By the time we reach the inn, darkness has settled. I brace myself for another night of zero privacy, resigned to the disappointment of only being able to remove my outermost layers to dry overnight. But as we enter the room, I stop short. A privacy screen now stands between the copper tub and the rest of the space.
Surprise flickers through me. I glance at Ronan, who avoids my gaze and busies himself with removing his cloak. I don’t know if he requested it or if the innkeeper is psychic, but I want to weep with relief.
Without a word, I grab a towel and slip behind the screen. Steam rises from the tub, and the scent of lavender wafts up when I ease myself into the water. A sigh escapes my lips as the heat soothes my aching muscles. I sink lower until the water laps at my chin. I wish I could dissolve into it entirely. Instead, I stay submerged until the water cools and my fingers wrinkle like prunes.
Emerging refreshed, I dress in a clean chemise and settle at the small table. Dinner waits for me—a simple stew and a hunk of crusty bread. I eat in silence, washing it down with a mug of honeyed ale. Ronan moves around the room quietly, the unspoken agreement to avoid conversation hanging between us.
The thought of sharing the bed with him—even ifwe kept to opposite sides—feels like more than I can handle tonight. I need space to sort through the jumble of thoughts and emotions swirling in my head. Sleeping on the floor isn’t exactly comfortable, but it offers a buffer, a way to maintain some semblance of control.
I make a makeshift bed on the floor with a pillow and blanket, deliberately placing it as far from his side as possible. The wooden planks are hard beneath me, but exhaustion dulls the discomfort and quickly pulls me into a dreamless sleep.
Day two dawns with a pale-yellow glow seeping in through the curtains. After we dress and have a quick breakfast, we arrive at the cottage.
Ronan dismounts from Sabre, speaking to me for the first time since yesterday when we were at Sally’s. “Remember, the collar will harm you if you attempt to leave.”
Keeping my back to Sally, I offer him a saccharine smile. “Yes, my lord,” I say sweetly and flip him the bird. His eyes narrow ever so slightly before a smirk tugs at his lips. And then the bastardwinksat me. Without another word, he mounts Sabre and rides off, the horse’s hooves kicking up dust as they disappear down the path.
“Let’s begin,” Sally says, drawing my attention back to the day’s torture.
The morning passes in a blur of balancing acts and repeated failures. By midday, I have a breakthrough and a handful of shaky successes under my belt. Trays remain upright, cups stay unspilled, and I start to feel a glimmer of hope.
When Ronan returns in the afternoon, Sally leaves to run errands, but even I know she needs a break. Ronanstands across the room as I practice, and I can’t help but glance his way, seeking some kind of acknowledgment. He simply watches me intently while I execute the serving motion, his expression unreadable.
“Not bad,” he remarks flatly.
I want to smack him. “Not bad?” I echo, frustration seeping into my voice.
“You’ve improved.” He raises a dark brow. “A bit.”
“You could at least pretend to be impressed.”
He leans casually against the doorframe. “Would you prefer empty praise?”
“I’d prefer a little basic human decency.”
A faint smile plays on his lips. “I wasn’t aware you held me in such regard.”
I scowl. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
The rest of the afternoon devolves into a battle of barbed comments and thinly veiled insults. He counters each of my jabs with infuriating calm, which only fuels my irritation. By the time we return to the inn, I’m seething.
Stepping into our room, I notice another new addition—a bedroll laid out neatly where I’d slept on the floor the night before. It’s thicker than the blanket I’d used, a plush pillow resting at one end. Again, Ronan doesn’t offer an explanation, and I don’t ask. Exhaustion wins over curiosity.
As I settle onto the bedroll, Ronan’s distinct scent—a mix of leather, steel, and sunlight—envelops me. I breathe it into the bottom of my lungs, a surprising comfort washing over me. My muscles relax into the padding, and sleep claims me almost instantly.
Days three and four blur together in a haze of relentless training and simmering tension. Each morning,Ronan drops me off at the cottage before disappearing on whatever mysterious errands occupy his time. Sally pushes me harder, introducing new tasks as soon as I perfect the one before.
My movements become more fluid, muscle memory taking over as my body adapts. Balancing the tray feels almost natural now, and I navigate the mock ballroom without incident.
Sally departs each afternoon as Ronan returns to observe from a distance. His occasional unsolicited advice and reminders of the stakes looming over us are met with thinly veiled hostility, a lot of cursing, and plenty of telling him to go to hell.
On the fifth and final day, everything clicks into place. I perform each task flawlessly and with the grace and poise expected of a seasoned pawn, my body finally used to the movements.
Sally watches me effortlessly balance the tray as I glide across the room. “Well done, Elara. You’ve exceeded my expectations.”
A swell of pride warms me. “Thank you,” I say, genuinely grateful.
Ronan steps forward, arms crossed over his chest. “Impressive.”
