Priscilla was right.

  Sulaiman did not like her plan whatsoever, in fact he would even go so far as to say that he hated her plan. Kavil may have laughed so hard he doubled over with tears in his eyes despite their horrid situation, but it was a struggle for Sulaiman to stop staring at Priscilla like she was a delusional idiot if she thought that he was going to agree to it.

  (It was an even harder struggle for Sulaiman to not react when Kavil gave him a knowing look, reminding Sulaiman of Kavil’s words from yesterday and the hushed, teasing lilt that accompanied them. Kavil was annoyingly astute sometimes, and used his insights in wicked ways, trying to convince Sulaiman of things that simply weren’t true.)

  But Sulaiman couldn’t come up with anything better, and, reluctantly, he could admit that this absolutely idiotic plan wasn’t all together useless. There was a high chance it’d work just as intended and that just made Sulaiman even angrier.

  Because it now meant that Priscilla was sitting on his lap with Sulaiman’s arm wrapped around her hips to keep her steady. She had let her hair down, tying ribbons on both sides of her hair that gave her a more haughty, yet youthful feel and she had taken off her armor, storing it away in her pack to choose a different shirt that had a more plunging neckline. It was a sharp contrast to Sulaiman, who had done little to alter his appearance save for leaving his shield in the room. He didn’t trust this village enough to take off his armor nor leave his sword behind, especially as Priscilla’s commitment to the plan meant she left herself defenseless.

  Priscilla’s lips were curled in a completely obscene smile as she held a piece of fruit in front of his mouth, the only food the villagers served them that they thought might be safe to eat.

  “Lala, say aaaah,” Priscilla cooed.

  Sulaiman was tempted to bite her fingers but he held back that urge. This was all part of the plan and Sulaiman would not be the one to mess things up, not when he had agreed (reluctantly, with great hesitation) to follow it.

  But he would try to make it as awkward as possible for Priscilla by maintaining eye contact as he sank his teeth into the lower half of the strawberry.

  “Things are always more delicious when you feed me, milady,” Sulaiman said, licking his lips as if to savor it. “Why don’t you finish the other half?”

  With Priscilla sitting on his lap, he could feel the shiver that ran down her spine. It was gratifying to know that he was not the only one affected by their… proximity.

  Priscilla was freer with physical touch and compliments since committing to changing and along with that came a strange lack of consideration to what… reactions that touch or words might inspire in others. Sulaiman had truly been taken by surprise when Priscilla knocked him off balance during their spar, and his battle high didn’t let him register their positions as he was more disappointed he let her get the better of him.

  That was until Priscilla sat up. She smiled devilishly down at him as she shifted side to side while gloating, seemingly utterly unaware that she was sitting right above his groin. Sulaiman had tossed her to the side before she inspired any more unwanted bodily reactions or, gods forbid, felt such reactions.

  Later, Sulaiman had gotten a small modicum of payback and it was entertaining to see that while Priscilla normally was oblivious, she could become aware if someone was blatant enough with their actions.

  But that didn’t matter right now.

  What mattered was the absolutely ludicrous situation they were in and would continue to be in for at least the next twenty minutes. They had been at this for five minutes and Sulaiman was already regretting it, embarrassment thrumming in his veins when Priscilla had drawn a finger down his jaw to compliment his ‘flawless genetics’ and squeezed his bicep because he was ‘so strong, strong enough to pick me up like I weighed less than a bundle of grapes.’

  Priscilla’s plan had been simply at its core.

  She and Sulaiman would serve as a distraction while Kavil snuck out to go talk with Ulric, as if the man had been injured, Kavil was the only one who could provide immediate help. Plus, Kavil had built up somewhat of a rapport with the man, so Ulric would be more likely to open up to Kavil than, say, Sulaiman, who knew his face was found to be intimidating by most others.

  It was the implementation of said plan that was more difficult to swallow. Watching the townfolk’s reactions to Priscilla’s ridiculous charade made it easy to figure out what might keep their attention the most while simultaneously not arousing any suspicion.

