Page 19 of Queen of War and Ruin

Zarek pulls his gelding to a stop, and they both sigh. He turns to me and tugs his hood back. Rain traces a path down his cheeks.

“Fuck it,” he says. “Let’s get a room for the night.”

My hands twist around the reins. I glance toward the gazebo, then back to Zarek. Maybe he doesn’t realize where we are. Maybe he doesn’t remember.

“You don’t think they’ll recognize us?” I ask in a low voice.

Zarek laughs, low and soft.

“Princess, the last time we were in this town, you were wearing a dress that cost more than any of these farmers make in a year,” he says.

I frown as I look down at the wet, muddy tunic and heavy wool pants I’m wearing now.

“No,” Zarek finishes. “They won’t recognize us. People mostly see what they want to see. Also,” he says, with a tired smile, “I really, really don’t want to sleep in the mud tonight.”

I smile before I can stop myself, and we approach the inn together. Mud splashes up my cloak when I dismount. I wrinkle my nose as I tie our horses to the hitching post. Zarek is right. I probably look less like a princess right now than I’ve ever looked in my entire life.

Still, I keep my head down when we enter the inn. It’s surprisingly crowded inside, like everyone in the entire town decided to pack into the common room. I follow Zarek as he threads his way through the crowded room, passing groups cheering and toasting and a few harried-looking women with trays and aprons. For a moment, I worry that he’s going to have to elbow someone out of the way to even approach the bar, but then a man leaves carrying a half dozen foam-topped mugs of ale, and Zarek shoves his way to the bar and flags down the short, rotund man serving drinks.

The barkeep actually laughs when Zarek asks if there are any rooms available.

“Not with the wedding tomorrow,” the man replies, half shouting to be heard over the crowd. “Every inn from here to the Tanic Pass is full tonight.”

My heart sinks. Rainwater trickles down my spine and pools in my boots. Zarek says something I can’t quite make out, then drops three coins on the bar. The man shakes his head.

“Keep your coin,” he says. “Gods, you and the missus look like a pair of drowned rats. I’d hate to have the mayor hear I turned his son’s wedding guests out in weather like this.”

He leans back, then purses his lips like he’s thinking hard.

“Tell you what,” he says. “You can stay in the barn, in the hayloft. I’ll send a girl to fix up a bed for you.”

“That’s much appreciated,” Zarek replies.

I open my mouth to ask about a bath but think better of it. The bath will just have to wait until we’re back at the old hunting camp with Elrick. The innkeeper brings us two steaming bowls of thick, rich stew, and we huddle together at the end of the bar as what feels like half the population of Vsenrog celebrates around us. The feeling is just coming back into my frozen fingers when a woman taps Zarek on the shoulder, then leads us through a narrow hallway and into a cramped barn.

I check on our horses as the woman shows Zarek the ladder to the loft. The stalls are a little small, but both horses have been brushed, thankfully. They’re chewing on oats in a way that makes me think they’re almost as happy as I am to be out of the rain.

The woman brushes past me, back to the throng of people waiting in the inn, and then we’re alone in the barn, surrounded by the scent of horses and the sound of rain pounding on the roof. A light flickers from the hayloft. I follow Zarek up the ladder. The roof is so low in the loft that he can barely stand.

“Well,” Zarek says as he pulls off his cloak, “at least we didn’t pay for it.”

I frown. It’s not the worst hayloft I’ve ever seen, but it’s a far cry from a room in an inn. Or, hells, even from a tent. The bed is a few blankets piled on top of hay bales. There’s a single small table with a lantern and a washbasin, and a pile of dry towels on a rough stool. Zarek hangs his cloak over the railing and grins at me.

“At least the roof doesn’t leak,” he says.

“It is better than sleeping in the mud,” I admit.

“And they didn’t recognize us,” he adds.

True. With the crowd in there, the king of Vsenrog himself probably could have walked in and hardly raised an eyebrow. I undo the clasps on my cloak and hang it over the railing, then start to peel my soaking shirt off my body.

And then I realize what I’m doing. I freeze, heat pulsing through my body.

I’m undressing in front of Zarek.

Gods, this shouldn’t bother me. He saw me practically naked on our wedding night. I don’t have anything under these soaking wet clothes that’s going to surprise him. Or interest him.

I glance up. Zarek turns away, like he’s reading my mind. He stares at the cobwebbed ceiling of the hayloft.