Chapter 1: A Knight's First Taste
The door of The Ember & Stein swung inward, admitting a gust of damp night air and two figures backlit by the moon. The usual tavern hum dipped for a second, a few heads turning. Knights from the castle weren’t uncommon here, but the one in the lead made an impression even before the door clicked shut behind him.
He was tall, broad in a way that spoke of armor worn more often than not, with golden hair that looked unfairly bright even in the tavern’s dim, smoky light.A scar cut a neat, pale line through his left brow. His companion was slighter, with glasses and a pinched expression, as if he’d rather be anywhere else.Taichi didn’t look up from the tankard he was polishing. He knew the type.Alpha, probably noble-born, definitely used to getting a certain kind of attention. The polish-cloth moved in firm, circular strokes over the wood.Let him wait.
The pair found stools at the far end of the bar, the big one moving with a liquid, confident grace that contradicted his size. His pale blue eyes swept the room once, assessing, dismissive, before landing on the only thing of interest: the omega behind the bar.
“What’s good here?” the knight asked.His voice was a low rumble, designed to cut through noise without effort.
Taichi finally lifted his gaze, meeting the alpha’s directly.Warm brown eyes held cool blue. “The mead’s mine. The ale’s from Henson’s farm, four miles east.Both are good. The company’s variable.” He snapped the cloth out and draped it over his shoulder. “What’ll it be?”
A slow smile spread across the alpha’s face.It was a good smile, annoyingly so. “Surprise me.”
Without another word, Taichi turned, grabbed a clean tankard from the overhead rack, and strode to the barrels at the back. He could feel the alpha’s eyes on him, tracing the line of his shoulders, the sure movement of his hands. He ignored it, the heat at the back of his neck purely from irritation.Probably.He drew the mead deep, letting the amber liquid foam and settle. He added the spices from the small, locked box under the counter—cinnamon, a sliver of orange peel, a drop of fire-pepper oil.His own blend.Omega’s Fire. He didn’t serve it to just anyone.
He thumped the tankard on the bar before the knight.The scent of spice and honey and a subtle, dangerous heat wafted upward. “Try that.”
The knight—Yamato, his friend had called him—raised the tankard, his eyes never leaving Taichi’s.He took a long drink.His throat worked. He lowered the tankard, set it down with a deliberate click, and let out a slow, controlled breath. His blue eyes had darkened, the pupils wide.
“Gods,” Yamato said, his voice a shade rougher.“That’s not a drink. That’s an event.”
“It’s mead.”
“It’s a declaration. What’s in it?”
“Trade secret.” Taichi leaned his hip against the back counter, crossing his arms. “Satisfied?”
“Intrigued.” Yamato took another, smaller sip, savoring it. “I’m Yamato.This is Koushiro. And you are?”
“Busy.” Taichi pushed off the counter, moving to take an order from a regular further down.
Koushiro, the scholar, sipped his plain ale and sighed. “He’s not interested, Yamato.Can we go? I have manuscripts to cross-reference.”
“He’s interested,” Yamato murmured, his eyes following Taichi as he pulled another pint, his movements efficient and graceful. The omega’s scent was a clean, stubborn counterpoint to the tavern’s richness: oak, malt, and underneath it all, the sharp, green scent of willow leaves. No submissive sweetness.No placating softness.It was bracing.It was fascinating.
Taichi felt the stare like a physical pressure. He returned, wiping a damp spot on the bar more aggressively than necessary.“Need something else?”
“Your name,” Yamato said, his smile returning. It was a charming smile, and he knew it.
“Taichi.”
“Well, Taichi.This is the best thing I’ve tasted in a year. You make it yourself?”
“I said it was mine, didn’t I?” Taichi shot back, meeting that intense blue gaze without flinching. He saw the knight’s nostrils flare, just a fraction, catching his defiant, omega scent.He saw the flicker of pure, alpha appreciation in response. It wasn’t a submissive gesture.It was a challenge. Taichi’s heart hammered once, hard, against his ribs.Yamato leaned forward, just a little, lowering his voice. “That sharp tongue of yours. I wonder what else it’s good for.”
