Chapter 47 – Ayer
AYER
The village is nearly as silent as the woods when we finally enter the nearly deserted street.
The billowing smoke from the chimneys shows that, unlike those of the other villages, its residents had not yet abandoned this one.
It’s the middle of the night, and there are only a few people moving about.
The two mud-covered strangers walking through town draw interest until their curious gazes fall on my dark scowl, and suddenly they find an urgent need to be, well, anywhere else.
The inn is not difficult to find. A quaint little building just on the edge of town, there’s a soft orange glow coming from the windows, and smoke curls from the chimney above.
I can feel the princess’ glare on my back, but she can’t make me regret my threat. I meant it, too. I’m here for one reason and one reason only: to protect my people. There is no limit to what I will do to keep those I love safe. And one spoiled, bratty princess won’t stand in the way of that.
When we reach the inn, naturally, I hold the door open for Rowan, getting far too much enjoyment out of the way she rolls her eyes at me.
The tavern is empty, aside from a single man standing behind the bar, wiping the already spotless surface down with a rag. He’s older, heavy-set, with a pleasant smile and kind eyes that widen as he takes in the sight of us.
“My stars,” he breathes, taking me in first before his gaze pulls to Rowan beside me.
The man’s eyes linger on the princess a heartbeat too long, and my fingers twitch toward the dagger at my belt. I clear my throat, forcing my hand away from the hilt, reminding myself that this man isn’t a threat.
Old habits.
“Do you have any rooms available?” I ask, hoping to pull the man’s attention off Rowan, disliking the way he stares. “My—er—wife and I were hoping for a brief respite from our travels.”
Wife. Where in the stones did that come from?
Rowan makes a tiny, imperceptible choking sound, nearly snapping her neck at how fast she whips her head toward me.
I ignore her, keeping my face carefully blank while smiling politely at the innkeeper. Calling her my wife is the most believable story. Married couples travel together. And that little menace isn’t leaving my sight.
The stout innkeeper just blinks at the two of us for another half second before seeming to remember himself, nodding vigorously.
“Yes, yes, but of course.” I clench my jaw when he looks her up and down.
“My stars! Please don’t take this personally, but you two look like you’ve been through it!
” He shakes his head as he looks us both over, his brows furrowing.
“No bags?” he questions, looking right at me.
His tone is light, but his eyes are sharp.
Suspicious.
I open my mouth, my hand drifting subconsciously down to the hilt of my blade.
“We were robbed.”
My head turns to Rowan. Slowly.
“By raiders. And not long afterward, I fell into the river and, well…” she explains smoothly, all while looking the innkeeper right in the eyes. No hesitation. No stutter. “We would be so grateful for your hospitality. I’m just desperate for a place to dry off and sleep.”
My brow lifts. Fell? She’s so convincing. I might have even believed it myself had I not lived it.
The little liar even blushes.
The man’s expression softens instantly.
“Oh, you poor dears. I have one room left!” he says, already moving. “It’s all made up. Top of the stairs. I’ll have hot water brought up for a bath, and there’s still some stew left from dinner if you’re hungry.” He plucks the single remaining key from a line of hooks and hands it to me.
“Thank you.” I nod gratefully, taking the key and ushering Rowan up the tiny stairwell with a light hand on her lower back.
At the top, I unlock the door, revealing a tiny but charming room.
A fire’s already been lit, and the heat from it is a welcome greeting.
The warm glow illuminates a tidy bed, a small wardrobe, and another wooden door that I presume leads to the bathing chamber.
I linger on the threshold. Rowan too. Both of us staring at the one bed. For a moment, neither of us moves.
The innkeeper’s voice drifts up from below; he’s barking orders to someone—likely the maid. They’ll be headed up soon with that hot water he mentioned. Not wanting to raise further suspicion, I quickly nudge Rowan forward, pushing her into the room before closing the door behind us.
She crosses her arms, leveling me with a glare. Don’t touch me, I read in her eyes.
I don’t bother reacting. The situation is less than ideal, but it beats camping outside, soaking wet in the middle of a rainstorm. We can both survive this little… inconvenience for one night.
A minute later, there’s a knock at the door. It’s the maid arriving with hot water for the bath, followed closely by the innkeeper—Hari, as he introduced himself—who sets down a tray of food. There’s steaming stew, fresh bread, and two cups of tea.
I’m holding the door open for them to leave, but Hari hesitates, hands on his hips as he studies Rowan again. I watch them closely. “My dear, that dress has seen better days.”
He’s got a point… Her dress is in a state, soaked and stained from days on the road, and torn beyond repair.
Rowan flushes scarlet, but before she can protest, Hari is already waving the maid back toward the door. “Jenna! Find something warm for the poor girl to wear.”
She scurries off without question, returning a few minutes later carrying a folded bundle.
“My daughter’s,” she murmurs quietly to Rowan, slipping them into her hands. “She’s outgrown them, so they won’t be missed.”
Rowan takes the bundle from the woman. “Thank you.”
Before she can say more, Hari and Jenna take their leave, but not before wishing us a good evening. “Breakfast will be served in the dining room after sunrise. If you need anything else, just shout.”
Once the door closes behind them, silence settles over the room again.
I start toward the food, my hunger already ravenous. Without a word, I hand the first bowl and loaf of bread to Rowan before practically inhaling my own. It’s hearty, chock-full of meat, potatoes, and carrots. I haven’t eaten this well in days.
She too eats quickly. Once she’s done, I nod toward the washroom. “Ladies first.”
She doesn’t argue, almost eager to get away from me. She slips into the washroom; a second later I hear the click of the bolt sliding into place. My mouth twitches.
