Page 16 of Prisoner of Steel and Shadow

A quick check of the cards in his hands and the ones on the table proved he had nothing to gain staying in the round. “I’m out.”

Picking up the stein of house brew that one of the tavern’s servers had kept filled for him, he drained it and allowed his eyes to roam around the room, picking up snippets of conversation as he did.

“Do you think the High Lord will make an appearance?”

“At the champion selection?”

“No, at the bleeding races. Of course, I’m referring to the selection.”

Ronan discreetly turned his ear in their direction. This was the fourth time he’d heard mention of the High Lord and his contest. Whatever it was, it seemed important.

“The whole point of the games is to determine who his champion will be, can’t imagine he won’t want to attend.”

“I thought he was off hunting one of his monsters,” a third voice interrupted.

“He and that shadow of his just returned,” the first speaker answered.

Ronan stiffened at the mention of a shadow, then reminded himself these people weren’t referring to the walking corpses he’d spent the better part of two years fighting back home.

“Do you think she’ll enter the competition?” the second asked, sounding hopeful.

“It’s game over for everyone else if she does, isn’t it? Don’t see why the High Lord wouldn’t just hand her the title straight away if that’s the case. Would save a lot of needless death.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

The three patrons laughed.

The man beside him elbowed him again. “Are you playing or no?”

Realizing a new hand had been dealt while he’d been eavesdropping, Ronan quickly picked up his cards and dropped a couple coins in the center pile. “Apologies. I’m in.”

His neighbor gave him a cursory once-over. “For someone interested in learning the game, you don’t seem to be paying attention.”

“For someone familiar with the game, you don’t seem to know how to win.”

The man feigned affront and then laughed. “Touché. I do appear to be paying for the privilege of sitting beside you. A kind man would at least buy me a drink to ease the sting.”

Ronan raised a brow. “I never claimed to be kind.”

The blond man played his next cards and then swept his gray eyes over Ronan, lingering on his face. “You seem a gentleman of good breeding all the same.”

“What gave me away?” Ronan asked, making his own selection.

“The truth?”

“I didn’t realize we’ve been trading falsehoods up until now.”

Grinning, his tablemate declared, “You don’t stink.” Then he leaned forward and sniffed. “Not much anyway.”

Ronan slowly turned his head to gaze down at him, noting the care with which the blond man had styled his hair, his ostentatious silver-embroidered tunic and matching turquoise breeches, and the slight smattering of freckles across the bridge of his aquiline nose. The fact that he could count the specks if he so chose meant the fop was entirely too close.

“If you want to keep your teeth, I suggest you move your fucking face.”

Completely unfazed, his neighbor held out his hand. “Allow me to introduce myself—”

“I’d really rather you didn’t.”

When it was clear Ronan wasn’t about to take his hand, he rested it over his heart, dipping his head in the slightest bow. “I’m Sebastian Jean-Rene Villehardouin, but you may call me Bast. All my friends do.”

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