Page 17

She supposed she should thank him, even though the thought made her stomach turn. “Well, thanks,” she gritted out.

“Try not to sound so appreciative.”

I’ll do that, she thought,just as soon as you try not to sound like such a prick.

The guard’s cold eyes flitted over her face like he knew what she was thinking. She stilled her features, putting on a blank mask.

He didn’t know. Couldn’t know. Because if he really knew her thoughts, he would have broken her jaw for her insolence by now.

“Now, do what you’re told and go to your room.”

It was a dismissal.

Without a word, Lore pressed down on the latch and pushed the door open. Relief coursed through her when she saw that she had, indeed, been led to a small room.

When she turned back to the guard, he was already halfway down the corridor, his hands still in his pockets.

Maybe he was on his way to find another waste bin to lurk by.

Lore stepped into a sparsely furnished room. A small bed stood against one wall, with a thin pillow and an even thinner quilt adorning it. Next to the foot of the bed frame was a wardrobe that held two pale green tunics, two pairs of thick tights, underclothes, and a worn pair of boots. The only other furniture was a small chair and table in the corner with a single candle and flint.

Her door had a lock on the inside. She latched it. Checked that the lock worked. It did. She removed her boots with a pained hiss and sunk onto the lumpy mattress. It was stuffed with hay, not unlike her bed at home. She thought she might be too anxious to sleep, but it was amazing what the body could do when faced with two days of terror. Lore was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

***

Lore was startled awake by a pounding.

She stumbled to the door, then hesitated, not knowing what she would find on the other side. She prayed it wouldn’t be the steward—she honestly hoped to never see him again.

The knock came again, more persistent this time. She didn’t have a choice. She cracked the door open to find the antlered guard who had led her to her room last night. He was wearing the same scowl as the evening before.

“You should be ready to go.” His words were clipped.

It would’ve been nice if he had told her what time to be ready. He could have mentioned it at any point last night.

“I’m sorry,” she bit out. “I didn’t know what time to be ready.” She eyed the guard’s twin swords, which were slung low on his narrow hips.

He hadn’t been wearing those last night.

Any courage she’d rallied abruptly fled.

“All the same, I expect you to be ready when I knock tomorrow. Hurry, if you wish to visit the washroom.”

Her mind snagged on one word. “Wait, tomorrow?” What happened to Elra?

“I’ll be in charge of you for now, unfortunately.”

Unfortunately, indeed.

Lore couldn’t help but close the door forcefully in the male’s face. She hadn’t particularly liked the maidservant—especially given Elra had abandoned her during dinner—but this guard certainly wasn’t an improvement.

She quickly made her bed before grabbing a tunic and underclothes from the wardrobe. Clutching them to her chest, she followed the guard to the washroom, which was blissfully empty.

How late had she slept? She decided she didn’t care as she sank into the steaming water of the bath. A moan escaped her lips. The hot water swirled around her, loosening her fatigued muscles and washing away the dust and grime caked on her skin.

How had she survived this long without a bath?

Her cheeks burned when she thought about the fae who was standing outside the washroom, waiting for her. She had probably looked and smelled frightening. But what did she care what a sentry thought about her? They were the worst kind of fae.