But Lucy knew better. The more attractive something looked, the higher the risk. Lucy considered this one of her more reliable survival rules. It had yet to fail her. Including where she herself was concerned. She felt that law in her bones—since she herself was one of the most attractive people she knew. And she was very dangerous in quiet ways.
A rooster crowed in the background, signaling that life was soon to awaken. Lucy pointed toward the sound.
“Happy now? The roosters are awake.”
The Baroness made a sound that reminded Lucy of an asthmatic pug. Lucy had once met a pug with more fortitude. And better breathing.
Lucy smiled cheekily before twirling around and entering Moonpetal Inn, leaving Basil and the idiotic coachman to unload the cargo. She was not made for heavy lifting.
“Greetings,” a compact elderly woman said. “Are you in need of a room today?”
“Good morning,” Lucy replied. “Actually, I need three.”
“Oh dear. I’m sad to say we only have one available. We’re currently repairing two of our rooms after some rowdy guests.”
And just like that, Lucy’s torture continued. She briefly considered arson. Decided against it. Too early in the morning, and she hadn’t had breakfast yet.
She cursed the travelers who had destroyed the rooms. “May everything they eat turn to ash,” she whispered to whatever deity would hear her prayers—good or evil, she did not care.
Suddenly, the strict castle walls and regulations about coming and going didn’t seem so bad. After this journey, she would never travel again.
“Fine,” Lucy groaned. “But you’ll have to inform the overly dressed pug out there.” She jerked her thumb toward the window, where the edge of the Baroness’s enormous hat wasvisible. Lucy would never understand the point of such large, gaudy hats nobles loved so much.
Lucy barely had time to enjoy the old woman’s horrified expression before the inn door jingled again and the Baroness stormed in, hat feathers first.
“Lucy,” she squawked, “why does the innkeeper claim there is only one room? Surely she can relocate the peasants.”
“Sure,” Lucy said brightly. “If you want to go outside and physically drag a family of six out of their beds at dawn, be my guest.”
The Baroness paled. “Absolutely not. Commoners bite.”
Lucy opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Some arguments were not worth winning aloud.
“Exactly.” Lucy clapped her hands together. “Great news, Basil. We’re about to experience horrors no man has ever walked through before.”
Basil—poor, sweet Basil—already had the look of a man questioning all of his life decisions. Lucy liked Basil. He was competent, tired, and did not mistake authority for intelligence. It was a rare combination.
“We haven’t slept in two days…”
“Perfect,” Lucy chirped. “Then you’ll be too tired to complain.”
Lucy led the group down the creaky hall toward a door labeled BATHHOUSE in peeling paint. The Baroness recoiled as if the wood itself were contagious.
“Communal,” she whispered, trembling. “As in… people… bathe… together?”
“Relax,” Lucy said. “It’s early. We’ll be alone.”
She pushed open the door.
Steam drifted lazily through the air, glimmering faintly in the morning light. Large stone tubs, full and heated, waited. Empty.
Lucy inhaled deeply. Hot water solved more problems than diplomacy ever had.
“See?” Lucy gestured. “Fresh hot water, no other humans. Your worst nightmare defeated.”
The Baroness minced inside like her shoes were allergic to public flooring. “I suppose… it could be worse.”
Lucy bit her tongue to avoid sayingIt usually is.
