In Deeper Waters by F.T. Lukens (best business books of all time txt) 📗

made it to the bar. He waited a moment to grab the barmaid’s attention, but once she caught a glimpse of him, she abandoned the conversation she was having with another patron. She was older, and pretty, her blond hair falling around her shoulders in waves. Her eyebrow arched, and her smile turned sultry as she sashayed over to him, her skirt swishing, and the strap of her top falling off her shoulder. Tal averted his gaze and focused on the row of glasses sparkling behind her in the lantern light.

“What will it be, love?”

“Dinner for three.” He nodded to Garrett, who was already halfway through a tankard that another maid had brought him. Shay watched him, her fingers tented on the table, her gaze steady.

“Sure thing.” The barmaid’s gaze roved over him, and she cocked a hip. “Anything else you want? I’m sure we can accommodate.”

“No,” Tal said. He pulled out a gold coin and set it on the bar. Her eyes widened. “In fact, if you keep the mead and food flowing, and promise not to bring up any other forms of entertainment for the night, this whole piece is yours.”

He pushed it across the polished wood, and as soon as he lifted his finger, she had the coin stashed away.

“Royal stamp,” she breathed. Then she curtsied and winked. “Your wish is my command, Your Highness.”

“Thank you.”

“So,” she continued once all pretense of potential companionship was gone, “which one are you? Aren’t there seven of you?”

“Five,” Tal corrected. “And I’m the fourth.”

“The sickly one. Figures,” she said, pushing away. “Of course the second to last would find his way into my tavern.” Tal bit back that Garrett was second in line, as that would only spur her on. “Oh well, we’ll see you and your guards are well taken care of.” She waved her hand, dismissing him, and Tal wasn’t sure how to gauge their interaction. He’d been flirted with and insulted in the span of a few moments. Life outside the castle was confusing, and he started to miss the routine and machinations of the court.

Tal took a step toward his table but was distracted by the sound of a familiar voice. Craning his neck, he glimpsed a figure in the adjoining room, sitting on a table, empty mug in his hand, singing suggestive lyrics about sea foam.

As Tal inched toward the commotion, the young man jumped to his bare feet and spun around, stumbling to a halt when he saw Tal peering through the doorway.

Athlen met Tal’s gaze and gave him a wide and tipsy smile before bowing dramatically at the waist. “My prince!”

Tal grimaced. “Oh no.”

5

Tal’s eyes widened, and his heart pounded double time as Athlen tipped back the last swig of his mead, his throat bobbing. The long column of his neck was bare to the lantern light, and Tal swore he saw the markings he’d seen before on the deck of the ship.

Athlen beckoned him into the other room as he continued to sing.

He was undoubtedly the kingdom’s worst siren, but Tal was compelled to follow. Knowing Shay’s eyes were upon him, Tal glanced around. He found an empty tin cup on the table near his hip, and he discreetly picked it up. With a quick look, he tossed it over his shoulder toward the corner where Shay and Garrett sat. He didn’t see where it hit or landed, but the loud shouts and the curses told him it had provided the distraction he needed, and Tal slipped into the room where Athlen danced and yowled like a fool.

“Tal!” he greeted, throwing his arms open wide. “Meet my friends.”

The group around him clapped and snickered when Tal moved toward them.

“Athlen,” Tal said, voice low and urgent. “Get down! My brother is in the other room, and if he sees you—”

“Leave him alone,” a gruff voice around the table interrupted. “He ain’t hurting anyone.”

Athlen plopped down on his backside, causing the table to rattle, then pressed a finger to his lips. “Shhh. He’s just trying to be nice, though he’s bad at it.”

Tal sputtered, “I am not bad at being nice!”

Athlen winked.

Ruffled, Tal straightened his shoulders. “Fine, but if my brother sees you, then he’s going to drag you back to our ship and you really will be a prisoner.”

Tal turned on his heel.

“Wait!” There was a clatter and a strange curse in a language Tal didn’t know, but one word sounded like “swordfish.” “Don’t go!”

Tal spun around in time to see Athlen jump off the table and keep falling. Tal lunged and wrapped his hand around Athlen’s elbow, then hauled him upright. Athlen laughed as he fell into Tal’s chest, forehead lolling on Tal’s collarbone. He patted Tal’s shoulder, and the warmth of his touch scorched Tal even through the layer of his shirt. He could scarcely stop himself from arching into it as Athlen’s fingers tightly curled over the joint.

He moved to step away, but Athlen stumbled again, and his weight almost took them both to the floor. Tal managed to twist and right them both, his arm around Athlen’s waist while Athlen held on like an octopus. This close, he smelled of mead and the sea, and his eyes flashed their strange amber brown in the lantern light.

His shocked expression morphed into a flirty grin. “You really are a prince.”

Tal rolled his eyes and shrugged Athlen off but kept a hand hovering nearby in case he fell. His gait was clumsy, and he moved loosely, like his bones didn’t quite belong in his skin. Despite his walk, Athlen swiped a tankard off a table and finished the contents in one long gulp.

“You,” he said, dropping the tankard to the stone floor, the clay cracking. He pointed a finger into Tal’s chest. “You,” he said again, “are entirely too soft to be a prince. In fact”—Athlen poked Tal’s chest a little harder—“are you sure you are who you say you are?”

Tal slapped the finger away. He took