Page 115 of The Kingdom's Reckoning
Only a few oil lamps hanging from the ceilings lit the space, casting dark shadows across the patrons. There was no music or dancing in the half-occupied tavern. They easily snagged an empty table in the back. Laurince pulled out a seat for her, and Myra quickly took it. Laurince took the seat next to her.
Sitting across from them and away from the rest of the patrons, Rian folded his arms on the table and tapped his fingers along the surface.
At a nearby table, a server poured ale into a glass. Once he finished, he turned around to head toward them. When he took them in, he stumbled, ale sloshing over the rim of the pitcher. Laurince went rigid beside her as the server hurried over to them.
"You shouldn’t be here," the stranger hissed, glaring at Laurince. The man glanced at Myra and then at Rian. He did a double-take at the king. Rian offered him a tight smile.
Laurince slapped the server on the arm as he went to bow. "Not now," he demanded.
"I told you not to do that anyway, Han," Rian added.
Myra’s gaze bounced between the men, trying to figure out their relationship to one another. In the dim lighting, it was hard to get a good look at Han’s features, but there was something familiar about him she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
"We wouldn’t have come if we had any other choice," Laurince said, calling Han’s attention away from Rian.
"We’ve all been worried sick about you," Han said, setting the pitcher on the table.
"They can’t know," Laurince urged. "Not yet."
"Not yet? What do you mean not?—"
"Cousin, please."
"Cousin?" Myra sputtered. She surveyed the man again and nearly gasped. She should have realized it sooner. Laurince and Han shared many of the same features. Their jawlines and dark eyes were clearly a familial trait. Unlike Laurince, though, Han had a dark mustache and a small beard. He appeared to be around the same age as Laurince and Rian, maybe a little older.
Han held out a hand. "Name’s Han, and you are…?"
"Myra," she answered, taking his hand.
He offered her a small smile.
"We won’t be here long," Laurince explained. "We only needed a place to meet someone, and this was the safest place I could think of."
The muscles in Han’s jaw ticked. "If your mother finds out you were here and no one told her, she’ll be?—"
"Pissed, I know."
"Pissed? She’ll cut my fuckin’ head off."
"She can’t know, Han. Not yet. We have to…" Laurince swallowed and rubbed a hand across his face.
"I’m sure I can guess what it is," Han said, eyeing Rian. "Since you’ve left, things have been different around here."
An eerie prickle ran down the back of Myra’s neck, and she straightened, looking around them. A few of the patrons were getting curious. Her gift stirred in the pit of her stomach, but before reaching for the threads, she nudged Laurince. "Order something."
"What?" he asked, blinking down at her, confused.
Rolling her eyes, she said to Han, "Three ales, please."
"But—" Han began before Laurince cut him off.
"You heard the lady. Three ales," he said, finally noticing the curious faces turning toward them. "Actually, make it four."
Han bit down. "Fine," he gritted out. "We’re not done here, though." He turned around and walked away.
As Han weaved through the tables and stopped to refill a few empty glasses, Rian leaned forward. "How long are we going to wait?"
"Just a couple more?—"
