Page 107 of Spar of Hearts

Seeing Anya in such an intimate, yet ordinary atmosphere made a hundred questions wash over him. He wanted to know every ordinary thing about this extraordinary woman. What was her favorite color? Song? Sweet? Did she have any pets? Or was it weird for a Lycanian to have a pet?

So, after clean plates and their third round, he started asking.

Twilight blue. If You Love Me, a folk song written by a Lycanian shepherd. Mulberry pie. No pets. Not weird.

“Stop grilling me!” Anya chuckled. “It’s my turn. What about you, do you have a favorite, um—” She pursed her lips as she thought. “Sandwich?”

Roderick nearly spat out his ale. “Sandwich? That’s the best question you have?”

“What? You were a peasant most of your life. Peasants eat sandwiches all the time!”

“That’s the most princess-y sentence I’ve ever heard.”

Her smile was hidden behind steepled fingers, like she was plotting a major political move. “Humor me.”

He debated for a moment, until his taste buds remembered his granddad’s “recipe.” “It’s strange. You have to promise not to mock me.”

She only replied with an intrigued brow.

“Fine,” he said. “Cheese.”

“That’s not stra—”

“—with mashed apples.”

Anya gagged.

“Hey, don’t judge until you’ve tried it. Besides, nobles eat far stranger things.”

“Caviar,” she said with a shudder, seeming to try and wash the memory away with a sweet bite of pannu kakku.

A Were lute player tuned up her strings by the fireplace, watched over by two wood-carved puffins. She pulled the first note slowly, then, with a practiced nod, the rest of the musicians joined in with flute, fiddle, pan pipe and more, until the tavern was bursting with a celebratory medley.

Tables and chairs squeaked and groaned as patrons quickly cleared a place to dance with practiced efficiency.

“Ordinary people dance,” Roderick crooned, offering her his hand. “May I?”

“I—I don’t know these dances,” Anya stammered, looking at the crowd.

Chants of, “hey!” and rhythmic claps and cheers rang in the tavern hall. Roderick watched an antlered Elf jump high, land, then break into heavy, syncopated stomps and taps. There was no need for drums here. The dance was bursting with bravado, like the way he’d see roosters woo hens in the streets. Every part of the man’s body was expressive and fluid. A woman joined the man, and he dipped his head and folded her into an embrace, spinning her to the beat. More couples flooded the clearing.

“With your brawn and my brains?” Roderick said with a chuckle. “I think we can do anything.”

“You’re the brains?” Anya laughed. “My, are we in trouble.”

“Let’s see how much we can get into then.” He scooped her up and carried her toward the dance, drawing a boisterous laugh from her chest.

He set her down gently, then settled his hand on the small of her back, feeling the slight pulses of breath move through her body as they danced. He never knew that breath could be so beautiful, so reassuring. If he could fall asleep every night to the sound of life flowing through her lungs, he’d be the richest Lord in the land. He wouldn’t need finery, or horses, or title or land, not even a roof over his head.

A lean-to and his Lycanian love would do just fine.

“Roderick,” Anya whispered, “This isn’t how they’re dancing.” Her eyes bounced between the other dancing patrons.

“Don’t worry about what everyone else is doing.” Her claws grazed the back of his hand as he tightened their fingers together. “Focus on me.”

He loosed her into a twirl, then pulled her back to him, swaying together as the lute player slowed the song to a tender ballad. Anya’s starry eyes stayed locked on his, making the raucous tavern fade into a steady hum. Even past the tavern walls, beyond Aquillas and the far-flung seas, every stress and anxiety melted away.

“It’s funny. I thought I knew you, all those months ago on the Lupus Star,” he said softly. “What a fool I was. I had only scratched the surface.” He rested his chin on her head and tucked her against him, slowly stroking a hand through her hair.