Page 88 of Lady Knight and the Thief

“You know, you don’t have to get your own wine here, Lass.”

“I’d rather not repeat my previous experience with yourhospitality,” Cypress said and took a long draught of her wine. There was no unusual heat, no prickle of desire in her skin.

Then, someone else arrived at their table. Torren’s gaze snapped to just above her chair.

Laughter, again. An unprovoked, uproarious noise that Cypress immediately recognized. The man at the bar.

Apparently, she pulled enough of a face that Torren noticed, and the smirk on his face only grew. “I would introduce you, but it seems you’ve already met.”

“Aye, well, I can’t say her name, I’ve met the lassie.”

“Cypress, this is Rhene, my second in command,” Torren said. “Rhene, this is Cypress, Duchess of Eobbaara, or perhaps you’ve heard of Captain Cy, Knight of Grethnah?”

Rhene took a step back, hand pressed to his chest. “Nay, don’t trick me now.”

“Not a trick. She’s the real deal, here. Caelith wants her dead now.”

Rhene laughed again and then pulled his chair out to sit. “Anyone who’s anything worthy always ends up being on Caelith’s list. Well done, lassie. What did you do?”

“Followed this asshole to the tomb of the Winged Hounds,” Cypress drawled with her thumb pointed at Torren.

“That’s not very nice of you,” Torren grumbled and leaned back in the ornate chair.

“A Duchess after me own heart,” Rhene proclaimed and held his hand out for hers.

Cypress snorted, then placed her hand in Rhene’s much larger, rough palm. “Maybe to cut it out.”

Rhene dropped a kiss to her knuckles, then said, “No need, I’d offer it to ye. Rhene Hawkroot, Commander General, at your service.”

“Cypress Ilirona, formerly Captain Cy of the Prince Guard. And, I guess the Duchess of Eobbaara.”

“Are ye not sure you’re Duchess?” Rhene asked, laughter sparkling in his eyes.

“It’s a recent development,” Cypress said and gave Torren a glare for good measure.

In her mind, everything still came down to his inadequate explanations of Pixie wine and what it would do to those bearing the blood of Pixies. Perhaps if she realized what he had truly meant byaphrodisiac, then maybe Cypress wouldn’t have drunk any.

And they wouldn’t have needed to visit Jinemelle or to discover her heritage.

Yes. Torren was definitely to blame.

Rhene hummed and nodded his head in understanding. “And what do you think of Faerie?”

Cypress shrugged. “It’s gorgeous. Everything, I mean. The land, the trees, the houses, the villages, the people. All of it is gorgeous.”

“I knew you thought I was pretty, Lass,” Torren said, his chin now cradled in his palm, elbow propped on the table.

Cypress rolled her eyes at him.

“And now that Caelith wants you dead, what are you going to do?” Rhene asked. His intense green eyes bored into her skull.

She recognized the question for what it was. An interrogation of where her loyalty lay.

“I am not loyal to a people who burn the villages of another based only on the fact that they aredifferent,” Cypress responded and returned the intense gaze of Rhene.

She meant every word. If she were being honest with herself, loyalty to Caelith and Cade had begun evaporating the instant she left the Keep, and she began to learn how differently the crown was received outside the capital seat.

Rhene nodded after a moment, then lifted his cup. “A toast to you. Caelith’s loss will be our gain. To Cypress, even if you should be drinking Pixie wine with us,” He winked, then took a sip of his wine.