this evening?” she asked, resting her hands on her slim hips. “Honey mead. Ale. A pint of rum?”
“Honey mead for me,” Duke said. “With a plate of smoked boar and all the fixings.”
“I’ll have the same,” Callum told her.
Ban sat stiffly in his chair, spine straight and both forearms resting on the table. He wore leather cuffs on each wrist that had the royal crest, marking him as one of the castle guards. The same crest was woven into the back of his cloak.
“Do you like mead?” I asked him.
His eyes shifted to me, and he gave a slight nod.
“A round of mead for everyone, then,” I said. “And boar too, please. That sounds delicious.”
Once the barmaid left, Duke leaned over to Callum. “Did you see the melons on her?”
Callum rolled his eyes. “I have no interest in melons.”
“No… muffins are more your preference, yes?” a voice came from the dark corner.
Ban’s hand went to the hilt of his sword right as Callum twisted around in his chair.
Rowan reclined against the wall, one boot resting behind him and a mug in his hand. He was dressed in all black, from his hood and tunic beneath it to his trousers and knee-high boots.
“Rowan,” I said, surprised but happy to see him. Our moment in the carriage earlier had shifted things between us. I felt different. Giddy. “Do you wanna sit down? We can pull up another chair.”
“Inviting someone like him to break bread with us is just asking for trouble,” Duke told me.
“Break bread with you?” Rowan pushed from the wall. “I’d rather steal the bread and break your face. But, alas, that would lose me wooing points.”
I choked on my spit.
The barmaid returned with our drinks and smiled at Rowan before asking if she could get him anything. He shook his head and pulled up a chair, placing it between me and Callum.
“You’re too close,” Callum grumbled at him.
Rowan shrugged and took a drink from his mug. “Then stop bitching about it, and move your chair farther away.”
“After the stunt you pulled months ago with Evan, I should throw you in a cell.”
“I suppose you could do that,” Rowan responded, sounding bored. “But what exactly wouldkeepme in said cell? By all means, though, do whatever will stroke your ego and make you feel like the strong and valiant knight you pretend to be.”
“Pretend to be?” Callum banged his mug down on the table. “You’re awfully sharp with that tongue, but sarcasm doesn’t win battles. I don’t need to prove a thing to you nor any other man in order to know what I’m capable of. Butby all means, keep sitting there pretending to be more powerful thanyouare, instead of what you really are: a scoundrel with a few parlor tricks.”
“Hey,” I interjected. “Both of you stop with the insults.”
“He started it.” Rowan took a drink.
