THEO Thorne tapped his middle finger on the table twice. The dealer flicked him a new card. Theo kept his chin up as he snuck a glance at it, slightly lifting it up.

A reserve card.

A good reserve card.

Fata Morgana was a game he was a master at. His luck was golden and his poker face was steely—the card table was always at his command.

He never lost a game.

Theo looked up from his cards.

The Jeweled Palace truly was a beautiful place.

With sprawling ceilings of glass and gorgeous multicolored stained-glass windows, the most dazzling and elegant gambling hall boasted its title loud and proud as the grandest in the West Nest of the Emporium.

It was meticulously designed and organized, each game diligently color coded.

The Trigger Finger tables in the far left corner flaunted a rich ruby red—ideal for a game that involved certain death in most situations—with croupiers dressed in matching red vests and burgundy shirts, their hair equally as red.

The Oblivion tables to the right were sapphire blue, the men and women manning the games in blue coats and shaved heads speckled with bright blue flecks.

Beautiful women in sparkly amethyst dresses and tightly braided purple hair watched over the Penumbra tables of violet with purple tinted eyes and shadowed lids.

The bar hugging the wall directly to Theo's right twinkled brightly with bottles and glasses of varying colors, a shelved rainbow of brilliance, barmen and waitresses in silver and gold pouring wine and spirits before gliding from table to table with glasses and goblets.

The Jeweled Palace lived up to its name: a spectacular glass kaleidoscope.

"Your turn, ser."

Theo turned his gaze back to the table, to the dealer ahead of him watching him carefully. Theo's eyes flicked to the third man at the table. His opponent.

Bo-Hal D'Farah. The owner of The Jeweled Palace.

Bo-Hal D'Farah was a charismatic guy, there was never any doubt about that. He was slick—slick like grease—a well-organized professional renowned for his pioneering of gambling hall management. He was charming, which one would assume was a given for a guy as irritably attractive as he was. It was just unfortunate that his attitude and demeanor was nothing short of rotten. He was nasty, conniving and nothing short of cruel, all he hid masterfully behind a false, untrustworthy smile and cutting charm.

Theo noted the way the croupier before him shuffled his weight in his seat.

He knew the young man dressed smartly in an emerald vest and slicked back dark green hair was trying to communicate Theo's cards to his opponent—it was the job of all croupiers to keep all the gold on the tables in house, and what better way to do that than make every player lose.

But Theo was no fool. He knew about such tactics. He developed a few of the now popular ways of cheating himself. Theo could see it as plain as day as the croupier telegraphed all his moves crystal clearly. And Theo was not easily deceived.

"Thinking thoughts of defeat, runt?"

Theo's attention whipped back to D'Farah as he slouched back into his chair.

"Your expressions need work," the balding dog remarked. "I can see your cards written all over your pitiful face."

Theo simply smiled. "Or perhaps my fooling of you is working." He shrugged. "But that's something we'll see at the end of the hand."

D'Farah sat up again and his chair groaned in despair of its pained wood trying to hold up such weight.

"Tell me," he began, "what is your interest in gaining shares in my Jeweled Palace? You are no businessman, nor are you any kind of investor—"

"What makes you say any of that?" Theo interrupted. "You don't know me. What you have heard about me is street talk, talk that is subjective in truth."

"A Syndicate gutter rat with a reputation of filth and treachery?" D'Farah looked Theo up and down. "You have little to show me that such talk is incorrect."

"Sounds to me that you're just a gullible fool who believes the words of drunks," Theo commented with a sigh.

"Careful."

Theo folded his bottom lip out and leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table. "Fair enough. Perhaps a thing or two said on the streets are true, but who am I to stand in the way of a good story."

D'Farah inclined his head. "Why do you want shares in my gambling hall?"

Theo gestured around the gorgeous kaleidoscope they sat in. "Who wouldn't want a slice of the best pie in the Emporium, Bo?"

"Do not call me Bo."

"Listen, Bo." Theo kicked a leg over to rest on the other. "I'm just as entitled in gaining a share in your gambling house as the king himself. Emporium rules, which I'm sure you're very familiar with. I'm just gaining them in an unorthodox manner."

"Yes, a manner I am not a fan of."

"But one that is accepted in any gambling house in Vallabrada."

"You must win this game first," growled D'Farah, "if we are to even begin to speak of share paperwork."

