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“Hydraulic-powered,” Lemoine scoffed.
The elevator jerked slightly when it came to a rest, and the doors slid open. Charlotte pushed her way out, eager to have a bit of space between her and Lemoine. She did not understand the steward’s hostile attitude toward her.
“The bridal suite,” Lemoine said, pushing open a heavy door.
With a creak that spoke of unoiled hinges, the door opened into a sitting room. A plush sofa and chair sat near an empty fireplace. A simple lamp glowed softly on the mantle. The walls were clad in dark wood. A stone ceiling loomed overhead, dark and cloaked in shadows. Various pieces—a writing desk, a small table, and a bookshelf—had been fitted into the space. It was rather cozy, all things considered. With a fire to chase away the chill, Charlotte could picture herself reading by firelight.
The next room held the bedroom. A fire crackled in the fireplace, casting a warm glow over the room. A dark green upholstered chair sat by the fire. Charlotte took in the standard furnishings or a wardrobe, a bureau, and a full-length mirror. An iron frame bed with a dark green quilt that matched the chair.
“You will find this suitable,” the steward said and pointed to a door. “You have your private washroom through there. We have hot water on demand.”
That sounded amazing.
“There is no window?” Charlotte asked. The room was dark, but she imagined ways to make it cozy with lamps and lap blankets. A window would be nice, though.
“Windows are a privilege,” the steward said, her tone implying that Charlotte was spoiled for wanting a window. How dare she.
“Thank you. This looks very comfortable,” Charlotte said, removing her coat.
Lemoine took the coat without prompting. She held the garment in her arms. “Where did you get this?”
“I picked it up in Sweetwater Point. I know it’s a man’s cut, but it’s wonderfully warm.”
“No, where did you get the Master’s greatcoat?” Lemoine demanded, taking a step forward. She held the coat out like it was a viper. “You did not pick it up. How did you get this?”
“A man gave it to me,” Charlotte answered, confused.
“Lies.”
Charlotte squared her shoulders and straightened her spectacles. “I am not a liar. A man, I did not learn his name, gave me his coat because I was cold and rather pathetic looking. I was too frozen to care about fashion or what others might think. I’m quite surprised you care.”
“I don’t care,” Lemoine growled. “This is Draven’s coat. Look. His crest.”
She shoved the coat in Charlotte’s face, pointing to an emblem stitched in black into the wool. A mountain peak surrounded by three stars.
Charlotte snatched the coat away and tossed it on the bed. “Don’t be ridiculous. If this was Draven’s coat, then I have no idea how the man came to have it. He didn’t tell me his life story. In fact, he was rather rude about the entire thing.” The man wasn’t the legendary vampire. He was pale, yes, but lacked fangs and…oh, whatever else vampires were supposed to do. Hang upside down from the rafters by their toes. Be sinister. Not a grouch annoyed at being compelled into an act of chivalry. She’d know if she were face to face with a vampire.
“Now I’d like to wash and have something hot to drink,” Charlotte said in her most refined, cut-glass voice.
Lemoine did not look impressed at Charlotte’s lady-of-the-manor act. “Don’t act like you’re any better than the others. You won’t last. They never do.”
“The others? What are you talking about?”
“The other brides.” Lemoine paused, a vicious grin spreading across her face. “Oh? You didn’t know? Every ten years or so, Draven takes a new bride. Poor things. They never last long.”
That was new information but not entirely unexpected. Draven tasked Luis and Miles, two strangers, to find him a bride in exchange for an empowered sword. Draven seemed like a man who valued quantity rather than quality. However, the number of his past brides alarmed her.
“What happened to them?” Charlotte asked.
“They didn’t follow the rules.” Lemoine did not elaborate, keeping her knowledge to herself. “You should wash and make yourself presentable. Do you need a demonstration on how to work the taps?”
“No, thank you, I am familiar with how plumbing works.”
“Well, one never knows with the new arrivals. Some are barely civilized.” She paused, looking as if she wanted to say more. Instead, she grabbed Charlotte’s chin and turned her head slowly for inspection. This close, Charlotte could smell anise and fennel on her breath.
“Wherever did the Marechal lad find you?” the woman asked. “You don’t look like you’re from a brothel. Too well fed. They like to keep their girls lean and hungry.”
Charlotte took a step back, out of the woman’s grip. “Madame, I am Charlotte Wodehouse, daughter of Professor Nathan Wodehouse.”
