him.
He quirked an unhurried smile. “From what, princess?”
Just then, he heard the whinny of horses being drawn to a rough halt outside—rare and valuable enough animals that he knew only one man who owned any. Enrick, their ruler.
“My father’s men,” she said, and he couldn’t help noticing how her hazel eyes nearly matched those in the odd cat’s-head pendant worn at her throat.
He narrowed his gaze on her, sizing her up. So she was Enrick’s daughter—the last of them yet to marry, if he remembered correctly. If he had any sense, he’d turn the girl over to the men without a second thought.
But her eyes were so frightened. And she was a pretty little nymph. He crossed his arms and leaned his head back slightly. “What’s in it for me ?”
Her eyes grew even rounder than they already appeared, and she looked lost for an answer. Finally, she said, “What do you want?”
Garon wished he had more time to weigh his reply, but he knew the men were going to burst in the door looking for this lovely girl any moment now. He gave her a
20
Carnal Sacrifice
long once-over, reminding himself he could be put to death for crossing the great ruler of Caralon. To even consider it was pure folly.
“Anything you want from me, it’s yours,” she said hurriedly, frantically. “So long as my father’s men don’t find me.”
“Your body,” he said plainly.
“What?” She looked aghast at the suggestion, her gaze going wide.
But Garon only laughed. “Take it or leave it, princess.”
She drew in her breath sharply, then spoke through slightly clenched teeth. “Fine. Fine, whatever you want. Just hide me!”
He gave her his most lecherous, satisfied grin, along with a little nod of agreement, then spoke to the fellow standing next to him without ever letting his gaze leave hers. “Baelor, take her to my room and make sure she’s well hidden. And, uh, be sure she stays there—I don’t want her deciding to leave before I get payment for my…services.”
Baelor let out a low chuckle, clamping his warm hand around her wrist and pulling her deeper into the tavern—and Garon wondered what in Ares’ name he’d just done, and more importantly, why. Hadn’t he just lectured himself about folly?
Seconds later, a handful of large warrior types came bounding through the door so roughly that even Sima and Janya, his two tavern maids, looked up from where they sat entangled in each other’s soft bodies, their leather skirts now raised to their hips, their breasts pressed lightly together.
But he couldn’t take more than a quick glimpse at the sumptuous sight of them—he had much bigger business to attend to.
“It’s not often we see men from Enrick’s fortress here. What can I do for you? Ale?” Then he motioned to Sima and Janya, letting a lecherous smile form on his face. “Or maybe you’d prefer women?”
The largest man stepped forward. “You own this tavern?”
He gave a friendly nod, then introduced himself. “Garon of Myrtell.”
“We’re looking for a girl. Brown hair—”
Again, he motioned toward the barely clad ladies in his employ. “Right here. Two attractive girls who would be happy to please you in any way you can think of for a mere bit of metal or a few colored stones.” That was how he sold his ale—for bits of the
most valued materials in Caralon, which he could then barter for whatever he needed. Slowly, he was amassing more and more of the stuff, becoming a rather rich man for a mere villager.
The big warrior simply looked impatient. “We’re looking for a particular young woman. Brown braided hair, hazel eyes, wearing a green frock. Has she been here?”
Garon slowly looked around the room, where all eyes now watched the scene near the door. “As you can see, our customers here are strictly of the male variety. So unless either of those two lovely vixens on the table are the
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