Chapter 10 Hannah
Hannah
The king knocked again, harder, rattling the door in its frame and sending a puff of dust drifting down from the joist. The groaning sound went straight through me, and my breath hitched as if my lungs had forgotten how to work.
My gaze snapped to Olen, and my heart skipped a beat. I expected calculation, betrayal, or some flash of triumph. Instead, the color drained from his face, the easy warmth gone like it had never been there. His shoulders drew tight, and his eyes focused on the door.
Another blow landed, followed by the scrape of boots against stone. “Open this door. Now.”
Olen caught my wrist and steered me away from the firelight and back toward the narrow hall beyond the main room.
As he walked, he placed his damp boots where my shoes had been, marring the prints.
His voice dropped low, just above his breath.
“Go to the kitchen and take the second door. It’s the larder.
Don’t go upstairs because the boards squeak.
Don’t make a sound. If his guard is with him, they’ll have surrounded the house. I’ll handle him.”
He pressed me back, and I didn’t fight. I had no clue what a fucking larder was. Guess I’d figure that out or get caught trying. I slipped down the hall, my rubber-soled shoes silent against the wood. My grip stayed tight on the knife as my pulse thundered in my ears.
“Olen! You will open this door, or it will be broken in.” Grouchy Butt’s shout cut through the house, followed by an even harder pounding on the wood.
The hounds howled farther away, unable to track me. The ash and stable trick had worked, so why was he here now? Could he follow me like a wolf tracking a rabbit?
Well, luck going sour was one thing I was used to.
The kitchen was dim and cold, smelling of dried herbs, old smoke, and the faint tang of iron.
A solid table crouched at the center, scarred by knives and years of use, while hooks of bundled thyme and bay hung from the beams above.
I crossed the space in three quick steps and slipped through the narrow wooden door that I hoped was the larder.
Thin slats and cracked plaster formed the walls, but there were tiny gaps in the inner wall between this space and the main living room.
The faint glow of firelight provided enough light for me to see.
The room was narrow and cramped with dry air that smelled of salt, grain, dried meat, and hanging herbs.
Rough wooden shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, stacked with crates, sacks, and cloth bundles.
The uppermost shelves held the least supplies, leaving enough space for me to squeeze in and hide if I could get up there.
I eased the door shut until the latch kissed wood without a sound. Darkness closed in at once, and the smell of grain and dried roots filled my lungs as I reached the thick wood shelves.
My muscles burned as I wedged a knee against a sack of grain and hauled myself up, shelf by shelf.
The wood creaked softly under the strain, making my stomach twist as Kai kept pounding on the door.
I worked myself stomach-down onto the highest shelf and breathed shallowly, then shifted until I had my entire body tucked into the narrow gap near the ceiling.
I turned my face toward a thin crack in the wall where the wooden frame in the plaster peeked through. Warm light bled in, painting the darkness with slashes of gold. Careful not to scrape against anything, I peered out.
Olen emerged from the hall and crossed the main room with deliberate slowness.
His earlier easy manner had become rigid and strained.
He reached the door and braced one hand against the wood as if steadying himself.
Exhaling, he opened it with his shoulders sagging and his posture loose in a way that read as bone-deep fatigue.
“My king.” He dipped his head, assuming a respectful angle that bared the back of his neck. “You honor my poor home at such a late hour. How may I be of service? Is there some matter for which the surveyor himself is unable to provide aid?”
Sour Face stood on the threshold, his dark coat dusted with frost. His presence filled the doorway as if the house itself had drawn back from him.
No guards flanked him, and no armored shapes crowded the step.
Just him, alone, his eyes already cutting past Olen and into the room like blades seeking flesh.
He couldn’t have come alone. Maybe there were guards farther back I couldn’t see. That weird tugging in my chest returned, sharper and deeper this time.
“Don’t pretend you were sleeping.” Smartass’s gaze slid over the snow-dusted coat, the lit hearth, the lamps, the table with two cups still on it. His mouth tightened. “There’s still snow on your coat that hasn’t finished melting. You were awake…and entertaining.”
Shit! He was observant. Had I left traces of ash behind? Olen had walked over my footprints, but had he obscured them enough?
Olen let out a tired laugh that scraped out of his throat.
He stepped aside just enough to make space, then stopped short of fully yielding the doorway.
One foot stayed planted, a subtle block.
“I returned from inspections far later than planned. The cold seeps into the bones these days, and it makes me slow. But the whiskey was from earlier. I was just headed to bed.”
