He shakes his head.
“And rest?” I press. “You have been sitting for hours. Someone your size must at least need to stretch.”
He raises an eyebrow, and my cheeks immediately burn.
“I do not mean your size,” I rush on. “It is just that you are so big. Your arms. I mean…”
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as the heat climbs up my neck.
“I mean,” I try again, floundering.
He waves a hand dismissively. “If it will stop you talking, then yes. I will come inside.”
The carriage rocks beneath his weight as he rises, ducking his head so he does not drive it straight through the roof. He does not bother with the step, simply drops down into the snow, and yet, for all the thickness of his boots and the sheer power of his body, he does not leave so much as a dip behind.
Fascinating.
I can already feel the music and chatter vibrating through the air as I approach the door, a low hum that seeps into my bones. The moment I push it open, the sound crashes over me all at once. Laughter, voices, the scrape of chairs and the thrum of music spill into the space around me. It is a welcome shock after the long, cold, lightless hours spent in Castle Frostwyn.
I barely manage a step inside before the innkeeper is upon me, already smiling, hands reaching for my coat.
I hesitate. I do not often take off my coat. The bitter chill of Castle Frostwyn means I wear it almost everywhere, all day, every day. But my gaze drifts to the massive hearth at the center of the room, the fire within it blazing bright. Around me, the other guests move with easy comfort. No long coats. No heavy furs. No one looks as though they are freezing to death.
So I ease the coat from my shoulders and release a quiet, contented sigh as warmth blooms against my skin.
I hand over my coat, and the innkeeper smiles.“Staying the night?”
“No,” Luceran says firmly as he ducks beneath the low lintel and steps inside.
The innkeeper’s gaze lifts slowly, color draining from his face inch by inch as he takes in the towering figure now filling his doorway.
The Wayside goes still.
Music falters and dies. Voices trail off. Even the hearth seems to dim, its flames guttering low as if unsettled by the sudden shift in the room.
The innkeeper swallows. “L-L-L-Lord Luceran,” he stammers. “What an honor.”
Luceran does not acknowledge him.
“Can I take your coat, my lord?” the man asks.
What he receives in answer is a sharp scowl and a low, reverberating growl as Luceran yanks the fur coat out of reach.
“Just food,” Luceran says coldly. “Just drink. Now.”
The innkeeper does not hesitate. He abandons my coat where it falls and bolts behind the bar, vanishing through the swinging door into the kitchen. Voices rise at once, urgent and hushed, before a woman, his wife by the look of her, peeks out, gasps, and retreats again. The crash of pots and hurried movement follow.
I turn slowly, taking in the room.
Two dozen patrons stand frozen mid-motion, mugs halted halfway to their lips, faces pale and eyes wide as they stare at Luceran Frostwyn, Lord of Brunemar, standing among them like a living embodiment of winter.
I step forward and offer a careful smile. “It’s all right,” I say. “We’re only passing through. Please don’t let us interrupt.”
No one answers.
No one even seems to register my presence.
“She said, carry on,” Luceran growls, teeth clenched, the pale gleam of a canine showing beneath his lip.
