7. Chapter Seven #2
I made excuses to wander past their rooms throughout the day, listening for even the faintest sign of movement.
Each time, I held my breath, straining to hear anything, but was met only with silence.
I cursed myself for being so unprofessional, basically stalking my guests like some infatuated fool.
Frustrated, I threw myself into my usual tasks —cleaning and cooking — to keep my mind occupied. The rhythm of sweeping the floors and the gentle flicker of the candles burning around the inn usually lulled me into submission, but today, the routine only heightened my restlessness.
I put a tray of baked chicken and fresh carrots in the oven and finally allowed myself a moment to sit down, sinking into the well-worn chair by the kitchen window.
Outside, the dreary weather mirrored the storm of my thoughts.
I absently toyed with the strands of my apron as I stared into the gray sky.
Until now, I’d never really thought about what I wanted for myself—or even if I wanted anything at all. I’d always imagined I’d run this inn until I was old and gray, just like Papa had planned. But was that his dream for me… or mine?
I’d never visited the castle- or seen the mountains to the west. I’d never ridden a horse, watched the sun dip below the horizon, or laughed until I cried. I’d never… loved. Made love.
The ache of it pressed against my chest like a weight.
There has to be more than this.
I sighed and rose to my feet, shaking off the thought. Dreams, big or small, wouldn’t change the reality of my life. I tied my apron tighter and returned to my chores, letting the familiar routine pull me back into its grasp.
For now, this was my world. And I’d accepted it.
The tavern had mostly quieted by evening. Only a few regulars lingered, nursing their drinks while the fire snapped low in the hearth. I wiped down the counter, half-lost in the rhythm, when a door creaked open. Then they entered together.
Three cloaked figures descended from the upstairs rooms—silent, purposeful, the weight of their presence pulling every gaze in the tavern.
Wide-brimmed hats and low hoods shadowed their faces, dimming whatever sharp light might have betrayed them.
They crossed to a small round table near the fire, their cloaks sliding from their shoulders and draping over the chairs.
Eldrake took the seat with his back to the wall, Felix beside him, Fen on the other side like a shadow anchoring them in place.
From across the room, they looked like the beginning of a story: a blade, a scholar, and a shadow.
My pulse quickened. My feet moved before my mind caught up, carrying me across the floor with a cloth in hand as if I had business there.
What am I doing? I was already halfway to their table, pretending to wipe down wood that didn’t need cleaning, when Felix looked up first, a smile already softening his face.
“Miss Evandra,” he said warmly, as though greeting an old friend he hadn’t seen in years. His tone carried just enough flourish to make it sound like he might kiss my hand if I offered it.
I offered a nod, suddenly aware of the sweat gathering at the back of my neck. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Ale? Something stronger?”
Eldrake didn’t speak. He watched me. Quiet. Still. His gaze didn’t burn—it settled like he was cataloging every part of me and hadn’t yet decided whether I was important or not. Gods, I could feel him staring. My skin buzzed like it knew something I didn’t.
Felix leaned back in his chair, curls catching the firelight, and lifted his brows with a charming lilt. “Ale would do nicely, darling. Something frothy enough to make me forget these two brood like it’s a profession.”
“I’ll bring a round,” I said, trying to sound professional, though my voice wavered more than I liked. When I returned with a tray of mugs, I set them down carefully—first for Felix, then Fen, then Eldrake. His fingers brushed mine as he took the handle, deliberate or not I couldn’t tell.
“Careful,” he murmured, voice low. “Wouldn’t want you spilling on me.” Heat prickled at my cheeks, but before I could fire back, his gaze flicked downward—just for a second, catching at the neckline of my dress. My stomach flipped. Gods.
I glanced away too quickly, only for my eyes to land on the line of his thighs beneath the table, the fabric of his trousers pulling taut as he shifted in his chair. We both snapped our gazes back up at the same time. His jaw tightened; I knew my face was crimson.
“Right,” I managed, forcing my voice steady. “I think I can manage a mug.” The faintest curve tugged at his mouth, as though he knew exactly what had just passed between us. Not quite a smile. Not quite mockery.
Felix cleared his throat and gestured to the empty chair beside him.
“Now that we’re settled, do be kind and sit with us.
Save me from staring at their long faces all evening.
” He pulled out the chair himself, eyes twinkling with mischief.
I hesitated. Fen’s eyes flicked up to me.
Sharp. Measuring. She didn’t say a word, but the message was clear: You don’t belong here.
