Page 101 of Emmaline

Deyric stepped forward without hesitation, blocking Emmaline from view. “Can we go?”

Tharan’s head jerked in a nod. “Yes. Yes, of course. Please, enjoy your night.”

Deyric turned, taking Emmaline’s hand, fingers interlocking with hers as he led her toward the gate. She followed, but her head stayed turned, watching the officer until they were nearly out of sight.

“Almost done,” Deyric whispered against her ear, his breath warm, grounding her as they crossed into the night.

“Sir!”

The shout rang out behind them, freezing Emmaline in place.

Deyric spun, planting himself between her and Tharan once more, every muscle in his back as tight as a drawn bowstring. Emmaline’s arms slid around his waist, hands curling into the fine silk still stretched across his chest. She pressed her cheek to his spine, breathing him in, trying to memorize the feel of him—just in case this was the last time.

This is it. He’s taking me in.

But Tharan didn’t draw his weapon. Didn’t call for backup.

“They won’t get away with this kind of thing anymore.” His jaw clenched. “I’ll see to it personally, and the Sentinel himself will back me.”

He offered his hand—not to Emmaline, but to Deyric.

“Whatever happened here… you’ll never hear from the Patrol about it.” His gaze flicked past Deyric’s shoulder, meeting Emmaline’s eyes for one fleeting second. “Go. Live in the Goddess’s light.”

Deyric shook his hand, grip firm, no words needed.

Tharan turned on his heel and walked back toward the castle, shoulders squared like a man stepping onto a battlefield he knew he might not survive. And for a long breath, neither of them moved. Then Deyric’s fingers brushed her cheek.

“Told you.” His mouth pulled into a smirk. “The Goddess likes us.”

“Ha!” She shoved him lightly as they stepped back onto the road. “She’s got shite taste, then.”

Deyric’s hand slid lower, fingers reaching just under the edge of her dress, teasing the skin at her hip. “Worked out in my favor.”

She rolled her eyes, but her grin didn’t fade.

They walked side by side into the night, hand in hand, making for the tavern where Ursula was almost guaranteed to still be drinking. Emmaline’s feet ached, her body still thrumming with satisfaction and the phantom sting of fingernails and teeth—and through it all, a thought tickled at the edge of her mind.

If the Goddess had been generous enough to saddle her with Deyric, what poor bastard was going to end up matched with Margo next?

Or Cassidy.

Or Ursula.

She snickered to herself.

Love in the Vale was going to be a godsdamned bloodsport if the Goddess was involved again—and Emmeline wouldn’t miss a second of it.