Davion tried to look humble as Bram told the story of how he slew the earth dragon, but he couldn't help the grin that crawled on his face. Especially the way Bram told it, his body doing most of the narrating. It wasn't that it was … wrong. It was just … censored—and a touch over dramatic.

"There, alone in the darkness, he slew the beast!" Bram struck his arm on the table like a sword for emphasis.

Slew was a pretty word for it, conjuring images of a single clean thrust to the heart. What it actually looked like was him alone in the dark—if not for his glowing blade—hacking the beast in a desperate frenzy until he almost disemboweled and decapitated it, blood spurting his face as he flew into a rage. Probably better the way Bram told it, especially with food and ladies present.

Davion felt a squeeze on his arm. Clinging to him was a lovely woman whose name had escaped him. She gazed up at him, and he knew the look. Killing dragons made the woman wetter than a spring rain, but he wasn't ready to call it a night just yet. He finished his drink and rose to get another, promising everyone a fresh cup. They cheered and the bar rang with a celebratory din. It was a welcome contrast to the cries and clamor earlier that day. Four men dead … and a boy without a father. God's mercy, he needed reminders he was alive and still breathing. Drink, sex, a hot meal, and friends: Could a man be more alive? He glanced back at the beautiful woman, suddenly looking forward to going upstairs. One more drink should do it.

"Barkeep another round."

The barkeep started to oblige when a woman's voice interrupted.

"I was waiting," she said curtly but not rude. She lowered her hood, revealing a pretty face that matched the voice: well-bred and haughty. Davion smiled, prepared to pour on his charm. As cordially as the alcohol would allow him, he apologized.

She thanked him flatly and put in her order while he struggled to think of something witty to say. Davion the Dragon Knight was not afraid of women and could get a woman in bed as skillfully as he could slay a dragon.

She ordered two drinks. Shit. Who was the other drink for? A man? Possibly a man. Most likely a man. She was lovely. Of course she had a man, though she wasn't exactly dressed for a night out. He was disappointed but not deterred, at least not yet. And he was still greatly intrigued.

She snubbed her drinks, especially when the barkeep asked for two crowns.

"It smells terrible. And it's warm." She complained.

"Two crowns." He persisted.

This was the opening he needed. Striking fast like a Dragon Knight going for the kill.

"I'll pay for her Icewrack white," he said. Whatever that was.

"Oh, in that case, they're free."

He expected a thank you … maybe a smile. Perhaps she'd even come sit with him but instead-

"-wait, if he orders, he pays nothing."

"Well, yeah," said the barkeep, irritated. "He's Davion the fucking Dragon Knight what killed a fucking dragon—this fucking dragon." He gestured toward the head that graced the bar.

"Among others." Davion boasted. Now to weigh her admiration, but her mouth remained a flat line. A familiar voice behind him was both distracting and sobering.

"But the one, the big one, you left in that Gods-empty hole."

Fuck. Fruhling.

Turning to face him, Davion spoke quietly so no one would overhear, his teeth gritting in irritation bordering rage. Not only did he ruin his chances with a beautiful woman, but he risked undoing the celebration. The last thing he wanted to talk about or think about right now were dragons: Dragons like the one that killed his family. Already the cold was creeping into his gut, leaving a hole, and emptiness he needed to fill with a beer or better yet—

"Now, if you'll sod right off, I was talking to the ... lady." His words died along with his chances with her. "Shit."

"Awe, she thinks you're a coward too."

He clenched and unclenched his fist. Don't punch him. The barkeep handed him his drink and sent others to the table where … the lovely woman was waiting for him. He'd almost forgotten about her. He raised his cup, filling his stomach and the cold void with warm beer.

That woman at the bar probably wasn't his type anyway. She was serious, confrontational, and severe. But for some reason, he liked all of that, or at the very least, he respected it. She had a haughty look that bordered arrogance, but there was something interesting about her. She had a proud bearing, especially for someone in a place like this. She wasn't from around here, that was clear.

He'd barely settled back down when he heard a commotion at another table. Something about elves and a man missing his balls. His eyebrows furrowed. Just what they needed, more mood killers.

"Wait here," he said to Bram, not catching whatever he said as he headed toward the man. God's not tonight. He was going to put the head of the next drunken asshole by the dragon head above the bar. And this swine filth would make an ugly trophy. He had that look alright: womanizer, thug, troublemaker. He was harassing an elf and surprisingly and yet not surprising, there was the mysterious woman, rushing to stop him from stabbing the elf. Behind her was another woman. So, the second mug wasn't for a man. No time for that.

Davion snatched the elf's cloak as he grabbed the thug's wrist, separating them. The woman's eyes widened with surprise.

"I'll take care of this animal myself," he said, doing his best to sound angry as he dragged the elf out of the bar, making a show of it. He took three quick steps toward him before halting.

"Run," he said quietly as the man—elf blocked his face pathetically. He turned to go, raising a hood to cover his ears. But over his shoulder, he gave a name, and it took a moment for him to realize he wasn't talking to him.

"Princess," he said, and he was gone like a shadow.

So the beautiful woman was a princess. That explained … a lot, actually.

"Princess, you get more interesting by the minute." He grinned.

She ignored this statement watching the elf recede into the shadows.

"Most men would have left him to the mob. Most men would've joined it," she said, and he detected admiration at last. Not for killing a dragon. For this?

"I'm not most men," he said. He would like to stay and say more, but a princess was way out of his league, and she seemed to have business to attend to. Better leave her to it and return to his friends. From the warm light of the doorway that spilled into the blackness, he could see the red-haired beauty waiting for him and more tales of his exploits. She was easily impressed. Much more in his league. He entered, calling for another round. He watched the door, but as he expected, the princess did not return. He drank more slowly as the beautiful woman's hands started traveling south of his chest. Bram started another tale. He would never tell the story of how Davion saved an elf from an angry mob. That one wouldn't impress anyone ...except maybe a princess.

Princess of where? Of what? Who was she? Better forget her like the other women. He'd already forgotten her name, after all. Princess … what was it? He was sure she'd said it. Or just as likely he hadn't asked. He never did. And now it was time to take another nameless woman to bed for a brief but much needed reminder that he was not in fact dragon food. He rose with her. She seemed to like his arm as she gripped his bicep with both hands. Most women did. If she liked bulging biceps she'd really like his bulging … other parts. He checked the bar one more time but the corner where the princess had sat remained empty. If he ever saw her again, he'd have to ask for her name.