Happily Ever Awkward (The H.E.A. Files, #1)(13)



Across the room, the scribe blew his trumpet once again. “All hail King Sterling and Prince Savage of Illigoz!”

All within the tavern cheered. While King Sterling bowed to everyone in greeting, King Hofnar hooked an arm over the bar and hoisted himself up.

“Sterling?” he managed to say.

King Sterling glanced back at the sound of his voice. “Ah, it speaks. You see, Savage, my boy? It’s almost human, except for that bumpkin accent. Still haven’t found your way out of the dim ages yet, have you, Hofnar.”

“Begone with thee…”

“And miss this display? I think not.”

“Leave him alone—” Paul started, but Savage spun him around on his stool.

“Or what?” Savage asked. “My father could conquer your father any day of the week.”

“Your father…” Paul tried to unleash a terrifying barbarian glare on Savage, but his eyes just wouldn’t do it. “Your father is nothing like my father, Savage, and… and he wouldn’t be conquering anyone if Sir Whitethorne was still alive.”

“But Sir Whitethorne isn’t alive, is he,” said Savage.

King Sterling tapped his son’s shoulder and Savage stepped aside. “Paul, do you honestly think you can rescue a princess, what with your curse and all?” King Sterling asked. Disdain dripped from his words and formed puddles of contempt on the floor. “I should think you’d be terrified she might laugh at you. You know what happens when people laugh at you.”

King Hofnar growled, his rage trying to claw its way up through the layers of inebriation, but Paul just looked down. He always looked down.

“Stop deluding yourself,” King Sterling continued, nothing but cruelty in his voice. He gestured at the other princes around them. “You’re not one of us. Neither of you are. Spare yourself the humiliation — well, the additional humiliation. Drag this drunken relic home and leave the rescuing to Savage.”

King Hofnar finally managed to lift his eyes and glared at his smirking tormentors through thunderhead brows.

“Aye? Leavest the rescuing to Savage?” King Hofnar nodded. “Fine. Then let Savage rescue thee from this!”

With a crash of bar stools and a clatter of beer mugs, King Hofnar threw himself upon King Sterling while simultaneously throwing up on King Sterling.

A very messy brawl ensued.





Outside the tavern, gray drizzle puddled the ground.

The bouncer in shining armor kicked open the door and hurled King Hofnar face-first into the mud. Princes and kings crowded the doorway, jeering, with King Sterling and Prince Savage leading the assault.

“You’re no king!” called King Sterling. “Come back when you learn to be civilized — or at least sober!”

Paul pushed through the crowd and dropped to his knees in the mud beside his father.

“I’m here,” he said, but King Hofnar just pushed his son away. Battered and humiliated, the king forced himself to his feet and staggered alone into the gathering darkness.

Paul watched him go. He didn’t know what else to do.

The mocking laughter from the tavern echoed louder and louder, swirling around Paul like a pack of wolves gathering to feast. He could feel his face burning with shame, could feel hot prickles racing along his skin and his stomach churning into fiery knots. Squinting his eyes as tightly as he could, he tried to shut everything out—

SPLASH! Mud spattered his face. When he looked, he saw that Savage had thrown his father’s battered crown into a puddle beside him.

“Don’t bother getting up,” Savage said, crouching beside the muddy prince. “You’re right where you belong.”

Paul wanted to rise. He wanted to say something strong. He wanted to shove Savage away and show everyone how wrong they were about him, but he couldn’t. The Curse within him had grown powerful, feeding on all the humiliating jeers until it finally pounced atop Paul, crushing him beneath its overwhelming weight. And just to show how terribly serious it was, the Curse had even capitalized itself.

His heart raced.

Razors of sweat sliced down his scalp.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t even move.

Reality seemed to warp around him as the laughter solidified into a physical presence that battered him with unrelenting cruelty. He felt as if he were being sucked into a whirlpool of leering faces. Down, down, down he plunged. Far above him, Savage loomed like a giant nightmare, his laughter booming down with the concussive force of thunder.

Turning aside, trying to find any quarter that might give him comfort, Paul saw his father’s crown. He reached for it, but Savage kicked him over with a muddy boot. Paul’s face landed hard in a puddle.

“Come on!” Savage taunted. “Get up! Get up and smite me, Prince Charming! I challenge you, right here, right now!”

Paralyzed with shame, the humiliated prince couldn’t have gotten up even if he’d wanted to do so. He left his face lying in the puddle and closed his eyes.

All he wanted to do was vanish.

“You’re pathetic,” Savage spat. “Do us all a favor — go questing and get turned to stone or something.”

Stepping back, Savage kicked mud in Paul’s face one last time before returning to the warmth of the tavern.

Clutching his father’s sad little crown to his chest, Paul tried to draw warmth from the cold lump of metal. Unfortunately, all it did was hurt him.

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