I woke up to the sound of snoring and the stench of sha.
My head throbbed. My mouth felt like soone had stored dried fish and regret in it overnight. And my body...
Well.
My body rembered everything before my brain did.
I cracked one eye open. The light stabbed like an unpaid tab.
Oh no.
Oh gods no.
The room was the inn’s top floor suite — barely more than an attic with aspirations. Sloped ceiling. Crooked beams. A small round window leaking judgntal sunlight.
And the bed.
The bed.
I was in it.
Nude.
Save for one thing.
I looked down.
Sun dallion.
Hanging between my tits like a badge of betrayal.
I groaned and flopped onto my side, which was a mistake, because that’s when I saw him.
Sir Odran.
Also nude.
Flat on his stomach, snoring like a troll with sinus issues, one leg kicked out, the other bent, bare ass in the air like it was trying to surrender to the gods. Suspicious bite mark on his butt cheek.
I let out a long, slow, despairing sigh. Then another, with more swearing in it.
The mories ca pouring in like a barmaid’s cheap wine.
The fight.
The shouting.
The kissing.
The biting.
The hate-fuck.
The actual hate-fuck.
The moaning, the scratching, the part where I slapped him and he called a “divine nace” and sohow it only made things worse.
Curses and groans and angry thrusts and gods help , there were actual tears at one point — not mine — and then another round after I stole the dallion and refused to give it back unless he earned it. Again.
Well done, Saya.
Getting wet for the enemy.
Real tactical genius.
I rolled away from the snoring disaster of a man and buried my face in the pillow. The dallion pressed cold and traitorous against my chest.
“Ughhh gods,” I muttered. “He’s so... infuriating. And cocky. And rough in just the right way.”
My thighs ached.
My pride ached more.
“Okay. Okay, okay, okay,” I hissed to myself. “Get a grip, girl. You can fix this.”
I sat up, slowly, so the room wouldn’t spin. My hair was a tangled ss. My lips were swollen. There was a suspicious bruise on my collarbone in the shape of soone’s teeth.
I needed to leave.
Now.
Before that horny bastard woke up and tried round three or, worse, started talking.
I shuffled around the room looking for my clothes — or so approximation of them. A boot under the bed. My blouse draped over the lantern. One sandal nailed to the door with a throwing knife. No idea how that happened.
I spotted his dagger on the table.
Without even thinking, I snatched it.
Not because I needed it.
Just because.
Because I’m petty.
Because I’m shallow.
Because I’m an ungrateful bitch who just slept with the man who stole her treasure and made her co so hard she saw gods she doesn’t even believe in.
I tiptoed toward the door, nearly tripping on the night pot. Caught myself. Glared at his snoring form one last ti.
Don’t say anything, Saya. Just leave.
“Asshole,” I whispered. Then I blew him a kiss.
Then I was gone.
Outside, the sun was too loud.
Everything was too loud.
My sandals flopped against my back as I walked, slung over one shoulder like a hussy’s banner of defeat. Odran’s dagger hung from my belt, equally useless and satisfying. My hips still ached. My pride still bled.
I spotted a hole-in-the-wall breakfast stall tucked between a tannery and a chimney sweep’s shack. Wooden stools, cracked bowls, the sll of burnt porridge and strong coffee.
Perfect.
I still had a couple of coins. Enough for caffeine and self-pity.
I slid onto a bench like a ghost and dropped my sandals beside . My blouse was missing half its buttons. My hair looked like I lost a knife fight with a crow. But nobody looked twice. This was that kind of place.
And then I noticed him.
Sitting one stool over. Squinting at his mug like it owed him money.
The dwarf.
The sa dwarf from the inn last night. The one who had declared he was joining Odran’s dragon-hunting party. His beard was lopsided now. Soone had braided one side. Sloppily. Possibly .
He turned his bleary eyes toward .
Smirked.
“Tight-lipped cave,” he rasped hoarsely, raising his mug in greeting.
I groaned. “Shut up.”
The barkeep brought a mug of steaming, bitter sludge that claid to be coffee. I took a sip. It tasted like regret and ash. Just what I needed.
The dwarf gave a loud sniff and said, “Whatever you and did last night…”
“Should stay buried,” I finished.
He nodded solemnly. “Aye.”
We drank in silence for a while. The street shuffled and coughed around us. A rooster sowhere sounded like it regretted everything.
The dwarf looked at . Then looked down at the bruise blooming on my collarbone. Then looked back up.
“So.” He grunted. “You and the hero, eh?”
I stared straight ahead.
He picked up a mug, sniffed it, made a face, and sipped anyway.
“Explains the screaming,” he added.
Then I muttered it under my breath.
“He’s a bastard.”
I stared into my coffee.
“Tied him to an oak once.”
Another sip.
“Tied him to a bedpost last night.”
“Ay,” the dwarf said with a grim sort of reverence. “I’ve seen it.”
We both sighed.
He picked sothing out of his beard and stared at it like it was a war cri. I rubbed my temple, wishing I could squeeze the mory out like pus from a wound.
“The dragon’s gonna kill ,” I muttered.
“Who?” the dwarf asked.
“Mind your own business.”
He grunted.
We clinked mugs in silence.
The coffee was awful.
The sha worse.
But sohow… it helped.
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