Sylar #4
I stiffen automatically at his tone, my defenses flaring up before I can stop them.
It seems I will have to work terribly hard to break through my own grumpy demeanor.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly force the tension out of my shoulders and nod.
“Yes. Is there something wrong with that particular inn?” I had never heard of it before today.
Raylen shakes his head, though the frown lingers. “No, on the contrary, it’s very nice. The only thing is, I’m fairly certain a royal regiment has the entire place booked out for the week.”
My eyes widen with shock, and my heart starts to hammer against my ribs.
“No. No, that doesn’t sound right.” I pull a thin piece of paper from my pocket, desperately checking my mother’s elegant, sweeping script.
“Yes, see? Right here. It explicitly says she booked a large room for me and my sister.” My breathing starts coming too quickly, the familiar, suffocating panic rising in my throat as I feel myself beginning to lose my grip.
“Sy, it’s fine,” Raylen says smoothly, his voice dropping into that grounded, steady register. “I probably just misheard a rumor. We can go check it out right now.”
I shake my head, the spirals taking over.
“It would be just like my mother to tell me she booked a room and either completely forget or do this for some other twisted reason. She probably did it on purpose, for all I know, hoping I’d be stranded and forced to stay in some random stranger’s bed.
” I stand abruptly. “Dear stars, I have to make sure my sister and I actually have a roof over our heads.”
It is already late in the day. The chances of finding another vacancy during the festival are practically nonexistent if the room isn’t real.
Before the panic can swallow me, Raylen steps forward.
He glides into my space and rests a soothing hand against the small of my back.
The gesture is surprisingly comforting, yet it sends a sudden, electric zing straight down my spine.
I freeze, thoroughly shocked by my body’s intense reaction.
The sudden warmth of his palm acts like an anchor; before I even realize what is happening, the verge of my panic attack completely untangles.
“Sy, look at me.” Raylen reaches up, his fingers gently tilting my face so that our gazes lock. His lilac eyes are intensely steady. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about things, you hear? No more stress. If something went wrong with your booking, I will help you fix it.”
I bite my lower lip, my voice small and nervous. “It’s not just me. It’s my sister, too.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I will help you and your sister,” he reassures me instantly, his thumb brushing a comforting line along my jaw. “Talia is like family to me. I would never let anything happen to her.”
My lips part slightly at the word. “Family?”
He nods, a soft smile touching his lips.
“She’s best friends with my sister, Sy. I’ve seen Talia many times over the last several years.
Every time Isolde came to visit me, Talia was right there with her.
When I visit town, the two of them are completely inseparable.
They’re either trying the latest market desserts or shopping for the newest fashions.
Hell, I’ve even caught them giggling and admiring several elven boys while on their travels. ”
I shake my head. “Okay, no. I definitely do not need to hear that part.”
Raylen’s face melts into a delightful, teasing grin. “You were always so innocent. It’s quite endearing,” he says in a smooth, singsong voice, somehow managing to make the words feel like a rare compliment rather than an insult.
“Enough chitter-chatter. Let’s go,” I say, face heating.
Before I even realize what I’m doing, my hand reaches out and slides into Raylen’s. The sudden warmth of his palm shocks me. I don’t do this. I never do. In fact, a sudden, jarring realization hits me: I’ve never actually held hands with anyone in my life who wasn’t my sister.
To my secret delight, Raylen doesn’t pull away. His fingers tighten against mine.
By the time we weave through the crowds and arrive at The Three Cats, I realize Raylen was entirely right. The place is bursting at the seams, fully booked. Either my mother catastrophically fucked up this reservation, or she had some serious ulterior motives.
“I’m pretty sure she did this on purpose,” I mutter aloud, letting out a heavy sigh.
The clerk behind the front desk offers me a look of pity.
“I’m so sorry, sir. Unfortunately, there isn’t much I can do.
The Prince of Emberleigh books out the entire establishment every time he visits.
