“What?” Cleo gasped, her cheeks flushed.
He pushed up to his feet and gathered his cloak. “I need a drink. I’m going to investigate the tavern up the road.”
Cleo lay on his bed, watching him, her hair a half-mussed arrangement of golden curls cascading over her shoulders all the way to her waist.
Utterly, painfully, tempting.
“I understand,” she said quietly.
He was about to leave without another word, but he turned back to face her.
“Before I leave, know this. When the day comes that this curse is broken, I promise you that the door to whatever room we’re in will be locked, and I’ll allow nothing or no one to interrupt us.”
With that, he turned away and left her there, staring back at him.
Yes, he desperately needed a drink.
? ? ?
“Wine,” Magnus grunted at the barkeep as he entered the shabby but lively tavern known as the Purple Vine. He slid several coins across the bar. “Make sure you refill my glass whenever you see it empty,” he said. “And no conversation.”
The barkeep smirked, then greedily swept the coins off the counter and into a ratty old purse. “Very well.”
The barkeep did as Magnus requested and paid much attention to the level of liquid in his cup. As Magnus drank gulp after gulp of the sweet Paelsian wine, the night began to look much brighter. The last time he’d tasted wine, he’d returned to the Limerian palace to find his wife making a speech. She was soon interrupted by enemies who barely let him escape with his life. After that experience, he’d considered completely swearing off the drink.
Cleo’s visit to his room tonight had certainly made him revoke that vow.
“Our entertainment might put you in a better mood, friend,” the barkeep said, despite Magnus’s request for silence. Magnus was about to reproach him when the barkeep made a nodding gesture toward the middle of the tavern. “I promise you that the Goddess of Serpents is rather a spectacular sight to behold.”
Goddess of Serpents? Magnus rolled his eyes and pointed at his glass. “More.”
Someone on the other side of the huge tavern hushed the boisterous crowd as the barkeep poured more wine into Magnus’s cup.
“All will worship at the feet of our resident beauty!” the man across the room called out. “Bow before her incredible power. And welcome the Goddess of Serpents!”
The crowd responded with great hoots and hollers as a young, dark-haired woman, scarcely clothed, with a large white snake draped around her neck, appeared on a small stage. Next to the stage was a trio of musicians who began to play an exotic tune that sounded more savage than intoxicating to Magnus. As the music began its first crescendo, the young woman began to writhe about in what might be considered by some to be a dance, but to Magnus it looked more like the solicitations of a courtesan.
He drained his glass, uncertain how many times he’d done so since arriving. It didn’t matter. Not now, when things seemed so much better to him than they had earlier, when desire for Cleo had nearly blinded him to its dangers.
Perhaps they should share a room, he thought now as a he watched this strange woman twist her way across the stage. Perhaps seeking an elixir to prevent pregnancy would be sufficient protection.
Or perhaps he should focus on the fact that his kingdom had been stolen, his father was near death with his grandmother wishing to save him with a magic rock, his sister was aligned with a man focused on burning his way through Mytica, and Cleo had a deadly curse upon her. The fact that he was slowly going mad with desire for his wife truly was the least of his concerns.
Suddenly, something caught his eye: a flash of red hair. Now that shade of hair was possibly a rarer sight than Cleo’s in Paelsia. He couldn’t help but be reminded of Nicolo Cassian, the only person he’d ever met with hair that unfortunate color.
Magnus chuckled into his wine at the thought. No, Nic likely was still safely—or not so safely, Magnus really didn’t care either way—over in Kraeshia, the idiot having volunteered to join Jonas on his failed mission to kill the king.
He turned his attention again to the Goddess of Serpents. Just as he thought he was starting to understand the rhythm of her movements, she paused, waving at the musicians to stop playing.
“Is it you?” she asked, the room now silent. She was clearly addressing someone specific, but Magnus couldn’t see him from his seat at the bar. All he could see was the growing excitement on the dancer’s painted face as her expression grew more certain. “Jonas!” she called now with more confidence. “Jonas, is that really you? My darling, I thought you were dead!”
Jonas?
Another odd coincidence—must be.