She shoved her feet into them, not bothering to lace them up. “I’ll make my own choices, thank you.”

He snarled but didn’t stop her as she threw her cloak on and began quickly braiding her hair down one shoulder. “He threw you away like garbage, Veralie. If memory serves me well, you’ve never let any male get away with treating you as such.”

“You don’t know what the fuck he did, and you never will if you can’t find the balls to ask,” she snapped back.

He seethed, hating that she was right. He did want to know the truth of what happened before he’d regained consciousness that night. He just also knew no answer would ever be good enough.

“I won’t forgive him.”

“I’m not asking you to, and neither is he. I know you’re hurt and upset—okay, pissed off, but I was the one carted off, not you. I deserve to know.”

His lip curled. “You’d forgive him, just like that?”

“No,” she said, resting her hand on the door. “But I’m going to give him the chance to earn it.”

Chapter 8

VERA

Not wanting to draw further attention from the patrons at the inn, they’d all agreed to leave, opting to walk a few blocks to a day-and-night tavern Jaeros knew the owner of.

Hungry and desperate for a hot meal, it’d taken everything in her not to demand they run there. But her excitement had died a sad, quick death when the tavern finally came into view. Rough was an understatement.

The awning was broken, the ripped pieces swinging in the breeze, it had planks nailed over one window, and its sign hung by a single corner, bumping against the wall.

She’d openly balked, but Jaeros had been adamant, claiming it was the only place they could safely talk. Jaren had scoffed, and she’d echoed his sentiment, unsure how a place falling apart could possibly be trusted.

But Jaeros had walked straight up to the owner and only had to whisper a request for privacy for the older male to immediately begin shouting at patrons, ordering them to “get the fuck out” in heavy Thyabathi.

Given the time of morning, there hadn’t been many inside, but the few who’d been there jumped to their feet and complied like a plague was sweeping in. They’d either been genuinely terrified of the lumbering, white-haired owner, or they were just clearly used to his demands.

But even so, not one patron slipped out without first shooting them a curious glance, lingering on her hooded face. She’d pulled it lower, more than glad that she’d listened to Jaren and worn it.

Now here she was, sitting at a sticky, circular table with two males more interested in glaring at one another and avoiding conversation than actually having one.

She bit back a groan of frustration and looked to the least infuriating of the two, allowing herself to take in the details she hadn’t been able to see the day before.