I sigh, stripping off my armour and leathers. My shirt peels away from my skin, still soaked. I lay it all out to dry by the fire.
The faint sounds of water sloshing—and Rowan in it—permeate through the washroom door. Inhaling deeply, I focus my attention on cleaning any remaining river muck off my blades before arranging them atop the table, taking only my knife with me over to the bed.
I don’t have to worry about the weapons with Rowan.
As much as I’m sure she’s tried, she’s not getting past that rune on her wrist. There are only two ways to remove it: if I myself remove it, in the same way I put it on, or by my death—which, because of the nature of the rune, can’t be by Rowan’s hand.
She’s been in the washroom a long while now.
I stare at the door, listening to see if I can make out any sound, but all I hear is silence.
Lightly, I pace the room, glancing every now and again at the washroom door when I still don’t hear a sound.
The silence stretches so long that I’m nearly convinced she’s fallen asleep in the tub.
I cross the room and stop outside the door, listening closely. Nothing. I raise my fist to knock, and the lock clicks.
The washroom door jolts open, revealing a wide-eyed Rowan who freezes at the sight of me. I catch a whiff of her—or whatever soap she’s used. The faint scent of wildflowers and honey catches me off guard. It’s soft and sweet, and I like it more than I should.
Her dark chestnut hair is damp and combed free of leaves, dirt, and tangles, and her face is freshly scrubbed, her cheeks still flushed a soft pink from the heat of the bath.
The dress Jenna gave her fits well; it’s simple, made of a good, sturdy cotton, and is far more appropriate for traveling, unlike the thin, expensive fabric of the dress she had been wearing.
The darker earth tones suit her, bringing out the green in her eyes.
It’s a little small, highlighting more of her curves.
She looks different. Less royal and more…
No.
Don’t finish that thought.
Rowan’s gaze travels between my raised hand and my face. “Were you about to knock?”
Her voice brings my attention to the fact that my fist is still hanging midair between us. I drop it quickly. “You were in there forever.”
She frowns. “I was bathing…”
“I was making sure you hadn’t drowned.”
Her brows lift. “In a bathtub?”
“I wouldn’t put it past you.” I take a step back from the doorway, suddenly too aware of how close I am to her. I make my way back toward the bed, gesturing to her side as I circle round to my own. “Bedtime.”
She’s still staring at me. “You’re sleeping on the floor, right?” she asks smoothly, but I detect an unfamiliar waver hidden within her voice. I watch those pine green eyes trail south and continue lower, traveling over my bare chest.
“Nope,” I answer while pointedly settling down on the bed, leaving ample room on the other side for the uptight princess.
Rowan frowns, turning back to survey the tiny washroom she just left as if considering climbing back into the tub to sleep.
Sighing, I rap my knuckles on the wooden frame above. “It’s a bed, Princess. Don’t make it into something it isn’t.”
She stares sullenly at the bed for another moment.
“Your choice, kitten.”
Indecision wars on her face, her eyes flicking between me, the bed, the bath, and the floor. I know she’s sore and tired, and the bed is feather-stuffed, warm, with fluffy pillows and thick furs.
Rowan glares at me before finally inching closer
“Fine,” she huffs, irritation written across her face, “but if you even think about touching me, I’ll cut off your balls and feed them to you.”
I stare at her.
I should punish such a threat, but I’m more shocked at the unladylike words I just heard escape the princess’ lips. All I can do is stare at her as she edges slowly out of the washroom, tiptoeing lightly across the room, her feet bare.
Bold threats from someone who knows she can’t harm me, but even still, I incline my head once, keeping my face carefully blank so as not to betray any hint of amusement and encourage this defiant demeanor. “Noted.”
Seemingly appeased, the princess climbs under the blankets, keeping to the very edge of the mattress as though one more inch closer to me might prove fatal.
I try not to roll my eyes.
She finally settles in, and the room falls silent save for the crackling fire.
I’m tired—fucking exhausted. But yet, I can feel the anxiety rolling off the princess beside me. We’re close enough that I can hear every breath she takes. They come too fast—too shallow. She’s awake, staring at the wall—me, the rafters.
I don’t trust her. She doesn’t trust me. She would have rather drowned than let me catch her.
I can’t fall asleep until she does, and I’m near certain she’s waiting for me.
She can’t hurt me, but that doesn’t mean she can’t run.
I should stay up, but I’m going on nearly forty-eight hours awake, and I’m approaching my limit.
I’m a light sleeper, but nevertheless, I took precautions, moving the bureau to block the door.
It’s heavy, and while she might be able to move it on her own, there’s no way for her to do it quietly.
She’s stuck here.
With me.
So she might as well go the fuck to sleep.
Irritation spreads through me the longer she holds out. Lying there, still as a statue, but I know… I know she’s awake.
Stones. This is ridiculous. War, sieges, ambushes, monsters, and somehow my greatest battle this week is seeing who falls asleep first.
A soft huff sounds from her side of the bed. She’s frustrated.
Good. So am I.
The silence stretches on until the sound of rain taps against the roof overhead. A few drops at first, then a dozen more, building into a steady rhythm.
I look up.
She does too, rolling onto her back and drawing my attention.
And for a brief moment, our eyes meet, and something between us shifts. The tension in the room eases as a silent understanding passes between the two of us.
Rowan rolls back over, keeping her back to me, but finally allowing her body to relax into the mattress. Her breath slows, and she’s out. Just like that.
Quietly, I slip from the bed to wash up myself, listening carefully for any sounds as I make quick work of it. When I return, I find the princess exactly as I left her.
The rain falls steadily, but I listen to the sound of her breathing. Slow. Steady. Until I feel myself start to fall, too. Sleep finally claiming me.