Chapter 55
Warm air immediately spilled out to meet us, smelling of stew and firewood. For the first time since waking up tied to a chair... it felt like we might actually survive the night.
Layout-wise, the tavern was quiet. A single oil lamp burned behind the front counter, sputtering like it wanted to call it a night. Behind it sat an elderly man, slumped forward in his chair with his chin resting against his chest, snoring rhythmically.
Lucien approached the counter first. "Excuse me, sir."
Nothing. The snoring continued uninterrupted.
He cleared his throat. "Sir?"
Still nothing.
I leaned closer and lowered my voice. "...I think he's winning whatever dream he's having."
Lucien sighed before trying again. "Excuse me!"
The old man jerked upright so violently I thought he'd fall off his chair. He blinked several times, squinting at us through the dim light. His eyes slowly traveled from Lucien, to me, to our dripping clothes, our bruises, and the mud.
His eyebrows climbed halfway up his forehead. "...Good heavens. You two look like death warmed over."
"That's actually an improvement from how I felt ten minutes ago," I offered.
The old man ignored my comment and squinted at Lucien. "What happened to you?"
"Our carriage overturned near the river," Lucien answered without missing a beat.
"At this hour?"
"Yes."
"And where's the carriage?"
"The river claimed it."
"And the horses?"
"We couldn't save them."
The old man studied him carefully. Lucien didn't flinch. I had to admit-for a guy who grew up in a palace, Lucien lied with frightening confidence.
The innkeeper shifted his attention to me. "And you?"
"...I mostly screamed," I replied simply.
Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose. I shrugged. It felt appropriate at the time.
The old man let out a slow sigh. "...You're either telling me the truth, or you're the worst liars I've ever met."
"I'll gladly accept whichever option gets us out of these wet clothes."
He stared for a heartbeat, then nodded. "Fair enough." He stood, his joints cracking loudly in protest. "I've got one room left. It'll keep the rain off your heads."
He pulled an old brass key from beneath the counter and handed it to Lucien, but didn't let go immediately. His expression turned serious.
"Listen carefully. Once you're inside, stay inside. This village hasn't been the same these past few months. Livestock disappearing, supply wagons getting robbed... armed men wandering the forests after sunset."
Lucien exchanged a quick glance with me. "Bandits?"
"Bandits, smugglers, hired swords. Call them whatever makes you sleep better," the old man grunted. "Either way, no decent person walks these roads after dark anymore."
Considering we'd just escaped a group of kidnappers, that information was significantly less comforting than I'd hoped.
The innkeeper noticed my expression and softened slightly. "You'll be fine here. This old place has survived many winters. It can survive one more night. Come on, I'll show you the room."
We followed him down a narrow hallway that creaked beneath every step. The place was modest, clean, and pleasantly ordinary-the kind of place where nothing interesting ever happened. After today, that sounded like paradise.
He stopped at the last door. "It's small, but warm." He raised a finger before we could step inside.
"Oh, and the walls are thin. Some of my guests would appreciate an uninterrupted night's sleep."
I raised an eyebrow. "Why are you telling us that?"
"I've run an inn for thirty years," the old man said with a sly smirk. "I know a courting couple pretending to be 'too polite' to share a room when I see one."
Lucien and I froze in unison.
"We're not-"
"It's strictly-"
"Makes no difference to me," the old man chuckled, waving us off. "I'll see if I can find you two something dry to wear. Don't open that front door until sunrise."
He shuffled off down the hall, leaving us in awkward silence.
"...Well," Lucien said gently.
"That could've gone worse."
"On the bright side," I noted, "at least he thinks we're lovers instead of serial killers."
Lucien stared at me. "...How is that your bright side?"
"Perspective."
He laughed-quietly, but genuinely. And somehow, hearing it made the old tavern feel just a little safer.
A few minutes later, the innkeeper returned with two bundles of clothes left behind by his son.
"I don't have any women's clothes," he admitted, looking apologetic as he handed me a oversized linen shirt, loose trousers, and a patched wool vest.
"Perfect," I said, taking them gratefully. "I have officially reached the stage of exhaustion where fashion is no longer my problem."
The old man chuckled. "I like you."
"I grow on people. Like moss."
He laughed again and left us to rest.
Ten minutes later, I stepped out of the washroom.
