Broken But Unburnt

Chapter 3 - Maverick

Chapter 3: Maverick

The Amethyst Quill

City of Jeryl, Kingdom of Delos

The crowd inside the Amethyst Quill Casino was just as noisy and equally as unsavory as the population of Jeryl itself. A good representation then, if Maverick's eyes did not deceive him. He sat in one of the plush chairs that this establishment had no doubt stolen from a finer institution such as the Exalted Curtain or the Alabaster Tempest on the other side of the city. He was leaning back, casually, and taking in the view of the room while the other men and women seated around him were taking their turn at the blackjack table.

On the other side of the room, a man he had come to know as Teagan Horan after the endless times the gent had tossed him out on the street already for what his boss called "winning too much", had his vice-like grip on the arm of some poor innocent whelp he'd caught cheating at his tables. He was dragging him out, past tables and screeching chairs, as other patrons leapt out of the way with a scandalized gasp and the trickster whined at his treatment. Maverick couldn't help but smile as he turned back to find the owner's eyes set firmly on him. He raised a hand and wiggled his fingers in a friendly little wave, enjoying the scowl that crossed his face as he turned away from him.

Maverick heard some giggling from a few feet away and turned to see two petite blondes sitting at the bar, smiling his way. They were pretty enough but their makeup was too gaudy and their dresses looked as if a toddler had dumped a can of glitter and sequins over their head. He shot them a wink anyway and turned back to the game at hand. He tapped the table and waited. A King for his ace. Twenty-one. The others at his table cursed and threw their hands down.

"Congratulations, prince," the dealer snarled. He collected his winnings and grinned back at him. The barb had long since lost its sting, at least, the way they intended it to bite.

Checking the clock in the corner of the room, he rose, bidding them all a good evening and heading for the door before Teagan could come up with a reason as to why Maverick hadn't actually won that last hand at all, or the one before it, or perhaps the one even before that. He knew the game well enough. If the house didn't profit, the winners didn't truly win. Besides, it was getting late. He would be missed if he stayed out too much longer and, as much as he enjoyed making half-assed explanations to his clearly disapproving, disbelieving mother, he simply wasn't in the mood for it tonight.

He was out on the street before Teagan could even look his way, pulling his hood up and wrapping his cloak tighter around him to avoid detection as he always did. He'd only just gotten his cloak fastened when he sighed.

"You can come out of the shadows now, Neva," he said.

She emerged, her slim body sliding into view as though she'd simply appeared out of thin air. She tossed her braid over her shoulder and frowned at him, the dim street lights making her dark skin shine in the deep night around them.

"I don't understand why you come here," she told him, not for the first time. He reached into his pockets and held up his winnings. She wasn't impressed. She never was. "You don't need that."

"It's not for this," he admitted. "But I'm assuming you didn't stalk me all the way out here for a pleasant chat about my habits."

"Your father has visitors."

His father. It was an apt title, he supposed, and one with which he'd been referred to all his life, despite the fact that he didn't deserve it. He'd never done a single fatherly thing, as far as Maverick was aware, since he'd been born. But blood was blood and he couldn't separate himself from the king any more than he could from his half brother, the true prince, or his mother, the King's most favorite concubine.