The duo stick to the shadowed streets, weaving in and out of townsfolk all preoccupied with their own dealings; whatever that may be. Milan catches the gaze of a cat-eyed woman and a man drunken with etcasy hanging off her side. The woman flashes a wink and a seductive grin at Milan before returning her attention to the man, smothering him in seductive words, her breasts mashed against him.
Gross.
Milan looks away in disgust, diverting back to her thoughts and allowing Flynn to lead the way. She clutches his hand tightly, for fear of being drug away and lost to the crowds.
In truth, it would be easy to allow herself to be swept away. Carried off by the crowds, never to see these men again. But the memory of that man from earlier is like a snake bite with no procedure to find relief. She can still see the shadows curling around his distorted face and the subtle glimpse of slate grey eyes. He was a threat, she knows so. But how? The answer to that is something she is much less sure about.
Besides, with no horse to trade for money and none of the jewelry she stashed in the saddle packs either, there is no way for her to support herself. She can't sew, mend or knit. Her physique wouldn't allow for manual labor, and farming or tending animals wouldn't suit her either. She'd drown in a world like this.
The only thing going well for her at the moment is that these men believe they have her waiting to be sold off like a prize pig to the highest bidder. Not that she'll stick around long enough to even hear of an offer.
Just long enough to figure out what she wants, and how to get it.
She shakes her head, mulling about in her own mind as they walk. A sudden yank against her arm has her whirling around a corner and pressed against the wall. She's startled out of her thoughts with a yelp, and she glares up at Flynn as he presses a finger to her lips to silence her.
"Shhhh," he hushes, staring intently out into the street. Milan blinks at him with wide eyes, a blatant uproar burning in her gaze.
What in the Sam hell? She thinks indignantly.
"There's someone following us, we need to let them pass."
She yanks her lips away from his grubby hands and whispers furiously, "What do you mean someone's following us? "
"Hush," he silences her again.
Boy, does that grind her gears. Milan puffs her chest up hotly, ready to fire back a savage retort, but decides against it. Perhaps it would better serve her to let Flynn handle this. Who knows who this 'stalker' is? Maybe it's someone out to rob them, more likely it's just a harmless misunderstanding.
She hopes for the latter.
But when a cloaked figure stops in front of the alley, glaring them down and flicking a sliver blade into their petit, slender hand, Milan knows her hope was misplaced.
"Merda-" Flynn curses abruptly, taking hold of Milan's hand again as they sprint down the alley. They take a few hasty turns, trying to weave through the narrow streets as erratically as possible.
As they dive deeper into the dark corridor, Milan yelps, running face-first into a silken spider web. She frantically brushes it from her skin, pulling away from Flynn's grasp to do so.
It feels like the strings are caught up everywhere, tangled in her hair and tickling her nose. She furiously swipes at the cobwebs, stumbling along the alley in an attempt at keeping up with Flynn, whose footsteps have become eerily silent.
In fact, she can't even hear him at all.
Milan realizes this with a start, and her eyes fly open in shock.
Sure enough, she stands alone in the passageway. Her heart pounds against the walls of her chest as if begging to break free and run. Run, exactly what she should be doing. And yet, she's stone still, blinking her eyes in the shadows like a dumbfounded deer.
Where did he go?
She frantically glances down each of the intersecting aisles, frozen in place for fear of getting lost. That's what you're supposed to do when you get lost, right? Stay put, wait for someone to find you.
The echo of footsteps coming up from behind causes her to spring into action. Her feet take off on their own accord, boots pounding against the stone and reverberating up her core.
She would not be waiting for someone to find her.
Fear seizes her gut, clenching it in a firm grasp and urging her to start using her body more than her mind. She obliges, stretching her stride and peeling off down the corridor. She zips left when the alley comes to a T, and takes another left promptly after that. Her feet skid on the stone, each turn sending her crashing against the cobbled walls. She pushes off the faded red brick and scrambles down the unfamiliar streets in a blind panic. The moment she dares to glance behind her, she slams full force into something softer than brick but firmer than wood.
A person.
Milan cries out as the two tumble across the ground, only skidding to a halt after earning a thorough bashing. She shoves the man as far from her as distance will allow, her eyes wide and frantic.
Rather than the hooded man staring back at her, a pair of familiar hazel eyes and a mess of blonde hair become glaringly apparent.
"Flynn," the words rush from her lips in a breath of relief.
"Milan what-" he takes in her appearance; eyes wild and palms bloody, and he stops short. "Come on," he says softly instead, "Let's get out of here."
They stand, and he takes her hand to lead her to the back entrance of the pub. It's a shady little door with a beaten-up sign, the words 'Wild Boar Pub' scrawled across its surface.
She takes a deep breath, still shaken from the encounter. The sight of their destination helps to soothe her frayed nerves.
"Wait," Flynn stops her before she can reach for the door handle. Milan looks up at him, raising a brow in question.
"Are we going to invite the man chasing us in for a drink?" She says.
He rolls his eyes, pulling a cap out of his pocket and holding it up. "No, but we're going to have some fun for once and I can't have you walking in there with long hair. No women, remember?"
Milan looks down, a bit embarrassed to have forgotten. To her surprise, he lifts her chin and gently sweeps her hair off of her neck. His fingers graze her neck, weaving themselves through her hair with care. In one swift motion, he twists it into a bun and slips the hat over her head.
