Chapter 52 #2
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” Rhys dropped a curtsy and then rushed out into the bustling square.
“That was almost too easy.” Almost as if fate had intervened. But, given how much I’d annoyed the lady in white, I doubted fate was doing us any favors.
“You’re too cynical,” said Remy. But there was no real censure in his voice.
“Not cynical. Pragmatic.” Nothing had been easy since the moment Wolgen Smit had darkened Grandmother’s door. Why would that change now? Unless fate really was meddling. I scrunched my face.
“What’s wrong?” Remy demanded.
“Nothing.” I’d seen fate’s plans for me, and I remained certain that she’d chosen the wrong woman.
With a flourish, the innkeeper deposited a bottle of milk and a pitcher of ale on the table. “We warmed the milk.”
“Thank you.” I claimed the bottle and slid the glass nipple into Grace’s rosebud mouth.
She sucked hungrily.
“My pleasure, miss.” The innkeeper filled two mugs with ale and waited anxiously for Remy to taste his drink. Even without lifting a glass, I could smell hops and honey and sunshine.
“Excellent ale,” Remy declared after a small sip.
Smiles wreathed the innkeeper’s broad face. “Thank you, sir. Will you be eating dinner? We’re serving rib roast and potatoes tonight.”
My stomach growled.
“Haven has spoken.” Remy’s eyes twinkled at me. “Dinner for three. But we’ll wait for our traveling companion. Do you have rooms available?”
“Yes, sir.” The innkeeper bounced on his toes, and I wondered how soon after our departure a sign declaring “Prince Remy Slept Here” would appear. Not that I begrudged the innkeeper more business. The man had a kind face and seemed to treat women with respect.
“We’ll need three.”
The innkeeper’s face clouded.
“You don’t have three rooms?”
“Two, sir.” He sounded ready to cry.
Remy waved away his concern. “No matter. Zane and I will share.”
The innkeeper gulped. “General Stark as well? I can move someone, sir …”
“Absolutely not. We don’t mind sharing.” Remy frowned as if he’d just spotted a problem. “What’s your name?”
The innkeeper tugged at his collar. “I apologize, sir. I should have introduced myself straightaway. My name is William. William Connell. And this is my inn.”
“Well, William, two rooms will do nicely.”
William gave an unhappy nod and left us to our ale.
The silence between us stretched comfortably. I fed Grace, and Remy seemed content to sip his drink and watch.
I looked up and found him watching me. Me. Not Grace. “You seem to have mellowed.”
He put his mug on the table. “I changed my mind.”
“About?”
“You. You surprised me.” His expression clouded. “Most women are more interested in the crown than the man.”
“You assumed I was like them.” I wasn’t. Neither title nor man interested me. That was only half a lie.
“I made a mistake. You’re smart and … strong.” He was trying. I wouldn’t hold his patronizing comment against him. Much.
“So are you.”
He chuffed a laugh. “I’ve had to be.”
A sarcastic retort formed on my lips. He was a prince. He’d never known hunger or poverty or—no, that wasn’t fair. I had no idea what expectations had been placed upon him. Perhaps he’d bowed beneath their weight. Maybe he’d known hardships. I swallowed my sarcasm and said, “Me too.”
“Grimswood?”
“It’s a neighborhood in Altos. Beset by crime and poverty. Plus, it’s Legacia, and I’m a woman.”
“I noticed.” His eyes were warm.
I pretended I couldn’t feel the sudden heat in my cheeks. “This”—I waved a hand at the full taproom—“would never happen in Legacia. Respectable women aren’t allowed to mix like this.” The only women in bars were serving wenches and sex workers.
“So I’ve heard.” He picked up his mug. “You’ll find things much different in Rymar.”
Before I had a chance to reply, Rhys burst back into the busy bar. Two bewildered people trailed behind her. “We’re here! I brought them. This is my son, Clive, and his wife, Mary.”
Remy took long seconds to study the newcomers before offering a brief nod and a tight smile.
I stared too. We couldn’t trust Grace’s care to just anyone.
The couple in front of us was past the first bloom of youth.
Perhaps in their mid-thirties. Like his mother’s, Rhys’s son’s face was marked with laugh lines.
His smile was genuine. His eyes were kind.
His wife, a pretty brunette, stared at the baby in my lap as if the gods had answered her prayers.
“Would you like to hold her?” I offered, standing.
Mary caught her lower lip between her teeth and nodded tremulously.
When I transferred Grace into her waiting arms, Mary’s brown eyes filled with tears.
I gave Remy a small nod. This couple desperately wanted children. They would love Grace as their own.
“Please,” said Remy. “Sit. Let’s get to know each other.”
