Page 112 of Sword & Sacrifice

While they’d traveled in Bellacosta, Penn had always shared a room with Niall—who didn’t trust him alone with his master—and in Arnsveld, all three of them had shared a tent. It had been easy to avoid any ‘intimate’ moments.

Would he fuck like Val too? The irreverent thought crossed Penn’s mind and an almost hysterical laugh bubbled up inside him. He cleared his throat and turned so that his lips brushed over the golden stubble on Alistair’s cheek. “We’ll have plenty of time for that once we get rid of him for good.”

Interest flashed in the mage’s eyes and for a moment, the right one glimmered icy blue.

“What are you two whispering about? Don’t you know it’s rude to have a private conversation when someone else is in the room with you?"

Penn turned a bland smile on Niall. “If you really want to hear our dirty talk, I’m happy to oblige. I was just thinking about the last time we’d fucked—” A hand clapped over Penn’s mouth.

“Naughty,” the mage murmured.

And that was where his impersonation of Val slipped. Because Val would have gladly talked about sliding his cock deep into Penn without batting an eye, just to see their audience squirm. But Alistair couldn’t resist disciplining his dog, and although he seemed to have a carnal interest in Penn, there was also an air of inexperience clinging to him.

Is the century-year-old-mage a virgin? No wonder he was so weak to Penn’s charms. He’d spent too much time studying grimoires and crafting wicked plots, and not enough time exposing himself to flirtatious advances.

When Helena swept back into the room—followed by the kitchen staff carrying plates—she walked in on the middle of their standoff. She eyed Alistair’s hand over Penn’s mouth with a furrowed brow, and the mage slowly withdrew, resting his hands on the table.

She looked at Penn, a question in her eyes: does he hurt you?

Penn smiled reassuringly and hopped up to help spread the plates all around them. When he set a fully prepared plate in front of Niall—mutton and mashed potatoes, the whole thing smothered in thick brown gravy—the man’s mouth pinched in distaste.

“Not a fan of mutton?” Penn asked as he set his own plate in front of himself and sat down.

“I am used to serving myself,” Niall replied with a sniff. His eyes skated over the other plates, finally landing on Helena’s.

Even though Valerian’s shop had been stripped bare, Niall had managed to resupply somewhere along the road. What potions and poisons had he crafted while Penn was trapped in Alistair’s dream world?

At least the single-serving plates left no opportunity to poison their food, but Penn still kept a wary eye on Niall.

“So,” Helena began, beaming at Penn. “Tell me how you and Valerian met.”

“Through Griselda,” Penn explained, sipping from his goblet of water. “We needed a mage for a quick task, and she happened to know one nearby.” He turned a sappy smile on Alistair and altered the story slightly. As much as he liked riling up Niall, he didn’t need to explain the transactional nature of his relationship with Valerian. “It was love at first sight.”

Helena laughed, the sound low and musical. “Penn Kaurier, I’ve never heard you say something so absurd. You really must be something special, Mr. Sommers.”

“Please, call me Val.”

Penn flinched. Hearing Alistair claim the shortened version of Valerian’s name felt like him ripping away another chunk of the real Val. Tearing him into bite-sized pieces and swallowing them down with his dinner.

Whether Alistair noticed Penn’s unease or simply wanted to touch him, he slowly grasped Penn’s thigh under the table and squeezed. At the same time, the gentle touch began probing Penn’s shields again, still searching for that weak spot.

Penn pictured his steel shield in his mind, not only fully repaired, but recently reinforced. Thicker and stronger than ever before, until even the faint touch faded to nothing.

Alistair’s lips twitched in displeasure, but he never looked away from Helena as he regaled her with tales of his clients.

Occasionally, Niall tried to sneak away from the table with excuses such as needing the bathroom, getting another plate, enjoying a walk in the night breeze. Every time, one of the staff offered to escort him, and he muttered excuses before pretending to pay attention to the conversation.

Eventually, the evening wound to an end. “I think it’s time we retire,” Penn said. “We can speak about Archer in the morning.”

“Of course,” Helena agreed, walking with them out of the dining room. “Will you be joining the soldiers for dawn exercise?”

Penn laughed lightly. “Not if I can sleep through the morning bell.”

“Morning bell?” Niall repeated, looking annoyed.

“Rings half an hour before dawn,” Penn replied. “Loud enough to hear it all through the city. Someone generations ago was very serious about dawn trainings and didn’t want any of the soldiers to have an excuse to sleep in.”

“And what about the rest of us?” Niall demanded.