  Priscilla must engage in an audacious affair with Sulaiman.

  Oh they spun the tale that poor ‘Vivi’ was feeling under the weather and ‘Scylla’ couldn’t possibly eat alone in such a poor establishment, so she needed her ‘Lala’ to keep her company. But when Priscilla promptly sat in Sulaiman’s lap after he sat at the table, to the townsfolk, it seemed that was a flimsy excuse for ‘Scylla’ to spend time without her lover’s watchful gaze.

  The name ‘Lala’ was only marginally better than ‘Susu’ and followed the nickname convention Priscilla had created. It reminded Sulaiman of a name one might give their pampered dog but he understood the need to keep their identities hidden.

  Priscilla hesitated for just a moment before saying, “You’re a charmer, Lala, fine I’ll share with you.”

  She ate the remains of the strawberry in a way that showed off how plump her lips were, chewing slowly before somehow swallowing in a way that was suggestive.

  “When we share, I can taste your lips,” Priscilla said, smiling coquettishly.

  How Priscilla said such embarrassing things with a straight face was beyond Sulaiman. He glanced away, annoyed that he felt his cheeks flush when he knew it was all an act.

  Sulaiman had to focus.

  Illnyea was out there, in danger, and this town had something to do with it. Everything Sulaiman and Priscilla were doing now was just buying them time until Kavil returned with enough information for them to act.

  If Priscilla’s reaction earlier when she heard the name The Starving One was anything to go by, there was a high possibility that the cannibal was involved with the organization – the same one that had been involved with the attack on Kavil.

  Anyone who willingly aided such a despicable organization were people Sulaiman wouldn’t hesitate to cut down.

  The mayor, that Fylkir fellow, was watching them with a cool gaze from across the room. When Sulaiman looked at him, the mayor smiled hollowly.

  That man unsettled Sulaiman, reminded him of the orphanage workers who would tell Sulaiman of a set of tasks he had to complete if he wanted to get dinner that evening. But, Sulaiman later found out that no others had to work as hard as he did, didn’t get their food withheld from them if they hadn’t met the worker’s high standards. This was before Sulaiman understood the hypocrisy of this world, and he worked up the courage to ask why he was treated differently when he had been told he'd finally be somewhere safe.

  The worker held the same flat gaze of the mayor, as she responded in a confused voice, “Why would I treat someone like you like a normal child?”

  He had only been six years old.

  Priscilla followed Sulaiman’s gaze and she huffed. The press of her shoulder against his chest as she turned pulled him out of rotten memories.

  “You there, mayor,” Priscilla called out, “what is there to do for fun around this town? I want to treat Vivi tomorrow morning when he’s feeling better!”

  Sulaiman could see how the mayor’s jaw tensed before he said, “The fens nearby are easy to visit and are beautiful during sunrise.”

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  Priscilla let out a long groan, slumping against Sulaiman to tuck her head into the crook of his neck.

  “Lala,” Priscilla whined, her breath warm against his neck, “please don’t tell me this peasant just told me to go roll around in the mud! What does he think I am, a pig?”

  “Of course not, milady,” Sulaiman said dryly, entertained as the mayor’s smile grew more strained. “I’m sure it was just a jest.”

  Sulaiman had chosen his seat carefully so that he could keep an eye on the entirety of the room while having his back against the wall to minimize chances of someone getting the drop on him. So he had a clear view of how the ten or so villagers, who had slowly congregated into the inn’s small dining room over the last few minutes, glared at Sulaiman. It seemed they had a strange sort of pride for people who fed their own people to cannibals.

  “We do have a few potters in town,” the mayor said, trying valiantly to keep a cool head despite how much Priscilla clearly wound him up, “so you might find a few things amongst their wares you like.”

  Priscilla peeked through the curtain of her hair, fixing one suspicious, green eye on the mayor.

