Sorem was careful when he counted the last of his money. The new dress the Jvalan wore looked lovely on her. Her figure fit it well.

As they sat side by side in the morning, her leg brushing against his had his heart pounding fast. Her skin tone was so different from everyone else's but he did not really care. Mostly he'd forget until he heard someone whisper.

After two days of meaningless sex, he decided that he'd never go back. Her hand slid up his leg, cupping his groin and he hung his head to keep his smile back.

In time, that grin, along with his arousal, faded.

She noticed. "What is it?"

In their room, he would kiss her, but in public, he never approached her without her making the first move.

Should the sex truly be meaningless, let it be meaningless. But today was the first time he understood what Vadde had meant about craving someone.

The Jvalan woke him up to take what she wanted usually. It was not uncommon for him to open his eyes and find her sitting on his stomach.

Yes. Meaningless sex made all the difference and upon knowing women could be equally as sexually ravenous as men, he forgave far more in others than he knew to be wise.

"There's still enough," Sorem said.

"Hmm?"

Sorem hesitated. This was the last of their money and he was unsure where the rest would come from.

The Jvalan moved closer to him, hand still stroking him, chest pressed against his arm as she looked over his shoulder to the coins. After taking someone to bed once, it seemed wrong to call her Jvalan yet she never gave him a name.

He reminded himself that their time together was fleeting, and it was best to part ways with no name after all.

"What do you intend to buy?"

Shame pulsed through him at first until he found his resolve. "I hadn't come here for revenge. Just...to answer a 'what if' question." At her silence, he risked meeting her gaze.

Little by little, her look of confusion dulled then her expression lit up.

"That's wonderful. I encourage your efforts."

As he suspected, her hand retreated so he caught it in place. It didn't seem right to force her to do this, especially not in public, so he let her go, grumbling, "You said it was meaningless."

"It is," she insisted.

As sincere as her words were, he regretted this admission.

Their time together was meaningless, but couldn't they have enjoyed it another day or two? With this money, they could remain tucked away in this place for another two nights.

For a long minute, neither of them spoke.

"I suppose...you're leaving tonight then," Sorem hazarded a guess.

The Jvalan affirmed, "If that is what you'd like." She craned her head to the right and looked up at him. "I suspect you'll be busy."

Her sitting up and giving him space left him feeling cold.

Sorem stared down at his money. Mo'el passed by to retrieve his empty plate. Her eyes caught it and her lips parted.

He meant to look at her and let his intent be known but he couldn't muster up the strength to move, even with the Jvalan's gentle nudging of his foot.

Mo'el lingered for as long as she dared but it was the Jvalan who scooped up the coin and handed it to her. "Miss, my...." She hesitated with the next word but settled on something that made her voice sound strange. "My prince would like an audience."

Instead of receiving the coin, Mo'el whispered, "Keep that for now and I can see you within the hour."

Someone called her name and she looked back then wore an eager smile as she hurried away with the dishes.

Whenever Sorem did something wrong, he'd know it, but never in that very moment, always directly after he'd set it in motion. He felt that way now.

The Jvalan watched after Mo'el but told him, "This is very good for you."

Her chair moved back and Sorem shot to his feet. "You do not have to leave now."

Dark eyes fixed on him, she said, "I only wish to clear my head."

She slipped behind him and made her way to the door.

He turned and nearly stumbled into his chair. "Why do you sound so angry?"

"I assure you, I do not."

To be fair, she neither raised her voice nor lowered it, and yet, he was convinced of her fury. He caught hold of her hand, but the eyes of the patrons had him letting go.

"Let us return to the room and discuss it."

"You'll be busy in the room," she reminded him, walking on.

"Fine. Then let's talk about this here. This is under your encouragement."

She gained speed and walked out the door. "Yes. I know."

No matter how fast he moved, she, still walking, remained further ahead.

Regret.

Sorem regretted everything all at once, but he wasn't sure where to start.

"J—Jvalan, please. Discuss your anger with me for but a moment."

In the busy street, he looked like a right fool chasing down this fairy.

"Couldn't you at least let me grovel somewhere private!"

"Grovel for what?" She whipped around to face him. "For what are you groveling, Prince Sorem? To whom?"

They stared one another down. She looked calm, pleasant, radiant even—the best he'd ever seen her and yet he was sure she was in agony.

"I wouldn't have tried if you'd have said it troubled you," Sorem insisted.

"We cannot lie," she reminded him but corrected her words. "We can tell few lies. And I would not waste it on something so trivial. Why won't you believe my words?"

If the ground opened up and crushed him in two as he fell into it, that would hurt far less.

"How many are you allowed?"

With a stroke of her brow, she grew impatient. "How many what?"

"Lies. How many are you allowed?"

The way she glanced at the faded tattoos on her arms but stopped herself gave him the hints he needed. He scanned her in the light of day to find two of her markings had dulled. As a fairy, they were golden, but as human, they were just black tattoos against bronze skin.

Perhaps fate was on his side because she let out an exhale as the markings on her arms tore, leaving a scar similar to that on her back.

"Two. That is two lies and I'd wager in one day."

Her eyes stayed transfixed on her arm. At her back, dark clouds rolled in, and he was relieved to see a possible rainstorm.

"You cannot travel in this. Let us seek a room for the night—"

"No." Face still turned away, she shook her head. The frown on her face accompanied a softer voice. "No. I shall be going even in a hurricane."

