The wine was good—too good. Roslyn had lost count after the third gss, but she was still functional. Alert enough. Just... warm. Rexed in a way she usually wasn't on a job.

  *This isn't a job. This is a party.*

  Addin's pace was excessive in the way only old money could be—golden fixtures, silk everywhere, fountains that served chilled wine instead of water. The party spilled across multiple terraces, nobles and merchants mingling under strings of enchanted lights that floated overhead like captive stars.

  Robin was somewhere in the gardens talking trade routes with a spice merchant. Little John was arm-wrestling a Minotaur for the entertainment of a growing crowd. Big Bad had disappeared an hour ago—probably finding a quiet corner to count their payment for the third time.

  Roslyn stood at the edge of the main terrace, watching the crowd and trying to decide if she should eat something to soak up the wine, when Jasmine appeared beside her.

  "You look like you're pnning an escape route," Jasmine said, amusement in her voice.

  "Force of habit." Roslyn gnced at her. Princess Jasmine was stunning in person—dark hair eborately styled, gold jewelry catching the light, a dress that probably cost more than The Hoods made in a month. "Your husband throws a good party."

  "He does." Jasmine leaned against the railing beside her, close enough that Roslyn caught her perfume—something floral and expensive. "Though I think he's showing off for you and your crew. He's very pleased to have his artifact back."

  "Happy to help."

  "Are you?" Jasmine turned to face her fully, and there was something direct in her gaze that made Roslyn refocus. "Happy, I mean. Doing what you do."

  Roslyn considered the question. The wine made her more honest than she'd normally be. "Yes. Most days."

  "Most days," Jasmine repeated, like she was tasting the words. "That's more than most people can say." She tilted her head, studying Roslyn with open curiosity. "How does a woman decide to become a mercenary? That's not exactly a common path."

  "No," Roslyn admitted. "It's not."

  "So how did it happen?"

  The wine had loosened something in Roslyn's chest. She found herself answering. "I was 12. Walking to my grandmother's cottage with a basket of food like I did every week. There was a wolf man on the path—travelers weren't unusual, but he was... different. Dangerous-looking. Big. Scarred."

  "Big Bad Wolf," Jasmine said, and Roslyn blinked in surprise. "Addin mentioned him. The one who pns your operations."

  "That's him." Roslyn smiled slightly at the memory. "He asked me where I was going. I told him. Then he asked me what I *really* wanted to do with my life."

  "That's a bold question for a stranger."

  "I thought he was insane." Roslyn ughed softly. "But then I realized I didn't have an answer. I was doing what I was supposed to do. Helping my mother, caring for my grandmother, waiting for some local boy to marry me so I could start having children and doing the same thing my mother did, and her mother before her." She met Jasmine's eyes. "And I realized I didn't want that. Not then. Maybe ter."

  "So you left."

  "I left." Roslyn felt the old thrill of that decision, the terror and freedom of it. "Big Bad took me to meet Robin Hood and his crew. They were pnning a job. They needed someone small and unassuming who could gather information. I did it. I was good at it. And I never went back."

  Jasmine was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful. Then she smiled—warm and genuine. "I like that story. I like that you chose."

  "You seem happy with your choices," Roslyn said, gesturing to the pace, the party, the life Jasmine had.

  "I am." Jasmine's smile turned pyful. "Though I have to admit, I'm curious what your life is like. Traveling. Fighting. Making your own decisions every day." She shifted closer, and Roslyn became acutely aware of how near she was. "Meeting interesting people."

  There was something in her tone that made Roslyn's pulse quicken.

  "It has its moments," Roslyn said, trying to sound casual.

  Jasmine's eyes dropped to Roslyn's mouth, then back up. "I imagine it does."

  *Oh.*

  Roslyn's brain caught up to what was happening. Jasmine wasn't just curious. She was *interested*.

  "I—" Roslyn started, but didn't know how to finish.

  "Have you ever been with a woman?" Jasmine asked, her voice lower now, intimate.

  "No." The word came out steadier than Roslyn felt. "I haven't been with anyone, actually."

  Jasmine's eyebrows rose, surprise flickering across her face. "Anyone?"

  "It's complicated."

  "It usually is." Jasmine reached out, fingers brushing along Roslyn's arm in a touch that was clearly deliberate. "Do you want to be?"

  Roslyn's heart was hammering now. She'd used her looks as a tool before—pyed roles, flirted for information, worn costumes that showed skin. But this was different. This was real. This was Jasmine looking at her like she was something desirable, not a means to an end.

  And Roslyn realized, with a shock of recognition, that she *did* want it.

  "I don't know," she said honestly. "I've never thought about—I mean, I've heard of women together, but I never—"

  "Thought it would be you?" Jasmine's smile was understanding. She moved closer, close enough that Roslyn could feel the heat of her. "You don't have to decide anything. But I'm here, and you're here, and I think you're beautiful."

  The compliment sent warmth through Roslyn's chest that had nothing to do with the wine.

  "I think you're beautiful too," Roslyn said, and meant it.

  Jasmine's hand came up to cup Roslyn's face, thumb brushing along her cheekbone. "Can I kiss you?"

  Roslyn's breath caught. Every instinct told her this was a bad idea—she was working, this was a client's wife, she needed to maintain professional boundaries, what would the crew think—

  But underneath all that was a deeper truth: she wanted this. Wanted to know what it felt like. Wanted to be *wanted* like this.

  "Yes," she whispered.

  Jasmine leaned in slowly, giving Roslyn time to change her mind. But Roslyn didn't move away. She stayed still, heart pounding, as Jasmine's lips got closer and closer—

  And then Jasmine's other hand slid down, fingers trailing along Roslyn's hip, then lower, beginning to slip beneath the waistband of her pants—

  "Jasmine!" Addin's voice carried across the terrace, cheerful and oblivious. "There you are! Come meet the ambassador from Agrabah's northern territories!"

  Jasmine froze, then pulled back with a soft ugh that sounded frustrated and amused in equal measure. "Duty calls," she murmured.

  Roslyn couldn't speak. Her entire body was buzzing, every nerve awake.

  Jasmine squeezed her hand once. "Find me ter, if you want to."

  Then she was gone, gliding across the terrace to where Addin stood with a elderly man in formal robes.

  Roslyn stayed at the railing, gripping it hard, trying to get her breathing under control.

  *What the hell just happened?*

  She touched her own face where Jasmine had touched her, her lips that had been so close to being kissed.

  She'd never felt like this before. Unsteady. Wanting. Confused in a way that felt dangerous.

  Across the terrace, she caught sight of Big Bad watching her from the shadows, his expression unreadable.

  *Shit.*

  Roslyn took a deep breath, smoothed down her clothes, and tried to pull herself together.

  Two days. They had two days before they needed to be at Rapunzel's shop.

  Suddenly, two days felt like both too much time and not nearly enough.