FOREVER KNIGHTS: #7 King of Assassins
Savoring the Time I've Left With Her

Tonight, he was glad to indulge her whims and let her drink her fill.

You are the woman I thought you were. I wasn’t wrong.

She was well into her cups. Straddling the bench and slumped back against his chest and the cradle of his lap. She giggled between hiccups. “This does get easier to drink after one has consumed some to numb the tongue.” She drug a limp finger over said appendage. Green eyes dancing with life as she smiled at him. So close he could smell the ale on her lips.

A bit more than some, My Dear.

“Some? Ri, I fear you’ve near finished the bottle.” He drawled.

“I like it.” She wiggled her shoulders. “It makes me feel tickly all over.”

Tickly?

“Do you mean tingly?” He asked ruefully.

“That too.”

“I think you may need to put that bottle down. People are starting to look at you as though mistaking you for a Bull’s Eye wench.”

Which is what I dreaded to begin with.

“Well…I am a wench. And I am in the Bull’s Eye.” She snickered, shoulders heaving.

No. No.

“No. You’re no wench.”

He shook his head. I don’t think she knows what that word means.

Slamming the bottle to the wood table she twisted to catch him by his tunic. “I am your wench!”

Well, maybe she does. He tilted his head grudgingly.

“Aye.” He chuckled. “That you are.”

If you wish to be.

“What does that make you?” She lifted flirtatious brows. “Are you my wench?”

His brows lowered. “I don’t know about all of that.”

I’m yours.

But if you’re hoping to hear me, The BloodLetter, refer to myself as a wench, you will be saddened…

“I say you are!” She pushed her finger into his chest and swayed slightly on her seat.

“As you say.” He shook his head. “If that’s the case, let’s put the drink down so you can tuck in your wench.” Elbows on the table, he leaned close. Brows lifted invitingly.

Men are staring at you.

Let’s get you upstairs, to a safer setting.

“That sounds fri-fully naughty.” She wiggled her shoulders again which drew his eyes to the darker places beneath her light tunic.

“Woman, you drive me crazy.”

“Would you have it another way?” She wiggled her brows in a mockery of how he had.

“Never.” Peeling the bottle from her fingers he handed the barmaid coin for the drink and rose. Circling the bench to offer Riaura a hand.

She’ll likely need it to make it upstairs…

If I don’t have to carry her.

“I believe you’re trying to get me intok-eh-icated, Sir!” She hiccupped as she clumsily stood.

I believe you got yourself intoxicated!

This was your idea! I’d no desire to take a beautiful princess into a molding tavern!

“Certainly. It was most definitely I, putting that bottle to your lips.” He said dryly.

“Was it?” Her brow furrowed as she tapped her bottom lip. “I cannot recall.” She tossed her shoulders fragrantly.

“I assure you, you’ll recall the headache you have tomorrow, for a good while.”

“That sounds dreadful-unpleasant.” She pouted. Brows lowering into a deep frown.

“Oh, it will be.” He laughed. “Can you walk, or do I need to carry you?”

Probably carry you. He eyed her swaying on the bench.

“Carry me!” She splayed her arms and tilted her head back.

Grand. Without hesitation he leaned over and swept her into his arms.

Men jeered and clapped as he took the stairs with her in his arms.

She put a hand over her mouth as she giggled. Making her lush breasts bob under the flimsy tunic. Nearly brimming over the brown bodice. Silken hair draping over his forearm and falling to touch his thighs as he stepped.

They can jeer. She’s mine.

For tonight.

If I must let her go. I’ll savor the minimal time I have left.

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