Page 69 of Ale Storm

“Your boobs, I trust.”

“Possibly.” Rylana meant her smile to be cryptic—she hadn’t intended to reveal anything of her burgeoning love life with Jildarin.

But Sylin snorted knowingly. “Definitely. I’m surprised he hasn’t already given in to his lust.”

“He’s been busy trying to win my father’s approval.”

“To grope your boobs?”

“To court me,” Rylana said, though Sylin knew the story. She’d been there when Jildarin had dropped the chest on the lawn.

“Something tells me you two are going to give in to your lust before your father grants his blessing.” Sylin looked over her shoulder as they left the gardens and headed toward the arch. The two elves who’d been pretending not to watch them earlier were following them.

“That wouldn’t disappoint me.” Rylana increased her pace.

Sylin did the same.

“Have any elves troubled you lately?” Rylana asked quietly. “Since the queen left?”

“Nobody has attacked me, but as Captain Tassani suggested, I have caught some of their people—the ones aligned with the Shaldona family, I’m sure—keeping an eye on me. Yesterday, I found a magical spying device in the bakery attic and destroyed it, but I’m considering moving out.”

“Since you are who you are, and everyone knows it now, they’ll probably want to keep an eye on you until…” Rylana spread her hand.

“The end of time?” Sylin asked.

“We’ve discussed the unlikelihood of you living that long.”

“Yes, comforting.”

“I’ll bet they wouldn’t dare put a spying device in Zilek’s lair,” Rylana said as they passed under the arch, the same two guards watching them, the one who’d stopped the carriage earlier wearing a cool expression.

“Are you implying I should ask to move in with him?” Sylin asked.

“Ask? All you’d have to do is show up at his door with your favorite knife.”

“And let him grope my boobs?”

“Maybe you won’t mind that as much now that his ears are pointed and he’s flying to the South Pole to hunt a rare mammoth for you.”

“I’m sure he’s not going to do that.”

Rylana arched her eyebrows. “I’m not. If he’s anything like Jildarin, he’ll be quite determined and hardworking once he has a prize in his sights.”

“I don’t think a mammoth haunch counts as a prize.”

“You’re the prize, Princess Sylinesla.”

“I draw a knife every time he ogles me.”

“I know. He likes that.”

Much like the wolves Sylin had been raised by, she bared her teeth and growled.

19

With a busy dinner service in full swing when Rylana returned, she got pressed into assisting the waitstaff. That involved numerous trips up and down the stairs with trays of food and empty plates. Her previous concern about her new life—living across the street from a bakery while working for a chef whose every meal was delicious—making her soft was fading. Of course, every time she passed Gniknik on the stairs, he was muttering to himself, scheming up some kind of automaton that could navigate the ascent to make food delivery less arduous.

Finally, as the diners thinned, only a handful of tables remaining full as people enjoyed the last of their wine, Rylana had a chance to say more than two words to Jildarin. Naturally, he’d been busy working in the kitchen, spatters on his chef’s coat, flour dusting his dark trousers, and a smear from a red sauce adorning his arm. That didn’t keep him from appearing as handsome as always, radiating determination as he completed meals to satisfy the diners while glancing thoughtfully at three dwarven cookbooks open on the counter to one side.