The Witchslayer by AK Mulford

Author:AK Mulford [Mulford, A.K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: AK Mulford

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Forbidden Thistle Tavern was nothing like the castles he was accustomed to, and Renwick loved it. No gilded mirrors or opulent candelabras—here, there were simple furnishings, functional though unfashionable. The humans crowded around the seedy space, cards strewn across the table as they played two kings. The pleasant hum of liquor coursed through his body as Renwick examined his cards.

“You bring the strangest sort here, Evie,” the player across from them said, sliding his gaze to the brown witch. “You in or out?”

“Whatever it takes to be granted entry. Besides, you don’t mind when the strange sort has pocketfuls of coins, do you, Lawrence?” The brown witch tossed in her cards with a muttered curse, making the other players chuckle.

It was hard finding gambling halls where his title didn’t put people off. Only the most sordid locations would do. Evie had brought him through a labyrinth of back alleyways to arrive at this tavern, where the patrons looked like scoundrels and did not care one lick that he was a prince so long as he could pay his debts at the end of the night. Thador sat scowling into his glass of ale at the bar, clearly unhappy with this change of plans but unable to say so.

“Aye, especially now that His Majesty has canceled the build of the Spring Castle,” the smaller man, Lawrence, grumbled, wiping a sweaty hand across his brow. His cold blue eyes stared at Renwick. “I suppose he doesn’t have need of a castle for his Queen anymore.” Renwick peered back, equally unfeeling. “The least he could do is pay us to build a memorial or something. I’ve got a whole crew out of work.”

Renwick shrugged, focusing back on his cards rather than responding to Lawrence’s complaints. He heard from jilted people all the time. The gambling halls were filled with the unlucky underbelly of society, the ones who slipped through the cracks, and his father did nothing to save them. They spoke to Renwick as if he had any sway over his father, as if he too weren’t someone slipping through the cracks.

He wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to mob him. But they were mostly human here in these taverns; the elegant inn he was staying in was reserved for fae. Thador could take them all singlehandedly. His guard was always chastising him from coming to these places. It was a good thing they were returning to the Southern Court, where you could throw a stone and hit a card game.

Renwick laid down a queen, waiting for the human across from him.

The man guffawed, throwing in his cards and looking to the gruff bear of a man beside him. The man put down a king, and it was Renwick’s turn to grimace. He put down a seven of the same suit and prayed the man did not have a higher card. When the man put down a queen, the muscle in Renwick’s cheek twitched with restraint, trying not to show his disappointment.

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