Kai’s eyes flicked to the cups again. Then back to Olen’s face. “You live alone.”
“I do.” Olen’s hands flexed at his sides with his fingers curling and uncurling as if he had to remind them to stay still. He shrugged again, his gaze darting from Kai to some point outside. “Surely, if this is official business, it can wait until day.”
Kai stepped inside without waiting to be invited, his hand pushing Olen back.
The door thudded shut behind him, the sound echoing through the house and into my chest. He moved with unhurried confidence, steps silent on the wood as his gaze tracked around the room, keen and assessing.
He stopped near the hearth, one gloved hand lifting as if to warm it over the flames, his profile hard and unreadable. “Where is the woman?”
Olen turned to face him. His throat bobbed. “What woman?”
The king fixed his gaze on Olen with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Only the popping of the wood and a settling log broke the silence.
Kai took a step forward. “You have surely heard the alarm and the hounds, so do not pretend with me. I will search the house.” His tone made it clear this was not a request. “If I discover that you have been hiding her, you will be punished. If I learn you have harmed her, you will die in agony. This is not a matter for your meddling, under-surveyor.” His attention flicked toward the wall I lay behind as if he could see straight through it to me.
My muscles locked, and every nerve screamed.
Olen stepped into Kai’s path. He lifted his hands, palms open, then immediately lowered them as if he’d caught himself mid-mistake.
“There’s no need! Your Majesty, I swear I have helped no one escape.
I guessed there was a prisoner loose, but I didn’t know it was a woman.
My home isn't a place any in need would choose. It’s small, drafty, and offers little of interest. My mate was already taken from me.
I would never dishonor her memory by being with another woman.
Besides, your hounds are searching for the prisoner, are they not?
I can think of no other reason for their presence. ”
Kai’s eyes narrowed. The air in the room seemed to thicken, the warmth from the hearth turning sharp and stifling. “Step aside.”
Olen shifted his weight instead, blocking the hall with his body as a bead of sweat broke free at his temple despite the cold.
“I heard the hounds pass earlier. They moved toward Market Square. Whoever you seek is likely headed there. It’s what I would do.
I understand that all of us who speak with mortal tongues may be false, but hounds are not. ”
My heart hammered so hard I was sure the vibration would give me away. If Kai believed him, maybe—just maybe—
Kai’s lips pressed tight, and his gaze narrowed. The sight made my blood chill. “You presume to advise me.”
Spine straightening, Olen bowed his head deeper this time. “I presume nothing. I only wish to spare you wasted time.”
“Then stop wasting it, and get out of my way.” He pushed Olen aside and scanned the floor.
I closed my eyes and held my breath. Shit, King Grouch Face was way too observant.
From this angle, I couldn’t see our footprints.
But sneaker treads were so different from boots.
My shoes wouldn't have been as wet when I'd headed into the kitchen, so maybe I hadn’t left any new prints. In my rush to hide, I’d forgotten to check.
Kai circled the couches, then returned, his gaze moving over the floor. He canted his head.
“Fine. Let me show you.” He opened the cabinets, his gaze moving from Kai to the door to the ceiling. “No one in here. No one under the couches. See? This is so far beneath you, my king. I am honored by your presence but dismayed by this dishonor you have placed upon yourself.”
Kai stepped closer—close enough that Olen had to lift his chin to meet his gaze. “You seem eager for me to leave,” Kai said, his voice a soft blade. “In all our previous dealings, I have found you to be far more accommodating and eager for conversation. This manner of yours is… unlike you.”
Blowing out a breath, Olen relaxed his shoulders a fraction and slumped, his stance seeming heavy with fatigue. “I am simply tired and cold, my king.”
Kai stared at him for a long, painful moment, then shoved past him, knocking him into the wall as he headed for the hall. My pulse spiked. Olen’s hands twitched at his sides, his fingers curling as if he might reach for something but was stopping himself.
The heavy thud of Kai’s footsteps echoed around me.
The nice parlor. The back room. The one with the sagging window shutter.
But then there was also the kitchen. How fast would my sneaker prints dry?
I’d probably been in here long enough that the earliest footprints would have distorted enough to mask the treads.
And it didn’t sound as if Olen had gone into the back room to cover mine. Or the kitchen….
I froze, my fingers curling in on my palms. The strange tugging in my chest intensified.
The kitchen door opened and struck the wall with a brittle thud. “Hannah of Tennessee, come out now.”