"There. Very manly of you."
She stares at him, taken aback and once again blinking dumbly. Her face heats up, and she mutters a thank you before brushing past him to enter the pub.
The commotion of intoxicated men is like a wall of noise the moment they walk through the door. She embraces the chaos; it should serve as a welcome distraction against the strange feelings heating up her insides. The room is dimly lit, despite the sheer number of candled chandeliers and small globes alight with a golden glow. An odd scent wafts through the room, a mixture of stagnant water, male odors and aged ale. Perhaps it's the poor ventilation or the sheer number of sweaty men hunkering over drinks, women, or both.
As the pair stroll into the room, Milan can't help but divert her attention to her companion's side profile. He has a strong jawline, and a stronger gaze; one intent on staring down the gambling table across the room. She follows his line of sight to where three men sit around a small round table, empty pint glasses occupying nearly every inch of the wood surface that doesn't have either cards or a large, painted board.
"Feel free to have a drink or two, but don't stray from my side," Flynn whispers in her ear as they make their way to the table. She just nods, transfixed on the weasel-eyed men who stare her and her partner down, as if daring them to take a seat at their table.
She fixes her gaze on them, just as level and direct as they. A certain steel straightens her spine, not out of desire to be seen as equal, but out of necessity. She cannot afford to be intimidated by mere drunks. And so, she sidles up to the table, in perfect step with Flynn. He takes the fourth and final seat, eyeing the men up and down and simply asking:
"Seat taken?"
They all shake their heads, and deal him in. Milan hovers nearby, suddenly feeling a bit unsure of herself.
Her steel spine did not last long.
It must be the especially corrosive stomach acid that seems to churn and slosh in her gut with unease. The moment it appeared, her steel was dissolved. So she swallows, trying to appear confident as she props a leg against the wall and reclines back to observe in silence.
She itches to join in, but it's not like they teach a princess how to gamble.
Instead, she watches the fluid motions of the dealer as he scatters the cards across the wooden table. Flynn gathers his share, placing his bet before taking a look at his hand. No expression crosses his features, but she can catch a glimpse at his cards.
Is it a good hand? To that she has no answer. It may very well be; there are a large number of the same suit, and all in order - missing only one or two numbers here and there. He reorganizes them briefly, waiting his turn as the other men do the same. It's clearly not his first time at this table, and she has no doubt it will not be his last.
What was it they discussed before coming into town? Milan briefly recalls their conversation:
"I won't spoil all of our money gamblin' I swear-"
"You're on princess duty. Women ain't allowed in pubs and neither are you."
Ah yes, he most definitely has a history here.
She watches in modest observance as they run through the cards and place bets. Flynn seems confident enough about his hand, and he places a hefty bet each time the turn circles back to him. They strategically organize each move according to the lines on the cracked wooden board laying in the center of the table. There must be some rhyme or reason to the game, yet she can't put her finger on it.
So focused on the game before her, she can't help but gasp when a server thrusts a hefty pint of ale into her hands. Milan glances up to meet a risqué woman's stare. She raises a brow, raking her gaze down the length of Milan's figure and back up again. With a sneer, she offers a simple comment, "Don't go stealin none of my potential profits. I ain't worried you will, dressed like that at least."
She tosses her thick hair with flippancy, moving to retrieve the empty glasses from the table of cards and replace them with full ones carefully balanced on the tray in her arms. As she does so, Milan's stomach churns viciously. So quickly, the woman had plucked her out of the crowd and lifted the mask from her face. As easily as if it hadn't been there in the first place.
And yet, she didn't make more than a threat against Milan's laying with customers. As though she would even consider doing so in the first place.
Perhaps Flynn knew that the 'strictly no women' rule was easily waved away in this pub?
Her eyes dart to him, only to find his hazel gaze already fixated on her. A simple wink has her heart stuttering, and her cheeks flaming with irritation.
He knew, and he hadn't thought to let her in on that tidbit of information?
She glares viciously, turning away from him to take a large swig of the cheap booze. It hardly has any kick, unlike the drink offered at court. Regardless, she is thankful for something to take the edge off.
A chorus of jeers draws her attention to the table once again, and she turns back to take a peek at Flynn's hand. Lo-and-behold, all of his cards are face up on the table in a neat order, and he's swiping the large pile of coins into his gold pouch. He's offering condolences to the disgruntled losers, all the while grinning from ear to ear. Curious, Milan sidles up next to him, dragging a chair from an empty table along behind her.
She takes a seat beside him and asks softly, "You won?"
He turns his giddy, crooked smile to her and nods his head, "Aye."
"How much?"
"Oh," he tosses the bag slightly, "45 Loutes? Probably just shy of one Bouville."
She blinks at him, impressed. "Can you teach me? How to play, I mean."
Flynn blinks in a measure of equal surprise, before crackling a small grin and nodding. "Let's play some Poque."
:
- e n d -
I'm not even going to apologize for the delay at this point because there's always a delay :') I'm just happy to have finished the chapter, lol. My apologies for any errors! Feel free to point them out at any time, no matter how small. I'll come back to them all when this book undergoes an actual revision.
Thank you for reading! Have a wonderful day :)
-kat