Mary’s eyes grew wide. Apparently, being asked to join the prince’s table was more than she’d bargained for.
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “He doesn’t bite. Much.”
She laughed softly, removing the empty bottle from Grace’s lips, then pressing the baby to her chest as she rubbed tiny circles on her little back. Rather than taking a seat, she swayed gently.
Grace cooed her approval before belching like a sailor.
Clive was a miller who grew prize marrows. Mary took in sewing. She’d won the pie contest at the town fair three years running. They were good people. Kind people. And they looked at Grace as if she was a miracle. They wanted her. Desperately.
So, obviously, my throat tightened with unspent emotion.
“Are you okay?” Remy touched my arm, and I shifted my gaze from Grace to him. His handsome face held none of the scorn or arrogance that had repelled me when we first met.
“I’m happy for Grace,” I croaked.
His expression softened, and he turned to Clive. “This child will never lack for anything. I’ll see to it that she has whatever she needs.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Clive asked, his voice careful. “Would we truly be her parents, or would we be caring for her on behalf of the crown?”
“And what happens when she’s older?” Mary added, still swaying with Grace. “Do you expect her to appear at court? To serve some royal purpose?”
Remy shook his head. “She would be yours in every way that matters. The crown’s only interest is ensuring she’s loved and cared for.”
Tears trickled down Mary’s cheeks, but when she looked at her husband, uncertainty flickered across her face. “Clive, we should talk about this. Properly. At home.”
The taproom door flew open, and Zane strode inside, his eyes immediately searching until they found us. He paused when he spotted the strangers at our table, his gaze sharpening as he took in Mary holding Grace. Moving with the unstudied grace of a large predator, he approached our table.
“Zane,” I said quickly, “meet Clive and Mary. They’re interested in giving Grace a home.”
His expression didn’t change, but I noticed the slight tension in his shoulders. “Are they?”
“General.” William approached, wearing a welcoming smile. “What may I serve you?”
“Ale.” Zane collapsed into the remaining chair.
“Dinner, General?”
“Not now, thank you.”
“Actually …” I ventured.
“Are you hungry?” Zane shot Remy a reproachful look.
“I could eat.” I could devour a feast for six like it was a small snack. “Perhaps Clive and Mary might join us.” It would give us a chance to get to know them better. Remy and I were already convinced they were perfect for Grace, but Zane didn’t know them.
“We couldn’t.” Mary shook her head as if the thought of dining with royalty overwhelmed her.
Or perhaps it was Zane. The man was enormous, and a general, and he carried an aura of barely contained violence that I found disturbingly attractive.
I pushed the thought away. My life was already complicated.
And dire (pain, suffering, and death). The last thing I needed was to fall for either of my traveling companions.
I offered Mary an encouraging smile. “Zane’s a pussycat, and like I said, Remy doesn’t bite.”
Zane barked a laugh. “Sure about that, Haven?”
Remy flashed me a grin that could only be described as sensual. “Mary is entirely safe from my teeth.”
My heart skipped a beat, and I ducked my chin, hiding the unwelcome flare of interest I was sure burned in my eyes. Thanks to Gladys’s infernal pool, I knew exactly what Remy’s teeth could do.
William set a glass of ale on the table. “Dinner will be out soon.”
Zane accepted the mug but didn’t drink; his attention focused on Clive and Mary. “Tell me about yourselves,” he said, his tone neutral but commanding.
Mary shifted nervously under his scrutiny. “I … we …”
“Clive’s a miller,” I offered. “Mary is a seamstress. They’ve been trying to have children.”
“How long have you been married?” Zane asked.
“Eight years,” Clive answered steadily, meeting Zane’s stare without flinching.
“Why can’t you have children?”
“Zane!”
Clive held up a hand, waving off my objection. “It’s a fair question. We don’t know why. We’ve tried everything.”
Zane leaned back in his chair, still studying them. “Grace isn’t just any baby. She’s the sole survivor of a massacre. Taking her means accepting that whoever destroyed Banvil might come looking for loose ends.”
Did he actually believe that? Because I was fairly certain we were the only ones who knew Grace had survived.
The color drained from Mary’s face.
“Are you prepared for that possibility?” he continued. “Can you protect her if needed?”
“We’d die before we let anything happen to her,” Mary said fiercely, surprising everyone with her vehemence.
Zane’s expression softened slightly. “That’s the right answer.”
“So we’re agreed?” Remy’s gaze shifted between Zane and me.
I nodded as part of my heart shattered.
“We’re agreed.” His expression hardened. “We need to get to Talin.”
“Haven needs to rest.” Remy cut his gaze at me. “At least one night, maybe two.”
A night’s sleep, in a proper bed? I could have kissed him. I could have, but I didn’t.