Red Heir - Lisa Henry Page 0,80

starting to fidget.

The wedding ceremony had been quick, and so too had been the joint coronation. But the reception? Gods, Loth liked a party as much as the next dissolute troublemaker, but the reception was interminable! Loth didn’t want people’s congratulations—he wanted to take his new husband to bed and fuck his brains out. Was that really too much to ask? Loth didn't think so.

Loth gazed in the direction of Ser Greylord and Ada. Lady Ada, Loth reminded himself. It had seemed only fitting to elevate her, since she’d agreed to stay and train up the new recruits. Ser Greylord had a slight blush, and Loth couldn’t quite hear what he was saying. He straightened in his chair and leaned forward to hear better, but he needn’t have bothered. Calarian was sitting next to him, putting his bat-like ears to use.

“He said, I find myself admiring your beard, M’lady. It shines so brightly.”

“Oh?” The words caught Loth’s interest, and he nudged Quinn. “Do you think he knows what it means, complimenting a lady dwarf’s beard?” he asked quietly. “Will he know if she gives the right answer?”

“He’ll know,” Calarian said, grinning even harder. “He asked me before, to make sure he got it right.” He tilted his head, watching Ada’s lips move, and repeated, “Thank you, good sir. Would you like to see the handle of my axe?” as Greylord gave a bashful smile and ducked his head.

Maybe Loth did have a romantic bone in his body after all, because it barely crossed his mind to poke fun. Of course, that could also have been because he was more interested in other types of poking right now.

“Humans are so stupid,” Benji announced loudly from beside Calarian. “If he wants to do the slippery friar with Ada, why doesn't he just say that?”

Benji had been a late addition to the guest list, mostly because all of the palace messengers had been too frightened to go into the Swamp of Death. In the end, Calarian had volunteered. He’d come back two weeks later, dazed, bow-legged, and beaming like an idiot.

Calarian nodded. “Right?”

Quinn caught Loth’s gaze, the question written plainly on his face.

“I have no idea,” Loth said. “Honestly, I think they’re just making them up.”

“Imagine being kings and not even knowing what a slippery friar is,” Calarian said and rolled his eyes. “Humans are so stupid. Kings are so stupid.”

“Death to all kings!” Benji announced and finished his wine in one long gulp. “Is this silverware ours to keep?”

“Not technically,” Quinn said. “But we figured you’d steal yours anyway, so we gift-wrapped you some to take back to the Swamp.”

Benji pouted attractively and slid a wine glass into the neck of his tunic. It clinked against the rest of the things he’d steadily been stealing all night. “It doesn’t count if you give it to me. I’m supposed to be redistributing wealth, not you!”

“Oh,” Quinn said. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Benji said, and slid a spoon up his sleeve.

Loth sighed as yet another parade of servants brought in another course of dinner. Over in the far corner of the hall, the minstrels began another merry tune. Loth had been avoiding the minstrels all night, just in case any of them knew him. Both Dave and Scott had been drawn to them like moths to a flame though. Dave, because he wanted to play his purloined lute, and Scott, because... well, Loth didn’t really know or care, but the important thing was it kept him out of the way.

Pie was nestled in Quinn’s hair and had been since the coronation. Occasionally he poked his snout over the top of Quinn’s crown just to see what was going on and let a puff of smoke or two tumble down Quinn’s temple like errant curls, but Loth was fairly sure most people hadn’t even noticed he was there. Watching the lights reflect off Quinn’s curls, Loth was struck with a thought, and he tugged at Quinn’s sleeve, eyes wide with horror.

“Quinn,” he hissed urgently.

Quinn’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t get to be a blond now!” Loth whispered. “I’ll have to stay a redhead!”

“And what's wrong with being a redhead?” Quinn said, lips curling up in a smile. “I like redheads. My husband’s a redhead, and he assures me he’s very handsome.”

Well, when he put it like that.

“Blonds probably don’t have more fun anyway,” Loth murmured, and leaned in for a kiss.

“Not more fun than us, that’s for sure,” Quinn agreed with a bright grin. “So, what are we trying