“I still don’t like this plan.”
“You don’t like him.”
“Same difference.”
Before I can toss out a reply, the tavern door creaks open. A tall man entered, hood drawn low. He moved with a predatory sort of grace, confident and smooth, and my tension coiled tight, looking to see if anyone suspicious was behind him.
He lifts his hood.
Leon.
Or rather, Camille disguised as Leon.
He slides into the seat beside me without invitation, dropping the hood with a smirk.
“Sorry I’m late. The Queen’s patrols are getting bold.”
“Any trouble?” I ask.
“Nothing I couldn’t charm my way out of or outrun.” He flashes a blinding grin.
Keith doesn't smile. “You shouldn’t be out like that. If they catch you—”
“They won’t. You're worrying about me, Keith? That’s new.”
I interject quickly. “Let’s just
