30. Only One Bed
Only One Bed
Mariana
Ithink Anya’s lying about her availability,” I said as I followed Faren up the stairs. “This place seems entirely empty.”
After showing us where to stable our horses, the innkeeper had instructed us to take the “apple room,” which was apparently located near the end of the upstairs hallway.
“It’s her wedding week,” Faren said, “let’s not question her generosity.”
“I’d rather be on the road,” I grumbled.
Faren glanced over his shoulder at me, our room key jangling in his hand. “I don’t believe you.”
He was right, of course. A soft bed sounded heavenly. But sharing the space with Faren? Tenuous.
Impulsively, I dropped to my knees in front of the next room he passed, its door marked with a sprig of lavender. When I pressed my ear to the wood, I heard nothing. I retrieved a small pin from my pocket and inserted it into the lock, prodding at the mechanism.
Faren didn’t notice until he’d nearly reached the end of the hall. He doubled back, chiding me in a harsh whisper, “Mariana. What are you doing?”
“What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m getting us a second room.”
“Since when do you know how to pick locks?”
“Notorious thief, remember? Besides, it’s not hard.”
He moved his hand over the lock, blocking my efforts. “Do you truly wish to escape my presence this badly?”
I stared up at him from where I knelt, seeing a shadow of real hurt flicker across his features. “I thought you would welcome the respite from the bane of my company.”
“Is that so?”
“Mhmm.”
Faren rubbed the scruff on his chin, looking like he might correct me.
From my angle on the ground, with him looming over me, it was impossible not to notice his height and brawn.
But he did not hold himself with an air of intimidation, as many well-built knights did; the relaxed slant of his shoulders and the considerate tilt of his head were unassuming.
To possess strength, power, and confidence and still move gently through the world was a rare thing, and as I knelt on the floor trying to pick a lock like the petty thief I was, I felt entirely unworthy of his goodness.
And yet I wanted to steal it for myself.
I could not stay in the same room as him tonight.
“How about this,” Faren said at last. “You get settled. I’ll make myself scarce. We don’t have to share space except to sleep.”
I sat back on my heels, relenting. “Fine.”
He offered his hand. With a spark of greed, I took it. He pulled me to a stand with ease, and when his hand released mine, our callouses scraped. He handed me our room key, then picked up my pack from where I’d dropped it and slung it over his shoulder.
“Lead the way,” he said.
“Don’t trust me not to try another door?”
His chuckle was velvety. “I really don’t.”
I smirked as I brushed past him, leading us to the door with an apple painted on its front. It opened with a click of the key in the lock, and I stepped through.
The room was small, but well-kept. A four-poster bed took up most of the space, positioned opposite a small fireplace.
There was a desk with a carafe of water and a bottle of wine.
A single sitting chair. A large wooden bathing tub.
Thick curtains were drawn open, letting in the cobalt hue of evening.
Faren dumped our bags by the door. “Want me to send for water?” he asked, noticing the tub.
I thought of wet, soapy skin. His hands. The room felt tiny with him standing there, taking up so much space with his chivalrous presence. We’d been alone on the road for weeks now—why did this feel different?
“Are you saying I smell?” I asked, lifting an arm, desperate for a joke to distract me from the yearning that pulled through my chest.
But Faren came nearer, voice dropping. “I’m saying you should relax.”
His tenor had the opposite effect. “Fine. Send for water.”
We were standing close, only a foot of distance between us.
His gaze was soft, roving delicately over my face as if he were searching for something.
After all I’d said and done to him—all the ways I’d insulted him, threatened him, pushed him away—I didn’t deserve his unshakable warmth.
And yet he offered it freely, without expectation, without reciprocity, persistent in his good-naturedness, no matter how transactional the rest of the world insisted on being.
Faren was, without question, the most noble man I’d ever met.
His throat worked, as if he were about to say more—but ultimately, he simply nodded, turned, and left the room.
When the door clicked shut, I let out a shaky exhale.
Idris delivered my water, which might’ve been awkward, if he weren’t as taciturn as I was, more comfortable with silence than small talk.
He made quick work of it, pouring buckets into the tub until it was full and steaming.
He even added vanilla-scented salts, for which I did not tease him, because they were a nice touch and smelled divine.
I offered him a nod in thanks, and he gave me a nod in acknowledgement and then the door closed again, and I was alone.
