[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-saya-and-the-dragon":3,"chapter-saya-and-the-dragon-saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-168":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","Saya and the Dragon",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},1705155,2177,"Chapter 162: Three Silver and a Wall","saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-168",168,"\u003Cp>It’s hot. It’s loud. And this saffron wrap is a delicious lie.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>You know the one—that bright stolen-sunshine scarf I looped around myself like a half-hearted toga, one shoulder bare, the rest clinging to my hips by prayer and friction. One good tug and the whole thing will pool at my feet like a sunset that gave up. I left the fancy slippers in a ditch twenty steps out of camp (Dragon was right, damn him), so I’m barefoot again, anklets jingling, little bronze bells announcing every sway of my hips like I’m a one-woman parade of poor decisions.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I lean against the splintery tavern pillar like it owes me money. Scan the room. It smells like beer, sweat, and ambition. A good combo.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mission? Simple. Get someone to either:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Preferably all three. Depends on timing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The first guy’s a bust. Local merchant type. Greasy curls, sweaty palms, heart fluttering like a caged sparrow the second I brush his arm and purr something filthy in half-Seebulban. He twitches. Then mumbles something about hisfiancée. Bitch please. Iamthe fiancée now. Just not yours.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Next.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ohoho. Jackpot. A trio of guards slouched around a table like off-duty meat sculptures. Red sashes, bronze bracers, smug faces. They’re sipping cheap ale like it’s wine, laughing at some joke about spears and virginity. I slink over.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lap chosen: the one with the pretty lashes and zero interest in tits.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Oh, I know he’s gay. That’s thepoint.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hey there,” I purr, dropping myself into his lap like an overdue tax. “This seat taken?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He freezes. The other two look up, startled and already suspicious. I drape my arms around Pretty Lash’s shoulders, nuzzle the side of his neck, feel the tension crawl up his spine like a guilty priest.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You boys lookbored,” I coo. “Wanna see something scandalous?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before they can stop me — kiss. Full lips on Pretty’s mouth. Just long enough for the wetsmackto echo. His eyes go wide. His soul evacuates. I swear the guy hiccups in Morse code.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His two friends?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One knocks over his mug.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The other makes a sound like a stepped-on chicken.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>All three are confused, aroused, and mildly terrified.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Perfect.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I slide off his lap, wink, and jingle my way toward the bar, hips doing the talking. Ten heartbeats later, the prettiest one stammers over with a shaky coin pouch and buys me the biggest ale on tap.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He doesn't sit down. He just blushes and bolts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gods, I love this job.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>***\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The alley behind the tavern stinks of spilled ale, fish bones, and someone’s broken dreams — perfect ambiance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Rough cold stones bite into my back as I press him there, tucked between cracked barrels and a stack of crates that probably once held turnips. Or corpses. I don’t ask. Never ask.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His hands hover, not sure if he’s allowed to touch yet. How sweet.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I lean in, brushing my lips against the shell of his ear.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Three silver,” I whisper. “Buys you half an hour, spear boy.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He freezes. Swallows. Then nods like a priest at a funeral. I can feel the weight of the coins in his belt pouch. I canhearthem. Better than a love poem. Better than a serenade.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I nibble his earlobe — not gentle. Just enough to make him groan.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He smells like sweat and sandalwood, and something a little desperate. My favorite scent. He’s nervous. That makes it fun. They always start off like this — uptight, trembling, respectful. Then something snaps. Always does.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His hands find my hips. I guide them. No rush. Got twenty-seven minutes left and a solid wall behind me.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dress up. Belt off. Pin loosened. One shoulder bare.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He gasps when he sees the rune.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yes. That one. The one that says I am absolutelynotsomeone you bring home to mother.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And then we’re kissing like it’s a crime, and I’m the mastermind.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The stone is rough on my thighs. His bracer digs into my ribs. I don't care. This is steamy. This is sweaty. This issatisfying.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And by the end, it’slucrative.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He pants. I stretch. I take my time refastening the belt and smoothing down the wrinkled linen like some noble lady after tea. He tries to say something — probably tender. I hold out my hand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He pays. Wordless.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Good boy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I blow him a kiss, pat his cheek, and disappear into the shadows with three silver heavier and a smug little smirk on my lips.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Half an hour well spent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>***\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The morning sun pokes its nose where it doesn’t belong — straight into my eyelids.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I groan and burrow deeper under the blanket, dragging half of it over my head like a disgraced duchess fleeing a scandal. My thighs are sore. My shoulder pin is missing. My dress — yes, that shoulder-pinned treacherous thing — is rumpled, twisted around my hips, and clinging to yesterday’s sweat and sin.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I smell like ale, sex, and alley gravel.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A deep sigh rumbles beside me like a storm cloud with opinions.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Great. The lizard’s awake.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I peek out from under the blanket. The Dragon is stretched out like some ancient monument to judgmental disapproval. One lazy golden eye open. Tail flicking like a bored cat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He takes one look at me and scoffs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Charming,” he mutters, voice thick with contempt and sleep dust. “You look like you were rolled down a hill of elbows and bad decisions.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I yawn, stretch. Hair’s a rat’s nest. One anklet’s missing. Blanket smells like him, smoke and old scales. Kinda nice, actually.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I wasforaging,” I say sweetly, batting my lashes at him from beneath the cover.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He makes a sound like he’s choking on the concept.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Foraging,” he repeats. “Isthatwhat we’re calling it now?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I grin, slow and wicked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It’s acraft,darling. The only one I ever truly mastered. Some girls take up embroidery, others knitting…” I wiggle my fingers in the air. “I tangle souls and pockets in the dark.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He rolls his eyes so hard I worry they might get stuck in his skull.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Faux virgin by daylight… absolute depravity by night.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You say that like it’s abadthing,” I purr, crawling out from under the blanket and grabbing for the skin of water. “And for the record, Ididscout the village.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He arches a brow ridge, skeptical and somehow already exhausted with me.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Scout? Or sample?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Both,” I say cheerfully, taking a long swig. “I’m very efficient.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He groans and covers his face with a wing. “Just once, I’d like to meet a priestess who doesn’t smell like alley rut and fermented barley.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I plop down beside him, water still in hand, dress barely held up by willpower and friction.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Youmetme,” I say, smirking. “Count your blessings.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He mutters something about curses and moral decay.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I lean against his warm side anyway. He doesn’t shove me off.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Victory.\u003C\u002Fp>",1138,"2026-06-06T14:39:25.900Z",1,"novelbin.me","4a94b8528e1f97f9ad16ecf0d0bcc189f349a9eff680365a031f731027cbf6c2","saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-169","saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-167",228,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fsaya-and-the-dragon-cover.jpg"]