Chapter 23
When I awoke the following morning to a sharp knock on the door and Katerina’s promise of breakfast, everything ached.
I came to a seat, massaging my neck. Spring rains beat a tattoo against the window, as if whispering a promise of an increasingly miserable journey.
I was unused to waking before noon after so many months, and it took everything in me not to dive back beneath the blankets.
Enhart would probably drag me out without hesitation.
As I tossed aside the blankets, I stilled.
There were several holes in the sheet that I hadn’t noticed the night before.
Their edges were singed, as if someone had held a candle too close to the fabric.
My heartbeat thrummed as I placed my fingertips over the holes.
They fit perfectly. And there was a bluish tinge to the singe marks.
It couldn’t be.
I scrambled out of the bed, throwing the heavy duvet over the sheets and backing against the opposite wall.
My pulse pounded in my ears as I stared at the bed.
It was nothing. Ash must have spit off of the wicks of the candles on the nightstand after I’d fallen asleep. The color was imagined. It had to be.
I didn’t dare double check.
I pulled on a clean shirt and breeches, eager to get going as soon as possible.
Retreating to the washroom, I brushed my teeth and splashed my face with water, beads of moisture dribbling down my sleeves.
My boots stood like sentries beside the door.
The housekeeper had scrubbed out the mud that had clung to the soles after yesterday evening’s training session.
I stepped into them before draping my cloak over my arm and heading downstairs.
I cursed as I climbed down the stairs, the muscles of my thighs overworked from so many hours on horseback.
And it was only day two of our journey. When I arrived in the dining room, I paused at the sight before me.
Katerina and Enhart chatted like old friends, the housekeeper gesturing excitedly to three small sketches that were strewn across the table.
Her joy swelled around her, warming my cheeks like rays of sunlight.
As I peered closer, I recognized the face of the stable boy alongside two others. They must be her grandchildren.
I studied the pair for a moment. It was oddly sweet.
“Miss Erramun,” said the housekeeper, finally noticing me. “Please, eat.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
I dropped into the chair opposite Enhart, bringing a cup of tea to my lips. I studied him over its rim as the housekeeper swept up the sketches and left with a curtsy.
“So,” I began, “all of a sudden you’re friendly?”
The corners of his lips curled upwards. “I’m very friendly.”
“Not to me,” I replied pointedly. “Don’t you remember the night we met?”
He chuckled. “I’ll never forget it. The Outlander staring blatantly at me from across the room.”
My cheeks warmed as an image of him in his green doublet, surrounded by adoring lords and ladies, flashed behind my eyes. “I wasn’t staring,” I lied.
“That’s not how I remember it. Then again, you were fairly deep in your cups.”
I scoffed. “And you insulted me about five different ways during our first conversation.”
He waved a hand. “Please, I know how much you love to argue.”
I rolled my eyes and bit into a crunchy piece of buttered toast. Katerina bustled in and out, plying us with excessive helpings of bacon and piping hot tea. We ate quickly before setting out, Enhart warning me that the rest of our journey was about to get less than comfortable.
We encountered no one on the road, save for a shepherd with a vague warning about wolves that were bothering his sheep. The skies pelted us with near-constant spring rains, and dampness clung to every fiber of my clothing. The soaked leather of my boots tightened, chafing the skin of my heels.
I hardly noticed.
I was too preoccupied with the image of the scorch marks I had found in my bed this morning.
I wanted so badly to believe that I had had nothing to do with them.
Surely magic couldn’t leech out of a person while they slept?
I pressed the back of my hand to my cheek.
My skin was warm, as always, but was it warmer than usual? I wasn’t certain.
I stiffened as Enhart’s eyes flicked toward me. There was determination in his gaze. He never missed a thing, godsdamn him. I focused, tightening my wards so quickly I could practically hear them slamming shut. I didn’t need him poking through my head. Certainly not now.
By the time daylight had surrendered to night, we had arrived at an inn just off the road.
It was the only thing around for miles, with white-washed walls and oil lamps flickering behind every window.
The flowerbeds were stuffed with puffy pink flowers, their petals peppered with raindrops that glistened in the lamplight.
The breeze disturbed the wooden sign hanging above the door, and I peered closer at it.
A wyvern had been painted onto its surface, curled around its own tail like a sleeping cat.
Enhart pulled Grim to a stop, swinging out of the saddle and beckoning for me to do the same.
I winced as my boots hit the earth. Enhart grabbed my reins, securing the horses to a post beside the door.
Leather scraped against my tender heels as I followed him, eager for a hot bath and soft bed.
The sweet scent of peonies tickled my nostrils as we stepped through the front door.
The inn was clean, if a little musty, the only sound the snoring of a middle-aged man sitting behind the desk. Enhart cleared his throat.
The man snorted, blinking at us through heavy eyelids. He climbed clumsily to his feet, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. “Welcome to the Sleeping Wyvern Inn,” he said in a gravelly tone. “Do you have a reservation with us?”