The clothes drowned me completely. The shirt hem hung past my knees, requiring four tight rolls of the sleeves just to free my hands.
The trousers were cuffed into submission at my ankles.
I looked less like a noblewoman and more like a toddler caught wearing her father's coat.
Still... way better than the soaked pink ballgown.
Lucien looked up as I stepped into the room and stared.
"...What?" I asked.
"You look... comfortable."
"I look like laundry."
"I was trying to be polite."
"I appreciate the effort."
He smiled. "You've somehow managed to make oversized clothes look... cute."
"Years of absolutely no practice," I replied, rolling my eyes.
The room was tiny: one narrow bed, a wooden chair by the window, a washbasin, and a small bedside table. Our eyes hit the bed simultaneously, then darted to each other.
"I'll take the chair," Lucien said immediately.
"No, I'll take the chair. You need proper rest."
"So do you."
"I wasn't asking."
"Neither was I," he argued, folding his arms. "I am not letting you sleep in a chair after everything you've been through."
"And I'm not letting a man with a fresh head injury do it either!"
"I've had worse."
"I sincerely hope that's a lie."
"It isn't."
"...Your childhood sounds concerning."
"It was educational," he countered smoothly.
I sighed dramatically. "This is going nowhere."
"We take turns," I compromised, pointing at the bed. "One person sleeps, the other keeps watch. We don't know if those kidnappers are searching for us, and I'm not giving them a second opportunity."
Lucien considered it, then nodded. "Fair. You sleep first."
"No, you-"
"Cassiane," he said gently, interrupting me. "You were drugged, thrown in a river, and hit your head. Let me take first watch."
I groaned. "You're annoyingly reasonable."
"I've been told that before."
"Fine." I climbed onto the bed, wrapping the blanket around myself. "But if I wake up and find you passed out in that chair, I'm judging you."
"I'd expect nothing less."
The mattress was lumpy and smelled faintly of cedarwood, but it felt like luxury. Still, sleep stubbornly refused to come. Every time I closed my eyes, my brain replayed the night on an endless loop: the burlap sack, the river, the freezing water, the falling wall.
I tossed and turned, flipping the pillow back and forth until I let out an exaggerated sigh.
"...Couldn't sleep?" Lucien asked from his spot by the window.
"Was I being obvious?"
"You've been fighting that pillow for ten minutes. I think the pillow is winning."
I sat up, hugging my knees. "My brain has apparently decided to replay today's events on an endless loop."
"I know the feeling," he said quietly.
For a while, silence filled the room, but it was surprisingly comfortable.
"You were impressive tonight," Lucien said suddenly.
I blinked. "...Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"Lucien, I accidentally blasted through an entire wall because I had zero control over my magic!"
"You got us out," he insisted, turning to face me. His expression was soft. "Most people freeze when they're terrified. They wait for someone else to save them. But you... you kept making terrible jokes."
"They were excellent jokes!"
"They were objectively terrible," he smiled, a quiet laugh escaping him. "But you kept me focused. When I started panicking in that cabin... you gave me something else to think about. You made a terrifying situation feel survivable. I was glad you were there, Cass."
I stared at him, my mouth opening slightly. Nobody had ever thanked me just for... existing beside them. Not for succeeding or being smart, just for being me.
"...I was scared too," I admitted quietly. "I really thought we weren't getting out."
"We did, though," he said softly. "Together."
It was a strange feeling. Being around Lucien didn't make my heart hammer or my thoughts scatter. There were no absurd butterflies demanding a doctor's diagnosis-just a quiet, easy warmth. Somewhere along the way, he had become someone I could simply be myself around.
"Lucien?"
"Hm?"
"Thanks. For surviving with me."
A genuine smile spread across his face. "I was going to say the same thing."
We sat in quiet comfort as time drifted on. Gradually, the heavy weight of exhaustion caught up to us. I watched as Lucien's head slowly leaned back against the wooden frame of the window, his eyelids fluttering shut. His Highness had officially lost his battle with sleep.
I smiled softly to myself. "Idiot."
Careful not to make a sound, I slipped out of bed, grabbed the spare blanket, and draped it gently over his shoulders. He mumbled something completely unintelligible in his sleep.
"I'll assume that was royal gratitude," I whispered.
I climbed back into bed, pulled the covers up, and this time, when I closed my eyes... sleep finally came.