She shifts beside me, the chains clinking softly. “Attracting quite the audience, aren’t we?”
“Pay them no mind,” I grind out. The urge to unleash my anger on these lecherous brutes is strong but unnecessary. Not unless they give me reason.
A serving girl passes by, balancing a tray of mugs. She casts a curious glance in our direction, her eyes darting to the chains before quickly looking away.
At last, the innkeeper reappears at the foot of the stairs. “Your room is ready, m’lord.”
“Finally,” I mutter and place a firm hand on her arm, the gesture more protective than forceful. I steer my reluctant companion through the sea of patrons already deep in their cups. All the while, I remain vigilant, eyes sharp for any hint of trouble.
Ascending the creaking steps, I can’t shake the nagging thought that bringing her here might have been a mistake. The risks are mounting, yet despite all logic, I cannot bring myself to regret it.
We reach the door to our room, and I pause for a moment, the key poised in the lock. Stealing a glance at her, I find her gaze already on me.
“You said you were going to free me, and now I’m supposed to go in a room alone with you.” She tilts her head. “Why did you bring me here?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I push open the door and motion for her to enter.
She steps inside without another word, and I follow, the door closing behind us with a soft click. The muffled sounds of the tavern fade as I lock the door and take a minute to ensure my requests have been met.
When I paid for the room and in a moment of weakness—or perhaps something else—I asked for items I thought a woman might appreciate: fresh fruits and cheeses, fragrant soaps scented with lavender, and softer, down-filled bedding. I blame the memory of my mother, who would surely haunt me from her grave if I did not act with the consideration she raised me to have.
The fire is lit in the large hearth to our left, flames licking over the logs and chasing away the chill in theroom. To the side, in front of a window draped with heavy velvet curtains, stands a table set for two. It’s laden with steaming bowls of hearty stew, a fresh loaf of crusty bread, clusters of green grapes, chunks of aged cheese, and a pitcher of honeyed ale with two polished steins.
In the corner nearest the door, a large copper tub awaits, steam rising from the hot water within. Beside it rests a basket brimming with various soaps and oils, their fragrances perfuming the air, and a small stand that holds neatly folded towels. Finally, to the right and opposite the hearth, a massive bed dominates the space. Its headboard is crafted from sturdy iron rods entwined with decorative scrollwork in a pattern of pentacles. Atop the thick goose-down mattress lies luxurious bedding that looks inviting after days on the road.
With everything in order, I begin to relax. The mingling scents of savory food and fragrant oils remind me of my empty belly, and the steam rising from the tub beckons my aching body and the comforts I’ve long neglected.
“There’s only one bed.”
Her voice pulls me from my thoughts. She’s frowning, her gaze sweeping over the room as though unhappy with the accommodations.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I say, “Where do you hail from?”
“Queens. Astoria, if you want to get technical,” she replies, meeting my gaze.
I have never heard of such a ruler, but even I am not arrogant enough to believe that Towerfall is all that exists. “What is the name of Queen Astoria’s kingdom?”
She blinks in surprise, then a hint of amusement tugsat the corners of her lips. “No, it’s not—” She pauses, shaking her head with a soft chuckle. “Never mind. It’s called New York.”
“And in your land ofNew York, how many beds does one typically use for sleep?”
She regards me with narrowed eyes, then arches a dubious brow. “Are you saying you’re going to let me use the bed?”
Matching her expression, I ask wryly, “Would you prefer the floor?”
“Not especially, no.”
“Then make use of the bed and stop your complaints. Here, hold still.” Retrieving the key to her cuffs once more, I step closer and unlock them.
The manacles fall away, and she rubs her wrists, wincing slightly as her fingers brush the pink, chafed skin. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll try to escape?”
I set the restraints on the bedside table, my gaze lingering on her for longer than necessary. An image flickers unbidden through my mind—her, naked and bound on the bed, completely at my mercy. Heat coils low in my abdomen, and I close my eyes briefly, drawing in a slow breath to force the deviant thoughts away before they cause my body to react.
“You ask a lot of questions, woman,” I say, my tone gruffer than intended.
She perches on one of the wooden chairs at the table, tucking one leg up to her chest and resting her heel on the seat’s edge. Casually, she plucks a grape from the bunch and pops it into her mouth, chewing slowly as she surveys the spread before her. Once again, she reminds me of a woodland nymph, resting on a branch, innocentand unguarded, oblivious to the predator watching her every move.
“Occupational hazard. Be glad I’m not on repeat asking you how everything makes you feel.”
