Chapter Ten #2
The wolf approaches, wiping his paws on a cloth. Up close, I notice a scar over one eye and a small brass badge pinned to his apron that reads:
THE BBW
Reformed Predator. Certified Manager.
“You run this place?” Nash asks.
The wolf lifts his chin as he pulls a parchment and quill from his apron. “Name’s Bronn. As you know, I used to huff, puff, and commit acts of structural terrorism. Now I run a respectable establishment and attend anger management on Tuesdays.”
“That’s admirable,” I say.
He beams. “Thank you. Therapy saved my life and several grandmothers. Turns out wolves have issues with older ladies that date back to a coven that delighted in wolf stew.”
I gasp. “That’s horrific.” He nods as I brush my fingers over the soft fur on his wrist. “No one should have their ancestors boiled for sustenance. I apologize on behalf of witches and grandmothers everywhere.”
Bronn’s eyes narrow. “You’re a grandmother?”
“Well, no.”
Hart gestures at the room. “Busy place for the middle of the Forbidden Forest.”
Bronn shrugs. “Forest folk need somewhere to drink too. Also, curses lift easier after two ales and a hot meal.”
“I like his philosophy,” Malachi says.
“Everything is better on a full stomach,” I agree.
Bronn turns to me. “So, what’ll it be?”
“Sausage,” I say without hesitation.
“And two rooms,” Hart adds.
Why two? Oh, I see. Who will I get to share with this evening?
He nods in approval. “I’ll sort those for you. Good choice with the food. We make a very honest sausage here. No mystery meat. All veggies and seasoning—mostly.”
I try to keep my disappointment from my face when he describes how they’ve butchered perfectly good sausages because of a long-standing issue between wolves and the elderly female populace.
It’s still sausage. I think.
“Mostly?” Nash repeats.
Bronn’s ears twitch. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered, shadow boy.” One dark predator recognizing another. Nash grins, but it’s not a pleasant expression. It’s a warning to Bronn that he might have the biggest paws in the room, but he’s not the scariest creature. I shiver.
Bronn scribbles something on a scrap of paper. “Four sausages. Bread. Stew. And one extra plate because if I remember correctly, you’re the kind of group that shares poorly.”
“Accurate,” Hart says.
The wolf lumbers back to the kitchen, and the noise in the tavern slowly returns.
I lean forward. “I like him.”
“He once ate an entire wedding party,” a goat at the next table says.
I blink, torn between being shocked by a talking goat or the fated wedding party goers. “Recently?”
“No, no. It was after the big granny breakup before he started therapy. He only eats jerks now. Very selective.”
“Well, that seems fair.”
“Neat, too,” the goat declares.
“How does one eat a wedding party neatly?” Malachi wonders.
It says something about us that this is our question, not the actual eating, just the premise. We’re either revolutionary or doomed.
“Cleans his plate with nary a bone nor a tooth left as evidence. All that remained were gowns and breeches.”
“That is clean,” I agree.
The goat waves at the mismatched curtains hanging over the windows. “He repurposed them. See? Neat.”
I blink at the material. “I guess it’s environmentally friendly.”
A few tempos later, a large hare in a red and white checkered apron delivers the stew. I poke at the odd-shaped pole punctuated with orange and yellow bits all floating in mysterious gravy.
“It tastes better than it looks,” the friendly goat says. “Go on, try it.”
My stomach rumbles, and I decide anything to help with the emptiness is worth a shot.
I stab the sausage with my fork and take a hefty bite.
I’m committed now, no need for dainty theatrics.
I chew as the knights and the goat wait for my verdict.
The texture is odd, not what you’d expect from a sausage.
But somehow, someway... the mystery. “It’s superb once you get past the surprising chunks. ”
“Never found anything good which contains surprising chunks,” Malachi says with a frown.
I raise a brow and take another bite. “You too capon to put a chunky mystery sausage in your mouth?”
“She’s right,” Nash agrees before trying his.
Hart sneers at his bowl, then commits to it with the same determination he delivers on my body. Goosebumps scatter across my arms.
After we eat—and I do mean eat—Bronn returns, scratching behind one ear. “So, there’s bad news.”
Hart stiffens. “What kind of bad news?”
Hopefully, he’s not fallen off the wagon and eaten a patron. I have no energy for an intervention.
“The forest’s crowded tonight. Sleeping Beauty’s curse drifted again, and half the travelers in the region fell asleep on the road and had to be hauled in. I’ve only got one room left.”
Malachi raises a brow. “One?”
Bronn nods. “A big one. Clean sheets. Only a little enchanted.”
I perk up. “Enchanted how?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes it snores.”
“That seems manageable.”
Hart clears his throat. “We’ll take it.”
Nash’s arm slides around my waist. “We’ll manage.”
Malachi smirks. “We always do.”
Bronn eyes the four of us. “Right. I’m not asking questions. Try not to break the bed. It’s on its third life already.”
“No promises,” Malachi says.
He sighs like a wolf who has seen too much. “Follow me.”
We trundle after him. I halt on the lower portion of the stairs, gazing with captivation at the faces emerging in the wood of each step Bronn takes.
“Watch it, Wolfie,” one squeaks.
“Get a bath,” another groans.
“Is that a wart?” a grumpy one snaps. “You need to get that checked. I don’t want to catch it.”
“Ignore them,” Bronn advises as the final one blows a raspberry.
I smile as Hart goes next and delight in their cute reactions to my knight.
“Ooh, a maiden,” the first one whispers. “Not seen one of those this annus.”
“Who is your beau?” the next one wonders.
“You’re looking at them,” I answer.
There’s a collective shocked gasp followed by silence. Wow, I shocked the opinionated wood speechless.
“Greedy,” the final one says, breaking the judgy atmosphere.
I shrug as I follow Hart and Bronn down a hallway past the doors. “I care little for your opinion when I’m not hurting anyone.”
The knocker, shaped like a lion’s head, stretches out from the wood to twist its head and take in our group. “I think it’s you who might get hurt. That’s a lot of knights to accommodate.”
My lips twitch. “I’m missing one, and I can accommodate them fine, but thank you for your concern.”
Bronn throws open the door and shows us inside. The room is small but warm, lit by a single lantern. The bed dominates the space, piled high with quilts and furs. It’s very much a one-bed situation.
“You have your own bathroom with a deep tub,” Bronn says, pointing to a curtain against the wall. “If you have any questions, Greta is your granny on service tonight. See you all at breakfast.” He pushes past my knights and disappears down the talking stairs.
My knights fill the doorway behind me like a wall of muscle and bad decisions. I turn and tuck my hands behind my back and purse my lips. “Well, this is awkward.”
“Is it?” Nash murmurs.
Malachi leans against the doorframe. “Feels familiar.”
Hart shuts the door behind us with a soft click. “What did you declare, Calamity? That you could accommodate us just fine?”
My pulse stutters. “Theoretically.”
Nash pulls his shirt over his head, revealing an expanse of smooth, toned muscle that makes me eager to trace each ridge with my fingers and my tongue.
One bed.
A cocky maiden.
Three knights.
Challenge accepted.