  “Are they made of stone, earth, or porcelain?” Priscilla asked. “Do you even have kilns hot enough to make porcelain? Who am I kidding? You probably don’t, not in a backwater town like this. What sort of glazes do they use? A beautiful glaze can certainly save the piece.”

  The mayor blinked, seemingly taken aback by the barrage of questions. Sulaiman was mildly surprised Priscilla knew enough to sound vaguely knowledgeable about pottery. But Priscilla was always full of surprises, so Sulaiman just nodded at Fylkir like he was expecting it.

  “I…” Fylkir glanced at one of the villagers. “You’d have to ask the potters themselves.”

  But the woman seemed just as surprised, shaking her head with a fearful look in Priscilla’s direction.

  Sulaiman held back a sarcastic smile – the villagers may judge Priscilla, but were too afraid to potentially turn her venomous tongue in their direction.

  Priscilla let out a long sigh, sitting back up.

  “I will.” Priscilla said the words like they were a threat and the woman flinched.

  They kept their act and Sulaiman shared several more pieces of fruit while he watched Priscilla terrorize the villagers with her mere existence. It was like a rock lion had been placed into a room of mice who quivered in fear as the lion sat high upon her throne.

  The fact that Sulaiman was the throne in this scenario made him enjoy it a little less, but the point remained – the room was hanging on Priscilla’s every action.

  Nearly ten minutes later, the strawberry blonde man slipped into the inn in the middle of Priscilla complaining about how much she missed the hot springs of Grazda. When Sulaiman had first seen that man, he knew that this man was a killer and he had enjoyed the act rather than it being a necessity. It was in the way the man moved, casual violence carved into each twitch of his fingers, the dangerous gleam in his eyes when he stared down Ulric, like he had seen his favorite victim once more.

  Sulaiman tracked the man as he came to sit down across from the mayor, noticing that the man’s knuckles were red like he had recently punched something. The men spoke in a hushed tone, but Priscilla wasn’t as unobservant as she pretended.

  “You!” Priscilla said, pointing a curled finger at the strawberry blonde. “You with the washed out hair that wishes it was red.”

  The man’s shoulders tensed Priscilla once again called him out, giving her a dark look over his shoulder.

  “Did you wash your hands before you came in here?” Priscilla asked contemptuously. “Who knows what sort of germs you brought in – I am trying to eat here, you know.”

  It seemed Priscilla’s luck had finally run out.

  The man slammed his hands against the table, pushing the chair tumbling to the ground.

  “You arrogant fucking noble,” the man snarled as he rushed forward, his fist pulled back and aimed at Priscilla’s face.

  Sulaiman had seen it coming, and had already angled his body so Priscilla was tucked safely out of reach.

  He caught the man’s fist, the impact of flesh ringing out in the now silent room.

  The man’s eyes were wide, and Sulaiman channeled magic into his fingers so even as the stupid idiot struggled, he couldn’t break Sulaiman’s grip.

  Sulaiman slowly smiled, relishing in the feeling of being in control as panic creeped into the man’s expression.

  Priscilla laughed softly, drawing a symbol against Sulaiman’s armor as she leaned her head against his shoulder. She hadn’t flinched when the man came for her and something like pride filled Sulaiman at the thought she hadn’t doubted he’d protect her.

  “Challenging Lala is a mistake that not many get to live after they make,” Priscilla said softly, her voice holding a dangerous quality as it carried throughout the now silent room, “but I don’t want to spill blood somewhere Vivi was looking forward to visiting. Apologize and it’ll all be water under the bridge.”

  “He’s a monster,” the man spat, his breathing coming out rougher and rougher with each failed attempt to break free.

  That was an insult that had been thrown Sulaiman’s way many times, and old anger flared up at it, though it didn’t take control of him. Sulaiman knew the man was just afraid and trying to get Sulaiman to let go by any means necessary.

  And Sulaiman wasn’t interested in giving this man what he wanted.

  But Priscilla sucked in an angry breath, leaning forward with her green eyes blazing with fury.

  “You should have been smothered in the crib, you sanctimonious dickwad,” Priscilla hissed, nails scratching against Sulaiman’s armor.

