The Dark Prince's Prize

Chapter 21-2

Al fingered the deck of cards in his hands and studied the man across from him. The strange man’s sudden appearance—and the ease with which he could incapacitate two of his guards—was perturbing, but if the diamond was real, and he suspected that it was, then the evening had just become much more interesting.

“If we are going to play, we should introduce ourselves. I am Alberto Campeau and you are...?” he soothingly coaxed.

“Adalard Ha’darra,” Adalard replied.

He nodded in acknowledgement. “Where are you from Mr. Ha’darra?” he inquired.

“You could say that I’m not from around here. Does this game come with a drink?” Adalard replied.

“I’ll get it. What would you like?” Gary anxiously asked.

“Jack will provide our drinks,” Al stated.

One lesson Al had learned was never to take a drink from anyone he didn’t trust, or who wasn’t being paid handsomely to make sure he stayed alive. He continued shuffling the cards. There was something soothing in the feel and sound of the cards as they flowed through his fingers. The delay also gave him more opportunity to size up his opponent.

Adalard Ha’darra was leaning back, relaxed in his seat. One of his arms rested on the table and the other was on his lap. His long hair was pulled back, revealing a thin scar on his cheek. It wasn’t only the man’s rugged appearance or the fact that he was obviously well versed in violence, but it was Adalard’s eyes that made him extremely wary. There was an unnatural glow around the irises—and a color that could only be achieved with contacts. What bothered him was that Adalard Ha’darra didn’t strike him as the type of man who would bother to enhance his appearance for appearance’s sake.

Jack returned with two glasses and a large bottle of liquor. Al casually watched Jack opened the still sealed bottle at the table and fill his glass before stepping around the table to pour one for his unexpected guest. Lifting his glass into the air, Al paused and smiled.

“A toast to a good game,” he said.

Adalard lifted his glass, drained it, and placed it aside for Jack to refill. Al smiled with satisfaction as he took a sip from his glass. The fine Blanton’s Straight from the Barrel Whiskey was perfect for an intimate game of poker among like-minded enthusiasts. The whiskey’s discerning palate was impressive even to the pickiest drinker with the delicate blend of vanilla and tobacco, a flavor palate rich with citrus, spice, honey, and butter, along with a lengthy finish fueled with notes of peach and smooth chocolate. The savory liquor was also a good way to relax an unknown opponent.

Al leaned forward and placed the deck in the center of the table. The room became unnaturally quiet. The large man who had accompanied Ha’darra into the room gently pulled Samara away from the table.

Behind them, the two guards that Ha’darra had incapacitated a short while ago were now sullenly glaring at Ha’darra’s back. Annoyance filled Al at the distraction. He raised his hand to Jack.

“Yes, sir?” Jack replied.

“Have those two wait outside,” he said in a dismissive tone.

“Yes, sir,” Jack responded.

Ha’darra divided the cards and shuffled them with the ease of a Master Dealer from the Strip. It seemed the man was no stranger to the gambling table and cards, yet despite Al’s vast experience in the elite group of high-stakes gamblers, they had never crossed paths.

“Where are you from, Mr. Ha’darra?” he persisted.

Adalard gave him an icy smile that sent a shiver down his spine. “It is Prince Ha’darra, Mr. Campeau,” he coolly responded.

“Prince…. My apologies, Your Royal Highness,” he stiffly corrected.

“Apology accepted,” Adalard replied, replacing the deck on the table.