Soren
I hike a narrow stairwell to the fourth floor of the nicest hotel I’ve ever stayed in, especially for a town as small as this in the Highlands. The rolling mountain view beyond the diamond shaped windows is bleak, totally dark, and socked in by storm clouds still raging through the valleys below this mountain top village.
I’ve never been to Juniper Grove, but I’ve been to the Highlands for work. Maeve was right when she mentioned the Highlands weren’t technically considered part of the Kingdom of Eastonia, although I know for a fact several of the more powerful Alphas here throw their support behind the royal family…. Both royal families, that is.
The mountains serve as the official border between Eastonia and Crescent Falls. The border itself is only three dozen miles away or so, over a few gnarly mountain peaks and a wide, steep valley where a highway, and most recently, a rail line, connects the two kingdoms.
Both King Ryatt and King Sydney keep their borders under lock and key, however, especially in years past. I’m part of the problem, I guess. The time I’ve spent in the Highlands has been brief, but it’s always been to run contraband and stolen goods over the border and back.
I turn out of the stairwell and stalk down a narrow, but amply, lit hallway with soft blue walls and white trim. Sconces dance with flickering faux-candlelight–electric, perhaps. Thunder booms overhead, and the sconces flicker with more fervor, warning of a blackout, which I hope isn’t the case. Not tonight, at least. Not with the hotel full of travelers, which I hadn’t anticipated.
No one seemed to notice Maeve when I checked into the hotel, and she’d lingered behind me. Scouts did come for us at the tram, but they were under the impression I was a traveler belonging to a pack deeper in the Highlands who got stuck in the Roguelands visiting his wife’s family–and Maeve is that wife. The sick wife, who desperately needed a healer after the roads were washed out, and we became stranded, or whatever the hell Helena and her witches told their contacts here.
Whatever. We’re here, we’re dry, and Maeve is taking a bath.
I unlock the door to our room and step inside, loudly clearing my throat to warn her of my presence, but she’s already out of the bath and sitting in an armchair next to a dormant fireplace, brushing through her wet hair with a comb.
She’s wearing that white shift again and… not much else. But her coloring looks better. I’d almost forgotten how she seems to glow a soft gold from within. Her gaze follows me as I walk across the room, stepping past the single, king sized four-poster bed. Of course, it's only one bed, seeing as everyone here thinks we’re married, but so be it. I’ll sleep on the fucking floor, again.
“I got more towels,” I tell her as I cross into the steamy bathroom now scented with whatever soap she used in her bubble bath, something bright and floral. I set them on the counter, checking my reflection and running my fingers through my hair.
“Well, you’re absolutely filthy right now. You should take a shower and use them,” she quips, tilting her chin in a show of dominance.
I glare in her direction. “You sound like you’re feeling better.”
“I am.”
“Good. Now, go to bed. We’re leaving here in three days for the border. You’ll catch a train from there, but it does mean dipping back into the Roguelands, and you need to be in better shape before we do that.”
She says nothing but continues brushing her hair. It’s so long. That’s one of the first things I noticed about her all those years ago, when I’d gone to waste time and stopped in for something hot to drink. Her hair had spilled all the way down her back in thick, loose waves.
“What are you looking at, Soren?” she asks from across the room.
I hadn’t realized I’d just been staring absently at her this whole time, but I shrug it off, turning back into the bathroom to rifle through the cabinets and drawers in search of a razor. “I’m going to shower, and when I’m done, I’ll go find us something to eat.”
“I thought I heard music coming from downstairs–”
“There’s other people here tonight,” I cut in sternly, leaning around the doorframe to catch her eye. “Which means you need to stay up here–with the door locked.”
“Whatever you say,” she sighs, rolling her eyes to the ceiling.
I close the door, and take an approximately ten minute long shower, which is apparently enough time for Maeve to do something incredibly stupid.
I storm down the stairwell, my heart in my throat, my hair still wet from the shower. I pulled on whatever clothing I could find and my ball cap before tearing out of the empty room in search of my demonic princess who’d disappeared mere minutes after I left her alone for the first time in… days. The irony is not lost on me.
Music thrums through the hotel coming from a back room–the bar. The smell of fried food wafts through the air as I walk past groups of travelers mingling in the foyer of the hotel and into what I can only describe as a riotous party.
A live band takes up a corner of the room. People rest at wooden tables drinking beer or something stronger, while more linger near the bar, their faces turned to the group of young women currently tearing the dance floor to shreds.
Maeve, toward the center of the group, has her hands in the air as she twirls to the soft rock music, and spots me glowering.
But that light in her eyes… I haven’t seen it since the day her maid tied me up to that armchair.
I reach up to adjust my mask and realize I forgot to put it on.
Maeve is just… in her shift, with knee-high brown boots and a loose gray cardigan covering her shoulders… with no mask.
Great. Just great.
She eyes me for a few more seconds trying to gauge whether or not I’m about to come drag her out of the crowd, but I just… shrug. If the princess wants to play games, we can play games.
Maybe I’ll let her fend for herself when whatever dangers headed our way come out of the dark tonight and see how she likes it, because right now, the only thing on my mind is a fucking drink.
The music blares–modern music. Rock and roll, as they call it in Crescent Falls. I like it and find myself relaxing with each passing beat. A man in my line of work doesn’t go to bars just for fun. No, it’s always for a job. I’ve never gone to a concert for the hell of it. I’ve never bellied up to a bar and ordered a drink for myself without needing to be there to scope out a target.
Watching Maeve over my shoulder as I wait for my drink, I find myself… somewhat thankful she snuck away because she looks so… fucking happy right now.
