“Think nothing of it.” I took the dripping book from him, giving it a good wipe against my cloak before hiding it again.
“Aveen?”
I found a pair of bloodshot hazel eyes blinking at me. My stomach dropped to my toes.
Robert Trench.
Reeking of booze. Chin covered in patchy stubble. Clothes wrinkled and stained.
Robert bloody Trench.
His lips curved into an uneven smile as he stood. “Isn’t this a pleasant surprise?”
A pleasant surprise? Was this fate’s idea of a twisted joke? Robert had a townhouse somewhere in Gaul, where he’d attended university. Of the thousands of people in this city, how did I run intohim?
Two young men fell out of the pub, each with an arm thrown around the other. When they saw me, their glassy eyes brightened. “Who do we have here, Rob?”
Robert’s hand slipped across the small of my back to rest on my hip. “Looks as if my wayward fiancée has returned from the dead, lads.”
The shorter of the two strangers bit his lip. His leering made me feel like I’d been doused in bog water. “Isn’t she a looker?”
“Always was.” Robert’s finger grazed my jaw. “Right bitch though.” He pinched my chin, bringing tears to my eyes. “Just like her sister.”
I knocked his hand away. “I need to go.” I didn’t have time for Robert and his slimy friends. My prince needed me.
“I’d rather you stay,” he countered. “Give us a chance to get reacquainted.” Robert’s glazed eyes narrowed when he grinned. “Lads?” He stole my journal, handing it to his friend. “Hold this for a moment.”
With a smirk, the two separated, bowing at the waist and waving us past.
Robert’s blunt nails dug into my side. He dragged me away from the flickering lamplight toward an alley. Shards of glass crunched underfoot. Something scurried toward the stack of wood leaning against the far wall. A broken barrel leaked black liquid onto the grimy street.
I waited until we were out of view of his friends and crushed his toes beneath my heel. He gave an indignant yelp, letting me go.
I was fast.
He was faster.
Catching my hair, dragging me back. Slamming my face into the plaster wall.
“Don’t touch me!” I screamed past the pain.
He turned me around, pinning me between the wall and the heavy weight of his forearm across my chest.
“Aveen, do you take Robert to be your husband?” His breath reeked of liquor. His hands tugged at my skirts. His eyes blazed with rage.
I stomped again. I missed. “Stop it.”
“The answer is, ‘I do.’”
“Never.”
The flat of his palm collided with my cheek. Pain exploded behind my eyes. Coppery blood filled my mouth.
“Try again,” he spat.
“I-I do.”
“Robert, do you take Aveen to be your wife?” A pause. “I do.”