Sold to the coldhearted beast
I point out.
“Gambling is seldom a friend.” He mumbles.
I shrug. “At this moment, it may be the only friend I have. A coin?”
He takes a long breath, studies me, looks as though he might comment further, but finally reaches into a small pocket at the waist of his trousers, removing a silver coin, and offers it to me.
Taking it, I skim my thumb over the king’s profile etched into it, inhaling deeply, I toss it, and let it fall to the carpet. “Heads,” I say quietly. “I will stay.”
الفصول الرائجة