Empyreal, Book 1

Chapter 30

The Silver Fang was cozy, covered with worn wooden floors and tables that had seen better days. Sarah trailed behind Dorian as he led her to the bar, weaving between rowdy patrons. She shrank into herself, intimidated by the raucous laughter and drunken shouts that filled the pub.

Dorian slid onto a barstool and patted the one next to him. "Two ales," he called to the bartender, a burly man with a bushy beard. Sarah perched on the edge of her seat, her back rigid, as if ready to flee at any moment.

When the frothy mugs arrived, Dorian nudged one towards Sarah. "Come now, relax. The

Silver Fang doesn't bite." He flashed a crooked grin.

Sarah managed a timid smile in return and took a sip, the bitter liquid stinging her tongue.

"So tell me, why is a lovely girl like you marrying my boorish brother?" Dorian asked, leaning casually against the bar.

Sarah stared down at her hands. "Honestly? I don't know." She let out a weak laugh.

Dorian nodded slowly, his crystal eyes shining in the firelight. "I suspected as much. But perhaps in time, you will find the answers you seek."

Sarah met his intense gaze, a flicker of hope rising within. In the smoky din of the tavern, she felt the first stirrings of belonging, as though she were on the cusp of discovering who she truly was.

Sarah's moment of hope was fleeting as Dorian's questions turned probing.

"Where did you come from before arriving here?" he asked, swirling the ale in his mug.

Sarah's brows furrowed. "I...I don't remember."

Dorian leaned forward, fixing her with his icy stare. "Strange. And your parents? What are their names?"

Sarah shrank back, the panic in her chest rising. "I don't know," she whispered.

Dorian's eyes narrowed, and Sarah's breath quickened, her hands trembling around the mug. Why couldn't she remember?

Sensing her distress, Dorian softened his tone. "It's alright. Sometimes our past is shrouded for a reason."

He took a long draught of ale before continuing. "I understand better than most. I was separated from my family as a babe."

Sarah lifted her gaze, surprise plain on her face.

"I was sent away to live with distant relatives. All because I did not bear the mark of the royal line." Dorian's voice held a bitter edge.

He looked into the fire, lost in memory, while Sarah studied his handsome, brooding profile. In that moment, she felt the gulf between them shrink. Kindred spirits bound by hazy pasts.

The din of the tavern faded away as they sat in contemplative silence. But as the night stretched on Malachi strode into the hazy pub, his boots thudding heavily on the warped wooden floor. His gaze swept the room and landed on Sarah and Dorian huddled at the bar, their heads bent close in whispered conversation.

Malachi's fist clenched, the rage boiling in his veins like poison. How dare Dorian lay a finger on what was his.

He stalked across the room, the crowd parting before him. Dorian's perfect hair shined in the candlelight, taunting him.

Malachi tapped Dorian on the shoulder with deceptive gentleness. As Dorian turned, Malachi's fist crashed into his jaw with a sickening crunch of bone.

Dorian reeled backward, nearly toppling from his bar stool. But he caught himself and straightened, gingerly probing his jaw. His icy blue eyes were glacial.