I shouldn’t feel relieved about that, should I? Sure, I’m thankful she’s starting to recover, but this feeling… this ache in my chest is new and totally unfamiliar. It gnaws at me as she whirls through the increasingly crowded and rowdy group dancing in front of the band, her hair whipping into a frenzy as she closes her eyes and tilts her face to the ceiling, drinking in the sound.
My arm tingles while I drum my knuckles against the bar in time with the music, trying not to look in her direction again, but it’s impossible.
Five minutes later, I’m leaning against the bar sipping from a glass of scotch while the music continues, thrumming through the room and up to the rafters. The sound of a guitar wailing cuts through the thunder booming all around the hotel, and…
We’re fine.
No one comes out of the shadows. No one snatches Maeve from the dance floor. No one slashes a blade toward my neck.
“That’s the princess of Eastonia. Can you believe it?” an older woman says to her companion nearby, her eyes washed in awe and excitement while they watch Maeve bouncing up and down, her eyes pinched shut as she waves her arms to the music. “She’s so beautiful, isn’t she? I can’t believe I got to see her in person!”
I take another sip while scanning the room. Yep, she’s getting recognized. One by one, people turn in her direction, whispering as the dancers scream and shout to music I doubt they know the words to.
“Where were you headed?” a middle aged man with kind, blue eyes asks me, leaning against the crowded bar only a few inches from the area I claimed for myself.
“Me?”
He nods, then shrugs, motioning for the increasingly overwhelmed bartender to pour us both another glass of scotch. “I live nearby and usually bring my mate here on the weekend for dinner and drinks. I’ve never seen the place so crowded. Were you trapped up here trying to leave the festival, too?”
“Nah, we were just passing through.”
He hums to himself, sliding a few dollar bills onto the counter in exchange for the drinks. My senses are honed on his every move, trying to decipher whether his kindness is sincere or if I should be weary. I’ve been around enough ill-willed men to know the difference, and when he turns to the crowd, pointing to a pleasant looking older woman dressed in a fluffy blue sweater and says, “That’s my mate. She was bloody surprised when the princess walked in, I’ll tell you what. She screamed, actually. I think she’s a little embarrassed,” I come to the conclusion he’s fine. Safe. Just a chatty old man.
“Why is the hotel so full?” I ask, glancing in Maeve’s direction as the music grows rowdier, louder. “You mentioned a festival?”
“Aye, a few towns over, down in one of the valleys. Heatherland Falls, I believe, is where it was held. Juniper Grove is one of the last settlements with a hotel before you have to drop down in the valleys again to reach the Roguelands and the border. The storm, I’m telling you, it’s worse out there than I’ve ever seen it. Everyone passing through has no choice but to bunker down for the night, including this hellish band.”
I smile around the rim of my glass. He’s not wrong. The music is exactly what I like and has an effect on the crowd I’d expect at a concert venue deep in the city center of the neighboring capital. Maeve, in fact, has totally lost her damn mind and is now climbing on a table at the behest of the friends she’s made, and the room explodes in excited shouts as she dances across the surface, spilling drinks.
The crowd starts to clap to the music. My hands move against my will, and then I’m… smiling. Smiling at her. Smiling for her.
Her cheeks are a deep rose in the dim light of the bar as she twirls on the toes of her boots. She’s not graceful at all, but she’s an enthusiastic dancer, her body moving with the music and hair whipping through the air as she completes another, then another, turn.
I lean into the stranger, saying under my breath, “You mentioned Heatherland Falls. How far away is it?”
“Not more than fifteen miles north of here,” he says, then smiles and waves to the woman in the blue sweater, who’s pointing at Maeve with a huge, bright smile. “Usually a cozy little place. I’ve heard the Alpha’s a real fucking prick, though.”
I chew the inside of my cheek as the memory of The Architect–that strange phantom of man who’d stopped me in the woods–flickers through my mind.
“This one dies.”
I know better than to question him or his motives.
“I got family there,” I lie with ease, easing onto a stool. “My grandfather. It’s his birthday next week, that’s where I’m headed. Do you know of any knife shops nearby or someone with… skills in that trade?”
“Your grandfather’s a collector of blades, then? I might know a guy.”
My arm tingles sharply, the sensation creeping up toward my shoulder.
I look at Maeve as the song ends in a crashing, thunderous finale, and the dance floor erupts in applause… but the lead vocalist turns to Maeve as she’s helped down from the table, her face glowing a soft pink. Her lips part as she takes several shallow breaths, laughing and saying something to the women around her, her voice overshadowed by the excited crowd.
“Our Queen Maeve, everyone,” the vocalist beams, extending his hand in her direction.
The crowd explodes in applause and whistles.
Maeve blinks, her smile wavering.
Maeve scans the crowd as the sound of her adoration reaches a peak. Her eyes shine like shimmering sea glass–so bright I can almost see the gears turning in that confusing mind of hers. She beams, laughing hysterically, then shouts, “Next round of drinks is on me!”
I purse my lips, exhaling deeply through my nose as I fish in my pocket for my wallet, murmuring under my breath, “She doesn’t have any fucking money,” before tossing a huge wad of cash toward the bartender. She knows it, too. Gods, she loves taking advantage of me, doesn’t she?
At this point, I can’t say I mind. Not even remotely.
I’m utterly fucked.
But one look at the princess shatters that fleeting moment of frustration. She’s easing through the crowd, drinking in the excitement, and her feelings, well, they’re clear as day on her beautiful face.
She… she didn’t expect this. Being loved. Adored. Having people standing close, some even touching her, meeting her eyes.
She looks directly at me as I bring what remains of my drink to my lips.
I raise my glass to her, smirking as I bend at the waist in a rather dramatic bow, and when I rise… there she is. There’s that fire.
There’s that flame, and she’s currently making her way to me through the crowd.