Page 49 of The Gambler's Prize
“And deep down, you’d like something more than company,” she goes on, looking remorseless. “You’re a man crying out for love.”
I almost choke on the melodrama. This isn’t like Breta at all. Why does she undergo a personality transplant every time she talks about Florian? He’s bewitched her with his naïve blue eyes and dopey charm.
“I’m a man crying out to get away from this conversation,” I retort.
It’s enough to spur me to get to my feet, while Breta watches with a glow of triumph on her face, as though she landed a psychic sucker punch. Annoying woman. It would be churlish to tell her so, I guess, considering she just saved my life.
“Come on, let’s get back to my place,” I say. “I owe you a drink or several.”
I brush some undergrowth aside to make a path for us and we have to go one at a time, which gives me a good excuse not to look at her. She’ll be checking my expression for signs that she’s right. Where is she even getting this nonsense from? I don’t look like I’m… romantically interested in Florian. Even thinking those words makes me shudder. Not a chance. I find his looks hard to resist, sure, and twice now I’ve fallen into temptation, but doesn’t mean that I...likehim. Breta is mischief-making, or just plain crazy. Maybe she has that matchmaking gene so many women seem to have.
She doesn’t say any more until we get back to my land. She’s an expert at lobbing pithy comments and then leaving them to fester in your mind. I let her into my kitchen and pour her a large agram. The viciously strong liquor is difficult to acquire here in Galbrava. I brought a supply with me from Rhennes.
“I haven’t thanked you yet,” I say awkwardly. “For saving my life. If there’s anything you want in return, I mean, more than a drink…”
She laughs away my offer of monetary gratitude. “Nothing, except for you to stop lying to yourself. Stop standing in the way of your own happiness.”
Stars, she’s still on about Florian. Is she obsessed?
“I’m serious, Grimes. If you chase that boy away, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
“All right, all right. Your point is taken.”
I’m only saying it to shut her up. Anyway, I’ve already chased him away. For better or worse.
Chapter 22
Florian
Like every time I’m in trouble, my father’s voice takes over, telling me it’s all my own fault. Stupendously unhelpful, but I can’t help it. It crowds out all rational thought.Irresponsible, irrational, lazy. Wastrel. Loser.At my lowest points, I wonder if he’s right. What even is my life? Hiding out in a dive restaurant in a city far from home, sneaking looks through the grimy window to see if the stagecoach is here to save me from mycrazed boss. The coach should’ve been here twenty minutes ago. The driver is probably drunk or skiving somewhere, not caring that his tardiness could get me fuckingmurdered. I’m prone to drama, but I’m not exaggerating this time. If my boss somehow manages to crawl out of that hole and track me down, I’m a dead man. After humiliating him like that? I’ll be lucky if he kills me quickly. My shoulders are hunched with fear and my nails are bitten down to the quick.
This feeling is way too familiar. Hunted, vulnerable, terrified. My fingers sneak beneath my shirt, finding scars on torso. Also my own fault. You don’t mess with the loan sharks of Rhennes. Now it’s time to run again, leave another town where I failed in my duty. My father’s right.Loser, wastrel. Slut. The last one is painfully relevant here. If I wasn’t such a slut I never would’ve offered myself to Grimes in that bet, even for one night. I remember the way my father would look at me when I crept back into the house after a long night. The curl of his lip.
I take a sip of the coffee that I bought with my last few coins, still peering out of the window constantly, making the other customers nervous. Technically I’m a criminal now on top of everything else. Absconding from my “master” Grimes is a serious crime. But none of that will matter if I can just get back to civilization. I can leave him behind forever. The ridiculous cloaks, the contempt in his dark eyes, the scary-strong physique that he’s only ever used to threaten me. Except for when he let me grind against his iron muscles and take my pleasure from him as though he was an all you can eat buffet. That was weird.
The restaurant door swings open. A hooded figure comes in. My blood runs cold. Stupid phrase that I never believed in, until now. I’m too frozen to even think of ducking below the table. Terror has me in its clutches like an animal in a trap. Much like the trap my boss somehow managed to escape. The experience hasn’t improved his mood. The vibes radiating from him are sodark it feels like a thundercloud has entered the restaurant. A literal hush falls over the room as he looks around, scanning the room with one fiery glance. He sees me. My hands go cold. Apparently that’s a real thing, too. He strides over to me.
“Get up,” he says.
Should I refuse? Make a scene? Act like he’s a kidnapper? My mind flies through options, discounts them. I’m his indentured servant. He has the paperwork. Judge Draved knows all about it. Grimes could report me to the authorities, even arrange that town square whipping he mentioned before. He looks angry enough to go through with it. Not in the fun, kinky way. In earnest.
“Get up,” he says again.
I spring into delayed motion, trying to placate him with obedience. My bags fall from my trembling fingers as I try to gather them. Grimes takes over, grabbing almost everything in his huge, capable hands. I grab the last few things and follow him to the door, feeling like I’m walking into a noose. If I thought he hated me before, it was only the pre-show. Now he shows me what depths of hatred he can reach. His dark robe flaps behind him as he strides down the street. His scowl seems to cut a scar through his face. People part for us, the sidewalk emptying in the face of Grimes’ rage—and this is a rough city. They avoid my eyes especially, though they must be able to sense I’m in trouble. In Galbrava, might makes right, and Grimes is much mightier looking than me. He doesn’t even look at me as we walk down the street. Nor does he speak. I can’t handle the silence. It’s choking me.
“So… you got out of the trap okay,” I say weakly, like I was rooting for that.Stupid.
No answer. His repressed anger gets heavier, taking on an almost physical presence. We walk through the main town square and pass by the guards’ station, and then the courthouse.Grimes doesn’t break step for either of them. He isn’t planning to involve the authorities. Possibly not a good sign for me. He might have a bigger plan for me when we get home. My knees are shaking so hard they’re practically knocking together. He must be able to sense my terror. He must think I’m so pathetic.Loser, wastrel, slut.My sluttiness has saved my ass a few times in the past, but it won’t help here. He’d lose his shit even more if I tried to sugar-talk my way out of this one. Tears pool behind my eyes. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold them back. He stays silent all the way from the city center to the outskirts. All the way along the dirt road that leads to his house. It’s the longest walk of my life.
We go inside.
“Upstairs,” he says.
He follows me. Gestures for me to go into my bedroom. Brandishes the key at me. There’s no point in begging for mercy this time. He throws me one last disgusted look and leaves me, locking the door behind him. I’m alone. Trapped. My breath gets short. I sit on the bed, hands clenching. Try to relax them, but it’s no good. They feel numb, pieces of wood. I’m back in my childhood bedroom. My father locks the door. I’ll be allowed downstairs when he’s good and ready. It could be next morning, or a couple of days. The servants would bring me food if he allowed it. When I got out again, my father would look at me just like Grimes does. Like he hated me.
You ruin everything.
You shame this family.
