I pull the three of them into a tight huddle at the edge of the crowd.
"Here's how it goes. Rhayne fights first. One on one. We post enough on the bet to make it expensive—nobody's incentivized to kill her if they have to forfeit a year's income to do it."
Veric nods. Already calculating.
"Veric's second."
I look at his armor. The polished plate. The shield with its understated noble heraldry. The bearing, the cut, the way every part of him radiates 'prince.'
"This isn't going to work, Veric. You look like a noble, even hiding your name."
"And what do you expect me to do about that, Sands? A prince carries a prince's aura."
I sigh.
"Wait here. We need something."
I cross the street and slip into a narrow alley packed with small shops—tailors, leather workers, pawnbrokers, a few establishments selling things I'd rather not identify.