Enhart nodded. “Under Smith.”
I shot him a wry look. A fake name? Surely he would be recognized.
His face had been captured in paintings and history books for the last two centuries.
The innkeeper’s brow cocked as he looked us up and down.
He pulled a thick ledger from the bowels of the desk, setting it down with a thud.
The tip of his nose nearly skimmed the page as he searched for the name.
Loosening my wards, I allowed my thoughts to spill toward Enhart. Smith?
It’s safer to travel incognito, Erramun, he replied.
My brows shot up. The innkeeper sniffed, dragging his finger down the page. I don’t think he believes you, I pointed out.
Well then, let’s hope he’s very discreet. As all innkeepers should be.
“Congratulations, you two,” the man said finally.
My brow creased. “I beg your pardon?”
“I see you’ve booked the marital suite,” he continued, unperturbed. “Rest assured, it’s got a massive bed. If you know what I mean.”
Heat seared my cheeks. I opened my mouth to protest, but Enhart interrupted me before I could choke out any words.
“We need two bedchambers,” Enhart said, leaning over the desk. There was an edge to his voice. “You do have two bedchambers, right?”
The man tutted, shaking his head from side to side. “I’m afraid not. We’re completely booked this evening.”
This isn’t happening.
My palms went clammy at the idea of sharing a bedchamber with Enhart. Let alone a marital suite. I could picture it now: a massive bed with fluttering curtains, rose petals littering the threshold, a roaring fire. What would Mordric say?
“I know it’s completely booked, because I booked it,” the prince said flatly. “I sent a courier with the coin days ago.”
Relief flooded through me. The innkeeper’s disbelieving gaze flicked back and forth between us before dropping once again to his ledger. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, his finger tracing the slanted script. “Oh yes, I see that you have, Mr. Smith. My mistake.”
A muscle twitched in Enhart’s jaw. “It’s no problem.”
The innkeeper cocked an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “So, two separate bedchambers, is it?”
“Yes,” we said in unison.
His smile faded. “If you insist.”
I inched away from Enhart as the innkeeper dug behind the desk for the keys.
Feigning interest in a dusty painting of a farmhouse that hung over the hearth, I noticed a cloak hung from a hook beside it.
The dark blue fabric was soaked through.
It was also too tall for the innkeeper, from the looks of it. Perhaps it belonged to another guest.
The innkeeper emerged from behind the desk with two brass keys. “Have you got bags?” he asked.
Enhart gestured toward the door. “With the horses.”
“I’ll have the stablehand bring them up after she sees to them,” he said. He gestured toward the staircase. “Up you go then. Supper will be up within the hour.”
I maintained a healthy distance from Enhart as we traversed up the stairs. The walls were crowded with landscapes of what I assumed was the surrounding area. Nearly every surface was covered with mismatched pots of flowers. Their sweet perfume hung in the air.
Enhart dropped me off outside my quarters then disappeared around the corner.
My bedchamber was decorated with floral-patterned curtains and matching upholstery that looked like it belonged in the home of a wealthy, elderly widow.
Flowers were stuffed into vases around the place, their petals wilting ever so slightly. Warmth radiated from the fireplace.
It was good enough for me.
I peeled off my coat and kicked off my boots, collapsing into an armchair embroidered with pink and gold roses.
The heels of my socks had been rubbed down to the threads, revealing bloodied flaps of skin.
That’s what I got for wearing new boots for two days straight.
Grimacing, I stripped them off. I pinched the dead skin of my right heel between my fingers, gagging as I peeled it away.
I glanced up at the sound of knuckles wrapping against the door.
“Luggage!” came a woman’s voice.
Groaning, I stood and limped toward the door.
By the time I pulled it open, the stablehand had already disappeared.
As I swung my pack over my shoulder, I locked gazes with a stranger exiting the chamber opposite mine.
The owner of the dark-blue cloak, I imagined.
His wavy brown hair fell to his shoulders, the same shade as the stubble on his chin.
He stilled, his gaze raking over my frame.
Dread coiled in my stomach as his nostrils flared.
Curiosity oozed out of his pores. It was sticky.
Wanting. His lips curled into a smile, revealing a pair of sharp fangs.
I resisted the urge to slam the door in his face.
Instead, I offered a curt nod before retreating into the safety of my bedchamber.
A chill ran down my spine as the door clicked shut.
I pressed a hand against the wood, willing myself not to panic.
The look in the vampire’s eyes was too familiar.
I’d seen that same morbid curiosity in Mordric’s gaze after he’d tasted my blood for the first time.
The invisible scar he’d left in my throat prickled.
The walls around me seemed to shrink as I recalled how it felt to be trapped in his iron grip.
Helpless while he drained the life out of me.
I took a steadying breath. Enhart wasn’t far. And I wasn’t helpless.
Still, I bolted the door. Just in case.