I’d recommend hurrying to some of the other local inns before they fill up, too, but honestly?
I think you’ll have much better luck at the campsite. ”
I shake my head, dismay washing over me. Look, I don’t mind roughing it in a tent, but my aching back was truly looking forward to a nice, soft mattress tonight.
“There’s nothing wrong with renting a tent,” the clerk presses on, trying to sound upbeat. “Purchasing a tent and sleeping under the stars—especially during the Everend Market—seems quite fitting of our ancestors, don’t you think?”
I blow out a deep breath, the gust of air ruffling my hair out of my eyes as I sigh dramatically.
Raylen waves a polite farewell to the clerk and gently guides me over to a nearby table.
I collapse into a seat, feeling a familiar, hollow sensation.
It’s not the first time I’ve felt like all the strings holding me up have suddenly been cut.
The moment sleep hits me tonight…wherever the hell that ends up being, I am going to pass the fuck out.
“Raylen! Sylar! Over here!”
Talia and Isolde are sprinting toward us, wide grins plastered across both their faces. Talia’s sharp eyes immediately bounce back and forth between Raylen and me, landing right on our joined hands.
“You two are here together,” she teases. I actively try to ignore the blatant, heavy implication dripping from her tone. “Did you get our room?”
I let out yet another deep sigh. “Nope. Looks like Mother is up to something.”
Talia glances over at Isolde, biting back a massive smile. I cock a suspicious brow at them. “What’s going on? What’s that look for?”
Isolde digs her elbow hard into Talia’s ribs, cutting my sister off before she can spill whatever she’s hiding. “It’s nothing! What do you mean you don’t have a room for the two of you?”
I launch into the frustrating story of how the inn is entirely overbooked. I expect Talia to share at least a fraction of my stress, but Isolde immediately jumps in with a suspiciously seamless solution.
“It shouldn’t be that big a deal,” Isolde says smoothly. “Why don’t you stay with me, Talia? I have my own tent on the other side of the market, and Sylar can just stay with Raylen in his cottage.”
My head whips over to Raylen, panic flaring in my chest. “You can’t just invite me over to your brother’s cottage,” I frown, my eyes locked on him, waiting for him to back me up and object.
Instead, he just rolls his eyes. “Really, Sy? What did I just get done telling you? I’m not going to let you wander off without a place to stay. I have plenty of room in my cottage.”
Well. If he has a spare room and I’m genuinely not a bother, I suppose it shouldn’t be a big deal, just like Isolde said.
Suddenly, the rumors flash through my mind.
I remember all the broadsheets and trashy gossip rags calling Raylen a playboy.
I try not to jump to conclusions, but surely one night of not having someone else in his bed should be fine, right?
Shoving down a sudden, sharp swirl of jealousy, which honestly has absolutely no right to be there, I glance warily between my sister, Isolde, and Raylen.
As if he can read my thoughts right through my skull, Raylen wraps a slim, muscular arm over my shoulders and pulls me down toward him. It’s an incredibly awkward position; I have so much height on him that I practically have to bend myself in half to accommodate the embrace.
But then his lips graze sensually over the shell of my ear.
“Feel free to stay with me the whole time, Sy,” he whispers, the phantom touch of his warm breath sending a quick shudder down my spine. “I’d love your company.”
The words are undeniably suggestive, but when I pull back to get a good look at his face, he’s just giving me that comforting, steady stare. It’s a look that somehow eases all my tension and grounds me—all while simultaneously setting me on fire.
“Are you sure?” I ask quietly, my voice suddenly a little breathless. “I really don’t want to interrupt if you… plan on having other guests.”
Isolde cuts in, grinning like a cat that has just caught a canary. “Trust me, Sylar, he’s sure! You’ll be the only company he’ll want this entire trip.”
Everyone exchanges a loaded, meaningful look. I swallow hard, looking around the circle, desperately trying to decipher the silent conversation happening over my head.
What the hell am I getting myself into? And why does it feel like absolutely everyone knows the answer but me?