The Gambling King.
I stared at the man across the table, trying to figure out if that title was supposed to be impressive or just sad. With a name like that, you'd expect someone in a fancy coat with gold rings on every finger, maybe a crown perched on his head like he was royalty of some forgotten kingdom.
Instead, I was looking at a man who looked like he'd spent more time chopping wood than touching cards, his calloused hands wrapped around a deck that was probably worth more than everything I was wearing.
"The Gambling King?" I kept my voice low, not wanting to sound like I was mocking him—at least, not yet. "That's actually a title people call him?"
Roran's eyes were still fixed on Drakus like the man might disappear if he blinked too hard. His earlier excitement had drained away completely, replaced by something that looked a lot like fear.