I went to the tub, testing the temperature with a finger.
The water was just shy of scalding and already filling the air with humidity.
With the fire crackling in the hearth, the room was becoming stuffy.
I cracked the window, but closed the curtains, letting in the gentle waft of the outdoors.
Voices drifted up from down below—ones I recognized and ones I didn’t—discussing logistics for tomorrow’s festivities.
Faren’s voice was among them, eager to help: “It’s the least I can do to thank you for your hospitality,” he said, and was met with grateful delegation.
I undressed slowly, peeling off my layers one by one. My skin felt raw underneath the wool and leather and linen, exhausted from a full day of Simon’s juddering trot and achy from the damp and persistent cold. When I was bare, my magic seemed to stretch, relishing the freedom.
When I stepped into the tub, my toes tingled from the heat.
The bath salts were dissolving along the bottom of the basin, a fine grit that melted under my feet and made the water feel more buoyant.
I sank down with an appreciative groan. Rested my neck on the lip of the tub. Closed my eyes and sighed long and low.
My thoughts rippled and calmed like the surface of the water.
Over the past couple weeks, something had been stirring in me, an animal made of sensation and longing. It craved connection. It yearned for levity and delight. And it wanted…it wanted touch. As the warmth of the water penetrated my muscles, it came alive, whining within me.
I ignored it, focusing on the tasks of bathing. The pleasant scrape of the wash rag. The citrus scent of the soap. The water tickling along my clavicles.
But the sensation only grew, becoming more ravenous. My nipples tightened as I passed the soap over my breasts and down along the flat muscles of my stomach. My belly tensed, and I could no longer ignore the desire growing inside me.
Perhaps if I dealt with it, it would go away.
I set the soap on a small stool beside the tub and hung the rag on the lip of the basin.
Then my hand was traveling down, slipping between my legs.
I let out a soft, involuntary breath. My fingers moved efficiently, purposefully; I wanted to make this quick, to get it over with, so I could feel like myself again.
Pleasure coiled, spread, sticky like caramel, and I tipped my head back, eyes fluttering closed.
Unbidden, I thought of Faren toying with my hair in the Lark, torchlight and tenderness and teasing in his eyes.
My mind flooded with him—his laugh, his witty remarks, the pastries he got us on our first day together.
The scent of his sweat and the thrill of sparring together.
Quiet nights by the fire and the way he whistled in the mornings.
I thought of his calloused hands, the span of his chest, his parted lips. With a gasp, I—
Knuckles rapped on the door, and I wrenched my hand away, water sloshing.
“Mariana?” Faren was outside our room. “Are you finished?”
Not quite, I thought to myself, panting a little. My body was still taut, desperate for release.
“Mariana?” Faren prompted through the door.
“Don’t come in.”
I was about to chastise him for not giving me enough time to wash, but at some point, the water had become tepid. How long had I been in here, touching myself and thinking about him?
“You’ve been in there a while. Need help with your nooks and crannies?” He sounded amused, playful.
I stood, causing the water to slosh. “I’m getting out now, just give me a moment.” There was a dressing gown hanging on the back of the door, and after drying off, I hastened over to it, shrugging into the silken fabric and fastening the tie around my waist.
“If this is a ruse to keep me locked out, I will inform you that I’ve brought food.”
I flipped the lock and yanked the door open. Faren was, indeed, standing outside with a tray of bread, cheese, meats, and sliced fruit. A lone candle sat among the spread, illuminating the space between us.
“You must be hungry,” he said cheerfully.
My body was still flushed all over, blood pulsing. Starving, I thought, and stepped aside to allow him past the threshold. He breezed past me, and I closed the door—sealing us inside. Alone.
He set the tray on the desk, then turned to me, eyes sweeping over my state. “You alright? You appear…flustered.”
“I’m angry to be delayed,” I bit out—more harshly than I meant.
But Faren was immune to my venom. He prepared a small plate with an arrangement of fresh grapes and sliced apples, a fluffy mound of herb-speckled goat cheese, two big slices of sourdough, and a few hunks of sausage.
When he was done, he held it out to me. “Why don’t you have some cheese and then see if you’re still angry? ”
I took the plate, scowling, but with the first bite, I discovered that I was, in fact, starving. I sank to the edge of the bed, and he sat in the chair, and we both ate with haste.