"Yes, in due time, Bo."

"Do not call me Bo."

A muted chuckle snuck out of Theo's nostrils. Bo-Hal D'Farah was an easy plaything to toy with.

Theo lifted his cards up slightly.

The mage, the general and the prince.

A decent hand.

His gaze drifted to the cards on the table before him.

The king and the queen.

Theo reined in his smile, keeping his lips a neutral line.

He had a winning hand. An easy full sweep.

He watched the dealer in front of him. He looked nervous, worried about his fate if his boss were to lose the game.

Theo began to observe D'Farah, looking for the slightest crack in his façade. D'Farah's beady dark brown eyes flicked from Theo to the croupier to the cards on the table back to his own hand.

He had an inferior hand. That had to be it. Theo could see it.

"Reveal your cards, Ser Thorne," the croupier said in a mousy tone.

Theo didn't blink as he studied D'Farah closely. He felt his brows slowly begin to knit together and lower as his eyes squinted.

D'Farah scratched his beard with a grin. "Such hesitation."

A waitress in a short silver dress breezed over to the table next to D'Farah and leaned over with a platter of goblets, the dress barely keeping her breasts in, her silver braid spilling over her shoulder.

"What's the matter, runt?" the gambling hall owner prodded, going to reach for the waitress's chest but was a second too late as she glided away.

"Not a thing," replied Theo in a cold neutral tone.

Theo laid his cards on the table, spreading them with the side of a lazy thumb.

"Full sweep," the croupier announced as he raised the king and queen up with the mage and prince while lowering the general.

A bellowing laugh ripped out of D'Farah's lips. "Better luck next time."

The greasy man revealed his hand.

The unicorn, the elf and the demon.

A far better hand.

A superior hand.

A clean sweep, in fact.

Theo schooled his features into neutrality as he thought about a single word to best describe his current situation.

Fuck.

"Clean sweep," the croupier called enthusiastically as he removed the general and the prince to raise the elf and the unicorn, the demon taking the lower card's place.

D'Farah leaned forward, his chair groaning in protest again, and began counting the hundreds of chips worth thousands in gold, the croupier beginning to tie them all up in a green silk satchel with an emerald cord.

"It appears you'll be walking away empty handed," the fat man boasted. "Such a shame."

"Hold on."

The croupier stopped wrapping up the chips. D'Farah looked up with a haughty exhale through large hairy nostrils.

Theo pointed to a card facing down on the table to his right. "I still have my reserve card."

Strategy was important in any gambling game, anyone worth his weight in gold knew that. And any master at Fata Morgana knew playing the reserve card early was foolish. It was a reserve for a reason—a get out of jail free card.

Bo-Hal D'Farah was that fool.

Theo flicked his reserve card across the table, and it landed before the croupier who lifted the card. His expression betrayed him.

"What is it?" D'Farah snarled.

The croupier swallowed. "The dragon."

Blue eyes rolled over to Theo, those irises of ice turning hot with silent rage on his reddening face, his fits balling and his knuckles bleaching white.

"Dragon takes all," the dealer said defeatedly as he placed the dragon above all the cards on the table. "Fata Morgana."

Theo smirked. "Looks like I'll be getting a share in this glorious place after all."

He gestured to the man in the green vest before them with a raise of his head. "You need to hire better dealers to fix these games properly. Perhaps that's why the Syndicate controls all the gambling houses in the Emporium. Well, except yours, of course. So proper experienced cheaters can fix these games well."

Theo pointed to the chips on the table. "I think I'll have half of my shares in chips, please. I'm always in need of a bit of coin. The rest in the hall, though."

He flicked his hand at the still shocked croupier. "Please, do continue wrapping those up."

D'Farah said nothing, not a single word, as Theo stood and snatched the satchel of hundreds of chips, tossing it in the air and catching it. He had thousands in gold in his palm. Such an easy victory.

"Send the share papers to The Raven Prince if you would, Bo," Theo sang.

He winked at the gambling hall owner who looked on the edge of exploding. "Better luck next time."

Theo plucked the emerald satchel from the table before sauntering away.

"Oh!" Theo spun back around on his heel. "Right. Don't call you Bo." He tapped his temple cheekily. "I'll keep that in mind."

He turned and walked out of The Jeweled Palace onto the streets of the West Nest, tossing and catching his winnings in merry victory.