The Inn

The silence in the stable felt wrong. 

The Duke’s hands slowed as he brushed the horse’s flank.

“Your sister is safe.”

But he wouldn't look at her.

“You don’t know that,” Loren pressed. “You don’t actually know.”

“The escort was ordered to separate if we encountered trouble. My lLeutenant will have taken your sister somewhere secure.”

“That was your plan?” Loren stared at him in disbelief. “You were entrusted with escorting two princesses of Greenborne and within half a day I have been attacked, separated, nearly killed, soaked through by rain and deposited in a stable in the middle of nowhere.”

Loren threw up her hands in exasperation, immediately regretting it because her sleeves were wet.

“And that doesn’t even include what happened to my owl.”

“Your sister is safe with armed riders.”

“And I am with you,” Loren snapped. “Which so far has hardly been reassuring.”

The movement happened so quickly she barely registered it. One moment he stood beside the horse, the next he crossed the stable in two strides.

Her breath caught as his hands closed around her arms and drove her back against the stable wall hard enough to rattle the tack hanging beside her head. Alix braced one arm on the wall above her shoulder, dark wet hair falling across his face as he looked down at her.

“My duty, Princess,” he said quietly, “is to deliver you to the Windrider court, alive.”

The proximity hit her all at once. She could smell the warmth of him, the scent of rain and leather. She was aware of the hard line of his body only inches from hers, of the rough timber pressing against her back. Every instinct told her to push him away.

Instead, she found herself standing perfectly still watching a droplet of rain slide down a dark strand of hair and trace a path along the sharp line of his jaw. His eyes were fixed on hers with an intensity that made her pulse stumble. She couldn't decide whether she was angry, afraid, or suffering some sort of temporary madness.

Perhaps all three.

Standing this close, his breath mingling with her own, it became difficult to remember any of the clever insults she would normally throw about.

“And what a magnificent success that has been so far,” Loren managed, though it emerged slightly breathless.

He bent closer, his mouth near enough to brush her temple. 

“You think this is a game?” His voice dropped lower. “The ambush was planned, which means you were the target. The only reason you are standing here arguing with me now is because I got you out alive.”

A cold shiver slid down Loren’s spine that had nothing to do with her wet clothes.

“Are you saying someone tried to kill me?”

“I’m saying someone wanted to stop you reaching the court.”

The stable suddenly felt very small. Entirely too close. Loren ducked beneath his arm.

“You're still insufferable,” she informed him breathlessly.

“Good,” he said coolly. “Then perhaps you are finally beginning to understand me.”

Thunder cracked overhead, rattling the stable walls.

A stable boy appeared moments later, eager for a traveller’s coin. The Duke handed over the reins with quiet instructions before moving toward the doors, clearly expecting Loren to follow.

“The inn will have rooms,” he said over his shoulder. “We stay here until the storm passes.”

***

The inn was the largest building in the settlement, two stories of weathered timber with narrow windows and a door thick enough to stop arrows. Inside, the common room overflowed with travellers escaping the storm. The air smelled of wood smoke and something rich simmering in the kitchen.

Behind the counter stood a broad woman with the stoic expression of someone accustomed to difficult weather and difficult people alike. Her gaze swept over their soaked clothes.

“Best not be on the road after dark,” she said at once. “Not on a-hunting night like this.” Her eyes flicked briefly toward the shutters. “Storm’s brought half the steppe to my door. I’ve one room left. Single bed, but there’s a good fire.”

Loren opened her mouth to object.

The Duke was already reaching for his purse.

“We’ll take it.”

Of course they would.

At this point, Loren suspected the elven spirits of old had developed a personal grudge against her. Exhausted and soaked to the bone, she followed him up the narrow staircase without another word.

* * *

The room was small and firelit.

Loren stopped in the doorway, performing mathematical calculations in her head and arriving at an answer she thoroughly disliked.

One room.

One bed.

One chair.

One fire.

One Duke of Windrider.

The walls suddenly felt much too close.

“This is not acceptable,” she informed the room.

The Duke pushed past her as though he had slept in far worse places, which he probably had. He removed his sword belt and hung it by the door.

“It’s dry and it’s warm.” he said.

Rain lashed violently against the window behind him.

“I mean, this isn’t proper,” Loren clarified, drawing herself up tall despite the fact her hair was dripping onto the floor. “I cannot share a room with you. I am an unmarried woman betrothed to your cousin. People will talk.”

“People will assume we’re married.” He pulled off his gloves one finger at a time. “Given that you’re travelling under my protection, it seems a reasonable enough conclusion.”

“A reasonable conclusion?” Loren stared at him. “I am a lady of noble birth. You are...”

She stopped, searching for language to describe the problem standing in front of her.

“You are a man.”

One dark eyebrow lifted slightly.

“You can sit outside in the rain if you prefer,” he said. “But the next inn is miles off and I am not risking your life, or mine, by travelling at night for your sense of propriety.”

Loren pressed her lips together. She was a princess of Greenborne. She had been raised to endure discomfort with grace, hardship with dignity and humiliation without complaint.

Unfortunately, no one had prepared her for the Duke of Windrider.