And if I keep telling myself this lie, I might actually will it into reality.
* * *
Quinn,the ornery bastard, hangs back with Dax and Rapunzel while I have a brief exchange with Felkirk’s gatekeeper. He allows us inside after fleecing us of more shillings than I intended to part with to gain entry. But it’s money well spent. Here, the people keep to themselves. They’re less likely to have heard the rumors about Rapunzel. We’re safe for the night, at the very least. Come dawn, we’ll be back on the road, on our way to the abandoned castle we’ve called home for the past year. But it’ll take over a day of hard riding to reach Dyhurst.
We stable our horses at the village green and drape Rapunzel in a drab brown cloak. Quinn yanks the hood over her head and tries to get as much of her hair tucked beneath it as possible. We stroll the short distance to the White Horse Inn, blending with the handful of people milling about the antiquated village.
We claim a cozy table in the back of the inn’s main room and sit Rapunzel between Dax and Quinn, facing the wall. I’m across from them, my eyes on the crowd. She keeps the hood drawn but peeks around it at the assortment of locals gathered in this small space. A fire burns in a huge stone hearth where a roasting pig flavors the smokey air.
A server rushes over with tankards of ale. “Hail and well met, good sirs and milady.” Her smile reveals deep dimples as she sets the four cups on the table. “Will you be dining with us this evening?”
“Aye,” Dax confirms. “And rooms as well.”
“Yes, of course, but there’s only one room available for the night.” Her gaze lingers on Rapunzel, who peeks back at her from beneath the cloak’s hood.
Quinn lifts a single brow, his black eyes cold. “That won’t be a problem.”
If she’s scandalized by our acceptance of the sleeping arrangement—or by Quinn’s soulless eyes—she wisely keeps it to herself. “Of course. I’ll bring four plates.”
Then she’s off, weaving around the empty tables. No one pays us any mind, although we make sure Rapunzel keeps the damn hood in place to hide her golden fucking hair.
“We’ll leave at dawn and ride hard until we reach the Soren River. That should get us as far as Davenport,” I calculate.
Dax is already nodding, his blonde shaggy hair a mess after a relentless day of riding. “Aye, but we’ll need to be mindful of where we make camp.”
“That’s Grayson territory.” Quinn slides a glare at Wren and shakes his head, clearly annoyed. “Still say I should have killed Edward when I had the chance.”
I roll my eyes at Quinn’s complaint. “Back then, you were still too quick with your sword.”
“But I’m so good at spilling blood.” Then Quinn looks pointedly at Rapunzel. “And now you get to have your fun, while we had to restrain ourselves when it was our turn. How convenient.”
“Edward didn’t wrong you. He annoyed you. There is a difference.” My temper rises at the memory of my father dying over six brutally long days and the vision of my mother’s body bleeding out on her chamber floor.
“I didn’t wrong you.” Rapunzel’s audacity is a slap to my face.
I lean forward, getting as close to her as the table allows. “Then why the fuck are your eyes filled with guilt?”
“You see what you want to see, Wren.” She drops her head to stare at her lap, and when she does, Dax drapes an arm around her shoulder. He opens his mouth to speak, to calm the growing tension between us, no doubt, but silences himself when the server returns, balancing four heaping plates of food.
She places the heaping plates on the table, then wipes her hands on the food-stained apron tied around her trim waist. “May I get you anything else?”
Just then, a burly man with a bushy gray beard sitting a few tables away bellows, “Joan, get your sweet self over here with another jug of ale.”
“We’re good.” Quinn slides a dangerous glare at the man.
She bobs a quick curtsy. “Shout if you need me.”
The moment she turns her back, Dax, Quinn, and I dig into our food. After consuming only bread and the occasional apple for days, a hearty meal is most welcome. Rapunzel, however, picks at her plate.
Quinn notices and bumps her with his shoulder. “Problem, Princess? Meal too primitive for your standards?”
“It’s delicious, actually.” She slips a piece of the roasted pig between her lips. Chews, swallows, then gives Quinn a hesitant look. “I’m…overwhelmed.”
I throw her a smirk. “I’d tell you to relax, that we’re going to take care of you, but unlike you, I’m not one for duplicity.”
Clearly miserable, she shoves her plate away.
Quinn stabs his knife in the meat and, without missing a beat, pulls the dish toward him. “Shame to let food rot.”
