The Forgotten Crown

Chapter Four

Every inch of Morana's body went rigid.

A blade pressed on her neck. She blinked, fighting her drunken gaze. Her heart beat too quickly. Then, a warm, tall body pressed into her back. A man. The scent of him struck her like a blow to the skull. As if it had been contained for a long while and then suddenly overflowed.

In the darkness of her living room, a green light flickered to life. A candle—no. She narrowed her eyes, straining to focus. The fire danced from the tip of someone's fingers. Her eyes adjusted and shifted to the grinning face of another man seated on her sofa.

"You were remarkably easy to track." Morana blinked. It was the black-haired aristocrat. The man she'd stolen from. In her apartment. The hairs on her arms stood on end. "When your friend told me about you, she had intended to scare me," he went on, waving around the bewitched flame, "but, you see, I've been searching for a halfling female for quite some time now. I should thank her for showing me where to look."

Sien. She'd mentioned the men denied her advances. If they had upset her, she may have warned them of the halfling's reputation, just to rattle them. Morana cursed. She snapped her eyes to his finger. A strange sensation throbbed throughout her body as she breathed in the scent that radiated off of him. Raw energy, wild and unpredictable. Like pine. She glanced around him, looking for the source. A book, or tattoo, or something with magick script that fed the simple spell. There was nothing she could see.

The man leaned forward, the planes of his face taught. "You stole something precious from me, didn't you?"

She grappled with the sway of booze, struggling to keep her attention on him. Her instincts were screaming at her, begging her to get away, to run. Why was she so afraid of a human? She'd scuffled with wielders before. They were powerful and tricky, yes, but not invincible.

"You reek of ale," the other man behind her said in her ear.

Her muscles tensed. Morana glanced around the room frantically. There had to be something she could use to escape. The closest item was a lamp on the entry table, but it would require too much movement to reach it, and that blade promised death if she tried.

"Where is my sword?"

Morana forced her attention on the man positioned on her couch. His features were dangerously calm. Why did her heart nearly stop each time she looked into those eyes? She hadn't felt this way the first time. Perhaps it had to do with the dagger at her throat and the sheer rage glazing over his features.

"Answer me."

Her jaw clenched. "I sold it."

"Speak up."

"I. Sold. It," she barked.

The energy in the room shifted. The man stood up, rolling his neck. The fire at his fingertip grew bright enough to light the entire room in a hellish green. He glared down his long nose at her, his eyes seeming to glow in the dark. "To whom?"

She swallowed down the sudden urge to barf all over the floor. Her forehead was moistening. "I don't know," she lied. "I don't see my clients' faces."

Were these men sent from the palace to put Lydia in her place? Were wielders invading the Sleeping Wyvern at this very moment? Her heart raced inside of her chest like a caged wildcat. She had to get out of there. She had to run to her mistress and protect her. Morana's fingers brushed over her thigh. She paused, touching the iron dagger hidden beneath her cloak.

The man tsked, shaking his head. "How unfortunate for you, Morana," he growled, spitting out her name like it was dirt in his mouth.

A muscle feathered in her jaw. "How do you know my name?"