Sorem watched her, triumphant. "Then you are angry." She gave no answer, so he risked taking a step forward. Her moving away made him rethink his action. At their backs, people took the wind as a proper warning and hurried in. Windows closed and doors did as well.

In time, it was only the two of them, standing in the road like morons.

"You said it was meaningless," he insisted, eyes fixed on the one remaining tattoo. Her last lie.

"It is meaningless. That was truthful."

His slow approach brought him before her and he muttered, "Then me wanting her was pathetic—"

"It was not pathetic." She picked her head up to meet his gaze. "That woman took something from you, and it's normal to want it back. It's normal to seek out something we've been denied."

The moment Sorem neared close enough to hold her right hand, he felt more steady.

"Then what is it that I've done to bring you anger?"

She opened her mouth to deny it but could utter not a word.

Sorem found his fingers traveling up her hand until he covered the final tattoo. "You have my trust," he reminded her. He was cautious as he asked, "Do I still have yours? What have I said? What have I done?"

After a long minute, she met his gaze. "I do not know."

The tattoo remained intact so he risked meeting her face to face. "Do you wish to stay by my side?"

Though their foreheads met, and it was an act which was familiar, she whispered, "I do not know that either."

He brought her hands up and stroked them. Lightning struck the ground at their feet with frightening precision.

She picked her head up. "This is no storm." Her gaze drifted to the sky. "It's a dragon."

A glance at her back showed far more. "What is that?"

Each step came with a crunching sound until an all too familiar troll marker came to a stop before them, shoved one foot into the ground, and then the other.

The first to arrive were the werewolves. They lined the streets like an army regiment. And it wasn't one dragon, but an entire flight of them which circled like vultures. Each time one passed by, it let out a thundering cry then spat lightening down before them.

Brownies riding wild boars were next, situating themselves between the werewolves.

But despite all that fanfare, by far, the one to make both Sorem and the Jvalan's breath hitch was the hunchback riding a donkey. His face was grim, nearly black, and Matax commanded the remaining donkey that pulled the wagon carrying their women.

Wyrn was in no hurry. Unicorns long since abandoned, he rode his ass up to them, slipped off and stood before the troll marker, arms folded.

Window after store window opened and eyes peered out.

Sorem felt a pair of imaginary hands around his throat.

"Hunchback...w—welcome to Wisen."

Hunchback. He regretted the word immediately.

"You shot my wife in the back."

Lips parted, Sorem stepped away. "What?"

Sorem wasn't sure when but he found the Jvalan standing behind him. When he realized he'd put her there, he wondered what he was thinking. He should have allowed her to run. No matter the outcome, this arrival spoke of violence.

The earth shook with the next creatures to march at Wyrn's back. Ogres, an army of them. And that wasn't all, more dragons closed in.

In the two days Sorem spent here having meaningless sex, Wyrn instead formed alliances and they were strong enough that he gathered a sizeable force.

Rather than show cowardice, Sorem decided to try reason. The hunchback's wife had lied to him, and the truth would have to come from her.

Sitting in the wagon, knees to her chest, Vadde stared at her shoes. Sorem was tempted to believe she hadn't moved from that posture in the last two days. If someone'd said she hadn't left the wagon, he'd believe it.

Sorem looked from her to her husband and back again. He half wondered if she'd even said those words or her panicked husband had formed the conclusion on his own.

And the ogres, surely they could have clarified what happened.

In that instance, Sorem saw it—saw the shame this lie hid. Vadde's father had shot her in the back. He did not have a soldier do it and it was no accident or arrow meant for her arm or leg. It was a kill wound and for whatever reason she survived, but something in her died.

"Yes," Sorem found himself confessing, "yes, I did."

He met eyes with the hunchback who lowered his hands and balled them into fists.

Vadde picked her head up and Sorem lost his mind.

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" he heard himself saying, though had no faculties to stop. "I was surrounded by her ogres."

"They weren't her ogres. They were just creatures she happened to have power over," Wyrn said, gravel in his voice. "And she was fighting to escape from you."

Armed with this much of the story, Sorem nodded.

"I understand." He gripped the Jvalan's hand tighter and she tugged at his shirt, warning him to stop. "But I have nothing to give you to answer this slight, hunchback. Though I am relieved to see she still lives."

"You will give me what is yours," Wyrn bit out, "and then you will give me your life in combat."

Sorem tried to laugh but the glint in the man's eyes warned him against it. "Hunchback, I am sorry. I have nothing."

"You are the prince of Wisen, are you not?"

With this, Sorem no longer felt shame, though he did wish he had something to offer the man. "I am not. I am sorry. If I were, I'd give you my land in compensation."

"Your land would not spare your neck."

"Then take his land then," the Jvalan challenged.

Sorem spun around to face her. "Stop this. There is no satisfaction if there is nothing to claim as compensation."

Her eyes held anguish but something else, a plea.

When he turned to Wyrn again, it was to confess to being no prince but the Jvalan's tug at his shirt had him taking a risk. He could lie to this man some more but what good would that do?

"Hunchback," Sorem said, "To all that I am entitled, you can take it to answer this slight. Even my life if that is necessary."

Wyrn thrust out a finger and pointed at him. "Your life is already forfeit. The rest I take out of spite."