“Don’t worry. I’m sure it won’t happen again anytime soon.” Magnus drew even closer to her, and her smile faded at the edges.
“Was there something else you wanted from me?” she asked.
If only you knew, he thought. You’d probably run away from here and never look back.
“No,” he replied.
She cleared her throat. “Nerissa arrived this morning.”
“So she’s the one responsible for your hair today, is she?” He wound a silky, golden lock around his finger and studied it carefully, taking in its scent, like an intoxicating, exotic flower.
“She is,” Cleo said after a lengthy pause.
“In Limeros, proper women don’t wear their hair loose like this. Tell her to braid it or tie it back from now on. That is, unless it’s your goal to look like a courtesan.”
She pulled her hair from his grip. “I should thank you too, Magnus.”
“For?”
“For constantly reminding me who you really are. Sometimes, I forget.”
With that, she slipped past him and left the room.
• • •
The reason, it was said, that the goddess Valoria had forbidden alcohol in her land was to ensure that her people always maintained purity, health, and clarity of mind.
But in any land where something was forbidden, there were always ways to acquire it. Magnus had heard rumors of one—and how to gain entry to it—only a couple miles away from the palace, a shabby-looking inn called the Ouroboros.
Magnus entered the inn, leaving the single guard he’d brought with him to wait outside with the horses. It was nearly empty; only a handful of patrons occupied the small eating area, none of them bothering to look up at who had entered.
Magnus scanned the room from beneath the heavy hood of his black cloak, his gaze falling on a wooden door with a bronze knocker in the shape of a snake devouring its own tail. He grasped this and knocked three times quickly, three times slowly.
The door creaked opened a moment later and he strode through into another room—much larger and busier than the one before. He scanned the ruddy faces, hands clasping tankards of ale at twenty or more tables, until he came across a face that was painfully familiar.
“Wonderful,” he grumbled as he drew closer to the table in the far corner.
“Well, well!” Nic slurred and raised his tankard, causing ale to slosh over the rim. “Look who’s here. Shall I make a formal announcement of your arrival?”
“I’d prefer that you didn’t.” Magnus swept another glance through the large room, but no one seemed to have recognized him yet.
“Come.” Nic shoved the heavy wooden chair across from him with his foot. “Join me. I hate to drink alone.”
Magnus gave this a moment’s thought, before he did as Nic suggested. He kept his back to the rest of the room to further conceal his identity.
“Thirsty?” Nic asked, but without waiting for a reply, he gestured for the barkeep to come to their table.
The heavyset bald man with a thick, dark beard, approached confidently, but the moment Magnus glanced at him from the cowl of his cloak, his steps faltered.
“Your highness,” the barkeep gasped.
“Quiet,” Magnus replied. “No need to inform anyone of my presence here.”
The man trembled as he bowed deeply and lowered his voice to a raspy whisper. “I beg of you, don’t judge me too harshly. I don’t usually serve such evil, sinful beverages here. The night is so cold and . . . well, these loyal citizens were just looking for something that might warm their bellies.”
Magnus regarded the man patiently. “Is that so? In a dedicated room that requires a secret knock?”
The barkeep grimaced, his shoulders slumping. “Spare my family. Take me. Execute me. But leave them. They had nothing to do with my dark decisions.”