After finishing our meal and a second serving of ale, we weave our way through the subdued crowd and head up the stairs that lead to the sleeping quarters.
A single bed built for two sits ominously in the center of the sparse room. There’s a full basin of water resting atop a utilitarian cabinet. A small, weathered table with two rickety chairs, and a chamber pot make up the rest of the contents of our quarters.
Dax insists we give the bed to Rapunzel, whereas I don’t give a fuck if she sleeps outside with the livestock. But I relent because I’m exhausted and in no mood to argue. While Quinn builds a fire in the hearth, I splash water on my face before unrolling my pallet.
While we were downstairs, rain came and brought with it bone-chilling dampness. Listening to the storm pelting Felkirk, I glance at Rapunzel, who hides in a corner trying to make herself invisible. Dust from the road mutes the yellow of her tunic, but nothing can dull the golden glow of her fucking hair. She sways on her feet, and the dark circles under her eyes show that she’s about to drop. When she shifts from foot to foot before crossing her legs, I realize she hasn’t asked to relieve herself in hours.
“Rapunzel.”
Her eyes go wide, and her frantic gaze shoots to me. “What now, Wren?”
I jerk my head at the chamber pot in the far corner. “Use it before you piss yourself.”
Horrified, she glares at me as if I’ve gone mad. “I wouldn’t dare with the three of you in the room.”
“Fucking womanly airs,” Quinn grumbles.
Dax, much to my annoyance, comes to her rescue. “How about, just for tonight, we ease her into your torture plan, eh?” He herds us toward the door. “Let’s give Rapunzel a moment of privacy to do her business. Wren, you have my leave to go back to snarling at her after she’s finished.”
Before I can agree or stop him from ushering us out of the cramped room, I’m one of three fools standing in the hallway waiting on Rapunzel to finish whatever the hell she’s doing in the room. Intentionally or not, Dax will sabotage the severity of my retribution against her. And maybe that’s why I brought them along. He and Quinn will stop me from going too far and losing the fragile grip I still have on my humanity. Because they know what I’ve become after I learned the depth of John’s evil.
I became a monster to kill the devil who wears the crown.
13
DAX
I’ve engaged in many intimate acts with countless women over the years. Sleeping, however, was never one of them.
Waking up next to Rapunzel, I must admit, is not unpleasant. Her curves mold nicely in all my grooves. We’re a perfect fit, and it makes it painfully difficult not to peel away the barrier of our clothing and sink into her warmth. Especially with her wiggling her delectable backside against my groin every time she languidly shifts in her sleep.
Good Lord, the woman could tempt a saint—and I’m far from pious.
In fact, I’m downright depraved.
Wren gave us leave to use Rapunzel at our leisure. Currently, with her snuggled against me, I might have to make good on his generous offer. Especially when she stretches, and her entire length glides over me.
Her breathing speeds, and her tiny body stiffens, alerting me she’s transitioned from a peaceful slumber to wakefulness. And then she stops breathing altogether at the realization that although she went to bed alone, she certainly hasn’t woken up that way.
“What are you doing in this bed?” Rapunzel’s groggy demand is adorable.
“Sleeping until someone roused me by rubbing her ass along my cock,” I practically purr as I wrap an arm around her and drag her back to me when she tries to squirm away.
“You can’t be here.”
“My shillings that paid for this room say I can.” Am I bullying her? Absolutely. Do I care? Not at all.
She looked too inviting, curled under the blanket last night. Too enticing now not to tease.
Again, she attempts to scramble away, then squeaks when my arm tightens around her. “You were supposed to stay on the floor.”
“Let me tell you a secret, Rapunzel,” I whisper. “I never do as I’m told.”
The rising sun filtering through the wooden slats covering the window turns Rapunzel’s hair to golden flames when she cranes her neck to peer at Wren and Quinn. They’re still on their pallets by the dying fire. She flops back down, a scowl marring her lovely face. “They stayed put.”
“They must not have gotten cold during the night.” I trail my hand over her hip and smirk at her sharp intake of breath. “I did.”
Forgive me, Father, for I am a liar.
