King of the Seditious
Red Headed to the Core

I didn’t intend that. He released it from his fingers. Too late.

“You’re snatching my hair?”

“No.”

“Yes, you did.”

I did.

“But I didn’t intend to.”

“You do many things you don’t intend to do, don’t you?”

Damn every redhead born! He wanted to kiss her feisty mouth to silence. But she’ll fight like a hellcat.

And neither of us will get a moment’s enjoyment from that…Well, I might. If I’m honest with myself…

“Dimurah.” He warned.

She rattled on, slinging accusations.

Like a tree gnome thinking it’s ten-foot tall, hurling insults like rocks. He stared at the ceiling of his tent. Silently counting to calm his absent patience.

“Are you quite finished!” He roared.

“Nowhere near!” She shouted fearlessly.

“It’s funny,” He shouted to get her attention as he leaned into her face as he often did. “That you don’t fear me atall save for when you think I’ll melt your nether regions with my touch!” His gaze flicked down her body pointedly.

She swallowed. Going silent.

Blessed be! About damn time!

“Let me spare us both, your next address. I leave tomorrow. I’m taking your Disloyal Wench with me and tossing her outside the Blue Lark. And if you let her in again, I swear you’ll not be able to stand to leave my tent the next morning.”

“You’ll break my legs?” Her brow furrowed in skepticism.

“No.” He glared at her. “You’ll be too sore from hard loving to walk without assistance.”

She reared back as though he’d slapped her.

“I swear it.” He cautioned. “And none of your pleading for me not to touch you, because you’ll crumble…” He mimicked cruelly. “Will save you from me then.” He snagged his shirt from a chair near the tent flap and strode around her to disappear into the dark.

At first light he whistled for Delcourt. The black steed rampaged from the Trader’s Market.

People lunged from its path.

The huge War Horse was heedless as it slid to a stop before Savage.

He hopped agilely atop it. Absent a saddle. It rides no better. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

He saw no need to burden his horse with trivialities.

“Disloyal Wench!” He saw Belline peer from around the stables to his left. The white bandages crossing her face drawing his attention in the dim light. He heeled Delcourt that direction and saw her lunge out to try and run across the courtyard.

Outrun a mount? He snorted. He caught her arm and hauled her over the horse’s shoulders.

She whoofed out air as the wind was knocked out of her at impact.

Good.

“Belline!” Murah burst out of Winter Haven to cross the courtyard toward Delcourt. Skirts gripped in her fists as she ran.

He turned the horse in her direction and slowly shook his head at her. Don’t bother. You won’t stop me.

No amount of pleading or tears will change this.

She stopped. Betrayal written over her face as she glowered at him. “Tell me again you won’t hurt me!” She yelled.

He gave her a bland look before his gaze moved to spot Phalanx under the overhang shadowing the deck on the south corner of Winter Haven. He tossed his head to summon Phalanx.

Hopping from the deck to the ground, Phalanx’s long stride took him quickly.

“Make an announcement in the alehouse that this Disloyal Wench was a traitor and you’ll be out to fetch an equally comely barmaid for their entertainment. And whichever steps up ranting he loved her…Well, tell him to come find me in Grier…To discuss his feeling.”

“What if there’s more than one?”

“Tell them all.”

“There could be many. She was a pretty woman.”

“Are you one of them?” Savage queried.

“I don’t love whores.”

“Judgmental bastard.” Savage turned Delcourt’s rein.

Riding off as he heard Phalanx’s low chuckle. “Hypocrite.”

“What are you going to do with me?” Disloyal Wench tearfully asked.

“Don’t know yet.” Savage said passionlessly. “I was considering drowning.”

She whimpered.

Perhaps not as funny as I thought…

What am I going to do with her?

“You’re banished from the Lark.”

“For how long?”

“For Ever.” He enunciated.

Marshtown. He decided. No tavern there.

She’d have to find honest work.

Or someone to take care of her. He frowned in revulsion at the thought. If she can find a man fool enough.

“Why’d you have to cut my face?”

“A reminder of why you don’t cross Savage Jack. I let you live. Cease whining.”

“But I will be forever disfigured.”

“Perhaps an improvement.”

She cried. Tears running down Delcourt.

Savage found himself wondering if they could contain anything contagious.

“Why are you forcing me to live thus!”

So much for not whining…

“I’m not a particular fan of killing women.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You’ve destroyed me!”

“You destroyed yourself. You’ve a corrupted soul. No fault of mine.”

She’s not entirely wrong.

Watercourse Hamlet, Dread Hideout

CHAVIAS

Chavias was ordered to raid Watercourse. Again.

Savage’s storehouse.

Radix had commented bitterly it was probably the only storehouse in the country that still had something in it. “Take it all!” Radix commanded. “Pick the town clean!”

Chavias had lowered his head and left the cavern. He may be there. Chavias thought hopefully. Savage. Though he knew it was only a chance.

A risky one at that. If cimmerii found him or if Radix followed to hunt him down…Savage could be in danger.

As much as he could be. Chavias half smiled as he exited the caves. Clothed in his leather armor. Dual swords at his back. He cinched midnight hair with the leather thong he wore around his wrist any other time.

He climbed down the treacherous banks of Peak Mountain. Wound through the Netherlands. Resisting the urge to check on Acharius. To make sure Chavias hasn’t sent something else to kill him in the interim.

Chavias’ avoided it. Dismayed enough with the prospect of having to hunt Acharius, he didn’t even want to see his former brethren. So, he reached Watercourse by skirting Dread Hideout and the border of Dread Country until reaching the village.

The usual dual Targue trailing behind him with a slew of nonis flocking them.

Chavias consciously outpaced them. Working hard to keep them upwind from him. To avoid the wreak of them.

He wove his way into Watercourse shortly before dawn. Skillfully navigating the dirt roads to the storehouse.

“I was always the most impressed by your memory. Like you carried a map of every country, every village, here.” The voice drew his attention to the man standing in his path.

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