The line was delivered with such easy, practiced charm that it should have been insulting. But the look in his eyes was entirely serious, utterly focused.It wasn’t a leer. It was an appraisal, and it acknowledged the fight in Taichi, respected it even.That was more dangerous than any crude advance.
Taichi felt a hot flush creep up his neck.Anger, he told himself.Definitely anger. He leaned forward too, until they were close enough for the alpha to see the gold flecks in his brown eyes.“Polishing tankards and cutting arrogant alphas down to size. Want a demonstration of both?”
Yamato’s low chuckle vibrated through the wood of the bar. “I’d love one.But I think I’ll start with another mead. And some of that stubborn silence you’re so fond of. I enjoy the view.”
Koushiro put his head in his hands.
Taichi held the stare for a three-count longer than was comfortable, then turned to refill the tankard.His hands were perfectly steady. He was proud of that. He couldn’t control the scent of his own irritation, spiked now with something else, something warmer and more volatile that mixed with the spices from the mead. He slid the fresh drink back to Yamato.
“That’ll be four coppers.”
Yamato fished the coins from a pouch, his fingers brushing Taichi’s palm as he deposited them. The touch was deliberate, warm, calloused.A knight’s hand. “Worth every penny.”
For the next hour, Yamato drank his mead slowly, watching Taichi work. He didn’t pester him again, but his attention was a constant, warm pressure in the room. He deflected questions from others, joked with Koushiro about things at the castle, but his focus always returned to the bar, to the omega who moved with such contained, furious energy.
Taichi was aware of every shift of the alpha’s body, every time he laughed, the low, rich sound of it cutting through the tavern noise.He found himself performing, just a little. Pouring with a higher arc, wiping the bar with a sharper snap of the cloth.He hated himself for it.
Finally, Yamato stood, stretching.The movement pulled his tunic taut across his shoulders. He dropped a final, heavier coin on the bar. “For the trouble,” he said, his voice soft.
“I don’t need your charity,” Taichi said automatically, pushing the silver mark back.Yamato’s hand closed over his, not to hurt, but to stop him. His skin was hot.“It’s not charity.It’s an investment. I’ll be back.” His thumb stroked once, lightly, over Taichi’s knuckle. “And I don’t just mean for the mead.”
Then he was gone, steering a protesting Koushiro out into the night. The door swung shut, leaving a sudden chill in the space he’d occupied.Taichi stood there, the silver coin cold in his clenched fist. The scent of the alpha—ozone, steel, and something clean like winter sky—still hung in the air, stubbornly mingling with the woodsmoke and spice. He looked down at his hand, at the tankard Yamato had used. He snatched it up to clean it, to erase the imprint.But he paused, the tankard halfway to the wash barrel. He brought it to his face, inhaled.Honey, spice, fire… and underneath, that persistent, alpha scent. It wasn’t a claim.It was a promise.A challenge he hadn’t asked for.
He slammed the tankard into the soapy water, the splash soaking his apron. He scrubbed it furiously, until his hands were red and the scent was gone.
Outside, under a canopy of stars, Yamato walked with a spring in his step he hadn’t felt in months.
“That,” Koushiro said, adjusting his glasses, “was a disaster. He wants nothing to do with you.”
“You’re wrong,” Yamato said, a slow smile spreading on his face. He could still taste the mead on his tongue, feel the shock of that defiant omega’s gaze.“He wants everything to do with me. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
Back inside, drying the last tankard, Taichi stared at the empty stool. The ache in his jaw told him he’d been clenching his teeth. The flutter low in his belly told him something else entirely.He cursed, tossing the cloth onto the bar.
The alpha would be back. And Taichi, against every instinct of self-preservation he possessed, found himself wondering what he’d say to him when he did.