“Neat, too,” the goat declares.
“How does one eat a wedding party neatly?” Malachi wonders.
It says something about us that this is our question, not the actual eating, just the premise. We’re either revolutionary or doomed.
“Cleans his plate with nary a bone nor a tooth left as evidence. All that remained were gowns and breeches.”
“That is clean,” I agree.
The goat waves at the mismatched curtains hanging over the windows. “He repurposed them. See? Neat.”
I blink at the material. “I guess it’s environmentally friendly.”
A few tempos later, a large hare in a red and white checkered apron delivers the stew. I poke at the odd-shaped pole punctuated with orange and yellow bits all floating in mysterious gravy.
“It tastes better than it looks,” the friendly goat says. “Go on, try it.”
My stomach rumbles, and I decide anything to help with the emptiness is worth a shot. I stab the sausage with my fork and take a hefty bite. I’m committed now, no need for dainty theatrics. I chew as the knights and the goat wait for my verdict. The texture is odd, not what you’d expect from a sausage. But somehow, someway... the mystery. “It’s superb once you get past the surprising chunks.”
“Never found anything good which contains surprising chunks,” Malachi says with a frown.
I raise a brow and take another bite. “You too capon to put a chunky mystery sausage in your mouth?”
“She’s right,” Nash agrees before trying his.
Hart sneers at his bowl, then commits to it with the same determination he delivers on my body. Goosebumps scatter across my arms.
After we eat—and I do meaneat—Bronn returns, scratching behind one ear. “So, there’s bad news.”
Hart stiffens. “What kind of bad news?”
Hopefully, he’s not fallen off the wagon and eaten a patron. I have no energy for an intervention.
“The forest’s crowded tonight. Sleeping Beauty’s curse drifted again, and half the travelers in the region fell asleep on the road and had to be hauled in. I’ve only got one room left.”
Malachi raises a brow. “One?”
Bronn nods. “A big one. Clean sheets. Only a little enchanted.”
I perk up. “Enchanted how?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes it snores.”
“That seems manageable.”
Hart clears his throat. “We’ll take it.”
Nash’s arm slides around my waist. “We’ll manage.”
Malachi smirks. “We always do.”
Bronn eyes the four of us. “Right. I’m not asking questions. Try not to break the bed. It’s on its third life already.”
“No promises,” Malachi says.
He sighs like a wolf who has seen too much. “Follow me.”
We trundle after him. I halt on the lower portion of the stairs, gazing with captivation at the faces emerging in the wood of each step Bronn takes.