  “Guess you like to fuck monsters,” the man sneered, trying to hit his real target with words in a sore spot since he couldn’t reach her physically, “if you’re so keen on defending him. Is that Vivi upstairs a monster t–ARGH, FUCK!”

  Sulaiman squeezed so hard around that something popped in the man’s hand without thinking. There was no explanation for why Sulaiman lost control, none except the sudden wrath that flared within him at this dickwad daring to sully Kavil’s name, daring to insult someone who had done nothing to earn such an accusation, in fact was one of the few people that Sulaiman would consider to be truly good.

  But if the man was looking for a monster…

  Sulaiman was willing to give him one.

  He squeezed harder and something else popped.

  The man hit the table, writhing with pain as he scratched at Sulaiman’s wrist.

  “Please,” the man begged, tears now running down his face.

  There was an odd sort of power in having someone begging you to stop and knowing there wasn’t any chance it’d happen because they didn’t deserve it.

  Sulaiman was about to squeeze harder because he was interested in knowing if he could shatter every bone in this man’s hand.

  But the soft sound of Priscilla’s voice cut through the wrath, her lips hovering near his ear.

  “I know he deserves it, but we should leave, like right now. Look around.”

  The energy in the room had changed since Sulaiman’s show of strength and more people had appeared, pouring in through the front door as if they were summoned. People were standing now, staring at them with open hostility. The mayor had stood and found a sword from somewhere, looking absolutely furious.

  Before Sulaiman could act, someone in the crowd shouted, “Use ‘em as sacrifices – that’ll teach them.”

  Time was of the essence now as the crowd started to surge forward.

  Sulaiman threw the man’s hand away hard enough to send him stumbling into the mayor who had come around the table. There wasn’t enough time to untangle himself from Priscilla, so Sulaiman just put his arm under her knees and the other more firmly around her back, picking up her weight completely as he pushed away from the table.

  Priscilla let out a surprised squeak but clutched at him rather than fight his grip.

  Sulaiman made a beeline through the open doorway of the dining room, sprinting up towards the stairwell. He took the steps two at a time, focused on keeping his grip and footing steady.

  “Fuck they’re coming after us,” Priscilla said, peeking over his shoulder.

  Sulaiman only grunted in response, finding their door and then kicking it open, and then kicking it closed once they were through.

  Their packs were right by the door thankfully, as Sulaiman had insisted they stay there in case they needed to make a quick getaway.

  He put Priscilla on her feet while grabbing his pack and Kavil’s, slinging them both onto his pack.

  Priscilla had just steadied herself and picked up her own pack when Sulaiman turned to her.

  The sound of footsteps had already reached the upper level, likely blocking their exit.

  Sulaiman stepped forward and picked up Priscilla again before she could put the pack on and make it more difficult to hold her. She clutched at the bag as she stared at him with wide eyes.

  “No time,” Sulaiman said. “Turn towards me and cover your face.”

  “What are you planning to do?” Priscilla asked, sounding breathless even as she did as he asked. That was her best quality, listening when it mattered even if she complained.

  “Don’t worry,” Sulaiman said, “it’ll work.”

  For a low quality inn, they did have nice big glass windows. Sulaiman had thought it was a security hazard at first, but now he appreciated them much more.

  He lined up the shot.

  “That doesn’t make me feel bett–EEER!”

  Sulaiman had sprinted and then jumped through the glass window, shattering it on impact as he pumped magic into his legs. Several shards cut his face, but he kept Priscilla close, blocking most of the glass with his armor. Pain still radiated up through Sulaiman’s knees as he landed, but he stayed on his feet.

  “We find Kavil, and enter the fens so they won't follow us,” Sulaiman said as he put Priscilla down. There were a few glass shards in her hair but there was no time to deal with them now.

  “Got it,” Priscilla said as she shoved her pack onto her back.

  With that, they ran into the night.

  Sulaiman just hoped they had bought Kavil enough time.