My eyes widen when the story turns perilous. I catch my breath as the tension mounts. I blush, unrepentant, when the hero and heroine steal a moment together in an abandoned barn, and all the while, even without lifting my gaze, I am aware of him.
Of Lord Luceran sitting across from me in complete silence, watching without intrusion or impatience, granting me the rarest kindness of all. The space to lose myself in a story. And somehow, that quiet allowance, that unspoken permission to simplybe, feels like one of the greatest gifts he could offer.
18
As the hour grows late, the ache sets in.
It starts in my calves, a dull, insistent throb from being folded into the same position for too long, then creeps up into my hips and spine until even breathing feels stiff. I shift, stretch my toes inside my boots, roll my shoulders carefully, and wince. IfIfeel this cramped, I can only imagine how Lord Luceran must feel, long-limbed and confined to the narrow space of the carriage, forced into stillness for hours on end.
The Wayside comes into view, lanterns glowing warm and gold against the falling snow, thick plumes of smoke curling from the chimney. My stomach growls loudly enough to embarrass me, and I laugh under my breath, suddenly ravenous.
Luceran’s eyes narrow as he studies me. “Did that sound come from you?”
“We have been in this carriage a long time,” I say. “And I do not think I ate anything before we left the castle.”
“So you are hungry, then. That is what that sound was.”
I frown. “Yes. What else would it be?”
“At first I thought an earthquake,” he says mildly. “Or perhaps a feral animal howling for blood.”
“Do not exaggerate,” I grumble. “I think it is perfectly normal to be hungry.”
My eyes flick toward The Wayside, standing just off the main road.
Luceran notices.
“I suppose you intend to inconvenience me by stopping at this human establishment,” he sighs.
I tilt my head. “You did not have to come with me, Lord. You could have sent one of Atilia’s riders.”
He lifts his chin, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Would you have preferred one of them? Which did you like better, the dark haired one or the blond?”
The question catches me off guard. I swallow, my shoulders stiffening. “I preferred neither. I only meant…”
“Do you wish they were here instead of me?” he asks bluntly.
I hesitate, weighing my answer. If I say yes, I offend him. If I say no, I admit something I am not ready to name.
Thankfully, my stomach offers its own opinion, releasing another loud growl.
Luceran startles, then his lip twitches. “Let us stop,” he says. “Before whatever is in your stomach escapes.”
Relief washes over me. At the thought of stopping at The Wayside, yes. But also at not having to answer his question.
The carriage turns off the main road and then jolts to a stop. I’m already scrambling forward and opening the door as the sprites hurry to shove the step into place just in time for me to hop down.
I land with a grateful stretch, boots crunching into the snow, and roll my shoulders again as the cold air bites pleasantly at my skin. Warmth, food, a chair that doesn’t sway beneath me. It all feels dangerously appealing.
I head toward the door of the inn, already imagining stew and fresh bread. But halfway there, I pause and turn back.
Luceran is still inside the carriage.
I frown slightly and step back toward him. “Aren’t you coming in?”
He lifts his gaze to me. “I will remain here.”
I blink. “You’re not… hungry?”
