Page 84 of Fate's Wicked Oath

“Since when do you know how to pick locks?”

“Notorious thief, remember? Besides, it’s not hard.”

He moved his hand over the lock, blocking my efforts. “Do you truly wish to escape my presencethisbadly?”

I stared up at him from where I knelt, seeing a shadow of real hurt flicker across his features. “I thought you would welcome the respite from the bane ofmycompany.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm.”

Faren rubbed the scruff on his chin, looking like he might correct me.

From my angle on the ground, with him looming over me, it was impossible not to notice his height and brawn. But he did not hold himself with an air of intimidation, as many well-built knights did; the relaxed slant of his shoulders and the considerate tilt of his head were unassuming. To possess strength, power, and confidence and still move gently through the world was a rare thing, and as I knelt on the floor trying to pick a lock like the petty thief I was, I felt entirely unworthy of his goodness.

And yet I wanted to steal it for myself.

Icould notstay in the same room as him tonight.

“How about this,” Faren said at last. “You get settled. I’ll make myself scarce. We don’t have to share space except to sleep.”

I sat back on my heels, relenting. “Fine.”

He offered his hand. With a spark of greed, I took it. He pulled me to a stand with ease, and when his hand released mine, our callouses scraped. He handed me our room key, then pickedup my pack from where I’d dropped it and slung it over his shoulder.

“Lead the way,” he said.

“Don’t trust me not to try another door?”

His chuckle was velvety. “I really don’t.”

I smirked as I brushed past him, leading us to the door with an apple painted on its front. It opened with a click of the key in the lock, and I stepped through.

The room was small, but well-kept. A four-poster bed took up most of the space, positioned opposite a small fireplace. There was a desk with a carafe of water and a bottle of wine. A single sitting chair. A large wooden bathing tub. Thick curtains were drawn open, letting in the cobalt hue of evening.

Faren dumped our bags by the door. “Want me to send for water?” he asked, noticing the tub.

I thought of wet, soapy skin. His hands. The room felt tiny with him standing there, taking up so much space with his chivalrous presence. We’d been alone on the road for weeks now—why did this feel different?

“Are you saying I smell?” I asked, lifting an arm, desperate for a joke to distract me from the yearning that pulled through my chest.

But Faren came nearer, voice dropping. “I’m saying you should relax.”

His tenor had the opposite effect. “Fine. Send for water.”

We were standing close, only a foot of distance between us. His gaze was soft, roving delicately over my face as if he were searching for something. After all I’d said and done to him—all the ways I’d insulted him, threatened him, pushed him away—I didn’t deserve his unshakable warmth. And yet he offered it freely, without expectation, without reciprocity, persistent in his good-naturedness, no matter how transactional the rest of the world insisted on being.

Faren was, without question, the most noble man I’d ever met.

His throat worked, as if he were about to say more—but ultimately, he simply nodded, turned, and left the room.

When the door clicked shut, I let out a shaky exhale.

Idris delivered my water, which might’ve been awkward, if he weren’t as taciturn as I was, more comfortable with silence than small talk. He made quick work of it, pouring buckets into the tub until it was full and steaming. He even added vanilla-scented salts, for which I did not tease him, because they were a nice touch and smelled divine. I offered him a nod in thanks, and he gave me a nod in acknowledgement and then the door closed again, and I was alone.

I went to the tub, testing the temperature with a finger. The water was just shy of scalding and already filling the air with humidity. With the fire crackling in the hearth, the room was becoming stuffy. I cracked the window, but closed the curtains, letting in the gentle waft of the outdoors. Voices drifted up from down below—ones I recognized and ones I didn’t—discussing logistics for tomorrow’s festivities. Faren’s voice was among them, eager to help: “It’s the least I can do to thank you for your hospitality,” he said, and was met with grateful delegation.

I undressed slowly, peeling off my layers one by one. My skin felt raw underneath the wool and leather and linen, exhausted from a full day of Simon’s juddering trot and achy from the damp and persistent cold. When I was bare, my magic seemed to stretch, relishing the freedom.