“I suppose I could sit for a moment,” I said and took the seat. The moment I did, I realized how loud my heartbeat was.
“So, tell me,” Felix began once I’d sat, leaning in as if we were already conspirators, “how does a girl like you end up running a place like this?”
“A girl like me?” I raised an eyebrow. “What exactly does that mean?”
He shrugged. “I mean—you hardly strike me as the ‘tavern wench’ type.” He made air quotes with a flourish, the smirk tugging at his lips betraying the tease.
I laughed—genuinely this time. “We got the inn when I was a little girl. Papa’s getting older so I do what I can.” I said with a shrug. I could feel the glances from the regulars and townsfolk eyeing me and the mysterious strangers.
“Ah. Obligation.” His voice gentled for just a beat, then quirked back into mischief. “It suits you far too well. Though I’d wager you were destined for grander things than polishing mugs and roasting turnips.”
“Isn’t that why you’re all here?” I asked lightly. “An obligation ?” Fen’s jaw ticked. Eldrake’s gaze flicked to me again, unreadable.
“No,” Drake said simply. “Not… entirely.”
His voice was low. Not cold—just controlled. Every syllable felt like it had been weighed before it was spoken. I held by breath. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was how still he was. Like he could strike or vanish at any moment—and either would make perfect sense.
“What brings you to Winshire, then?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “We don’t get many visitors.”
Eldrake didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at me with that silver stare—his Star-glow, I realized again—and I felt the weight of it behind my ribs.
Felix stepped in. His Star-Glow was fainter. Subtle. Sort of like a swirling ocean, hidden behind his deep blue irises. “We’re passing through. Supply run. Maps and mules and mead, you know.”
I nodded but didn’t believe him. Not after what I’d overheard. I turned slightly toward Eldrake. “You don’t talk much, do you?” His lip twitched—almost a smile.
“Only when I have something worth saying.”
“And do you?”
His smile flickered, sharper this time. “Maybe. Depends if you’re worth saying it to.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. Gods. That was flirting. That was actual flirting. With me. My brain scrambled for words, for air, for anything . Eldrake just—he actually—was he flirting with me?!
Felix’s eyebrows lifted, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. Fen’s gaze cut sharp as a blade unsheathed. Eldrake’s faint smile faded as quickly as it had come, but his eyes lingered, steady and unrelenting. Being seen like that was unsettling—not for what I was doing, but for what I was.
Suddenly, the room felt too warm, the fire too close. I pushed back from the table. “Well. I should go check the roast.”
“Of course, darling. Wouldn’t want the kingdom’s finest cooking to char itself on our account.” I didn’t dare glance at Fen, but I could feel her stare following me, cold as steel, all the way back to the kitchen.
The kitchen was warm, but it didn’t calm me.
I moved on instinct—checking the roast, slicing bread, stoking the hearth—anything to distract myself from the burning behind my ribs.
My thoughts wouldn’t settle. Every word from that table replayed in my head, and Eldrake’s voice echoed louder than the rest. Steam rose from the kettle as I poured hot water into the mugs, the scent of spiced tea curling around me.
My hand trembled slightly, but just enough to betray me. The mug jerked, sloshing hot liquid across the front of my dress. I gasped, instinctively clutching the fabric just above my chest, where the tea had soaked straight through the thin linen.
Fuck, Gods, that’s hot. That’s—nope, that’s definitely my burning my tits.
I scrambled for a towel, patting at the fabric uselessly, the soaked linen clinging to my skin in all the wrong places. The yellow dress had already been a bold choice. Now, it was practically transparent, putting my whole bodice on display. Then, I heard footsteps approaching the kitchen.
Ugh, Papa always had shit timing.
I turned—too fast—still clutching the towel to my chest. I froze. It wasn’t papa.
Eldrake stood in the doorway, backlit by the faint fire of the hearth. He didn’t speak. His gaze flickered briefly over my full breasts, spilling over the top of my now transparent dress, warm and wet from where the tea had soaked through the fabric—just for a breath—but I felt it.
I am going to die. Right here. In this kitchen. Buried in a puddle of spiced tea and humiliation.
“I, uh—spilled on myself,” I said, with what I hoped was a casual laugh and not a wheeze. His eyes met mine again. Calm. Controlled. But the corners of his mouth twitched. Barely.
“I can see that. You alright?” he asked, voice low.
“I—yes. Perfect. Just… wet. Er, from the tea.” Fuck.