Elf Defence (Adventures in Aguillon #2) - Lisa Henry Page 0,36

thought he’d earned more than a pretzel.

Even if it was a very good pretzel.

Still, he couldn’t be too upset. He was more interested in getting back to the castle and getting Lars into bed anyway. He had no doubt that Lars was greener that the leaves embroidered on the straps of his suspenders, and he was looking forward to teaching him everything they knew—and between them, he and Benji knew a lot.

Benji had gone racing off to find Gretchen—he said it was to check if they’d missed anything important, but Calarian had no doubt it was actually so he could get his hands on a fresh stock of Hannah’s gingerbread and possibly worship at Gretchen’s feet for a bit while he was at it. Calarian could relate—Gretchen was awe-inspiring on every level.

Calarian wandered into the smithy clutching his pretzel and, as expected, he found Benji gazing at Gretchen starry-eyed while she ignored him and imposed her fiery will on a piece of defenceless metal. The metal bent and screamed, and Calarian shuddered in sympathy. Or possibly jealousy, because Gretchen was magnificent.

Gretchen thrust the metal in a trough of water, and steam billowed. She looked over at them. “So, you two are back. Did you find Lars?”

“Yes,” Benji said eagerly, like a puppy waiting to be rewarded with a treat. “I think he’s putting his cows in the ducal stables.”

At that moment Lars strode into the smithy, and Calarian’s jaw dropped as he saw him and Gretchen standing together for the first time, like some ridiculously well-matched pair of demigods. The sort who could divert rivers and hold up mountain ranges and totally fuck up mere mortals just by winking at them.

“Lars,” Gretchen said, her mouth turning down like she’d tasted something sour. “You’re not dead. Shame.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Lars said.

“Actually, it was Gretchen who sent us to find you,” Benji piped up.

“No, I didn't,” Gretchen lied, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I hate Lars.”

“We hate each other,” Lars agreed and then, weirdly, leaned over and hugged her.

Calarian looked at the two of them side by side again, narrowing his eyes. There was a certain similarity to the bulge of their biceps, the set of their perfectly sculpted jaw, the blue of their eyes. “Wait. Are you two—”

“Ex-lovers?” Benji interrupted. “It’s the chemistry, right? It’s sizzling!”

“Ew!” Gretchen exclaimed, and she and Lars leapt apart as though scalded by the fires of the forge. “He’s my brother!”

“Gross,” Lars mumbled.

“Excellent,” Benji said. He clapped his hands together and beamed. “So, Gretchen, Calarian and I wouldn’t be stepping on your toes at all if we took your brother back to the castle and defiled him for hours and hours in increasingly depraved ways then?”

“Gross,” Gretchen said. “But whatever floats your weird little boat, cutie pie.”

“You don’t make handcuffs, do you?” Benji asked curiously.

“Get out,” Gretchen said. “And don’t tell me any of the details.”

“Handcuffs, though?” Benji asked. “Got any lying around? He’d look so good in them.”

Calarian grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him out the door before Gretchen could bend him over her anvil and beat him to death with her hammer. Lars waved at Gretchen and followed after them.

“What? Wait!” Benji asked. “She didn’t answer about the handcuffs.”

Calarian tried to gag him with his shirt while they wandered back to the castle. It probably would have been more effective if Benji hadn’t enjoyed it quite so much.

“Gag me, Daddy,” he mumbled round the fabric, and by the time Calarian had finished stuffing the shirt in Benji’s mouth, Lars had disappeared somewhere.

They rounded a bend in the cobblestoned street that led into the main courtyard of Tournel castle.

“Hey,” Benji said through a mouthful of shirt, “how did Lars beat us here?”

“He didn’t stop to be a dick,” Calarian said, and released Benji’s shirt.

Over by the entrance to the castle, Lars was standing in front of Gunther. His meaty hands were clenched into fists and his shoulders were hunched over. He looked like a little boy getting a dressing down, and Gunther was jabbing him in the chest to emphasise every word.

“...and You. Weren’t. Here, Your Grace.” Gunther looked almost gleeful as he tormented Lars.

“Hey,” Calarian said sharply. “What’s going on here?”

Gunther’s head whipped around. He sneered as he saw Calarian and Benji. “I was just letting the duke know that he can’t just go slinking off into the hills every time he’s decided it’s too hard to rule. We needed someone in charge! Another troll came through and completely destroyed the