Royally Not Ready(12)

Nothing to make the space comfortable.

Fuck.

She’s going to run right out of this “heap of stones.”

“Maybe the other room is more comfortable,” I say as I make my way to the pocket door that leads to the bathroom. It screeches open, a sound so horrifying it makes me believe the trees that sacrificed their lives to make the door are suffering through a slow, agonizing death.

Her lips pull together as the concern on her face grows. I don’t blame her.

I flip on the light switch to the bathroom and stop in my tracks . . .

Ah, hell.

The space is completely covered in stone, with another sliver of a window. There is no shower, only a wood-planked circular tub that looks as though it has seen better days. Next to it is the toilet, which has to be only five inches off the ground. Might as well set a bedpan on the floor.

On the opposite side of the bathroom are two exposed-pipe sinks with cloudy mirrors hanging above them on the wall and rickety gold sconces flanking each mirror.

I scratch the back of my neck. I don’t care about a lot of things, but this is even a bit low for my standards.

Maybe the room on the right is better.

I move to the other pocket door and use all my might to push it open, revealing another dark room. Being smart this time, I carefully work my way through the space and find the curtain to the window. I pull it open and, to my chagrin, find a replica of the bedroom we were just in. But instead of navy-blue bedding, this one has green.

This does not bode well for convincing her to stay.

When I turn toward her, I can see true regret in her expression. Her frown takes over her face, her lip trembles fast enough for me to notice from a distance, and as she wraps her arms around her waist, I know she’s mentally clicking her heels together, wishing she could be sent back home.

“It won’t be forever,” I tell her. “Just until things calm down.”

Her eyes meet mine as a lonesome tear cascades down her cheek. With a quick wipe, she says, “It’s . . . it’s fine. Just different, is all. At least it’s not super cold.” She takes off my jacket and hands it to me. “I guess I’ll get unpacked.”

“Lilly—”

“It’s fine, really.” She walks through the bathroom and then to her bedroom, where she tries to shut the pocket door and struggles immensely. She uses her shoulder, leaning into her attempt to shut it, and then even yanks on it, but when it doesn’t move, she tosses her hands up in the air in defeat and mumbles something under her breath.

I can only imagine what it was. Most likely included a swear word. Or six.

Shoulders slumped, a depiction of giving up, she walks over to the bed, and without bending at the waist, she flops forward on the mattress face-first. And that’s where she stays, practically suffocating herself in the velvet of the comforter.

The feeling is mutual.





“I really appreciate these clothes you picked up for me, Lara,” Lilly says as she cuddles into her light-blue pajama set and matching slippers. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

“Not a problem at all. I just wish the staff had prepped the cabin more, although, I did hear they had a short time frame, not wanting to give away the location.”

Lara and Lilly are sitting in front of the fireplace, a low roar of a fire in front of them, while Brimar is in the kitchen, making some soup. I’m attempting to fix the Internet by turning off the router and turning it back on while cursing under my breath.

It’s a windy night, and my guess is we’re not going to have any sort of signal until the morning.

“Any luck with the Internet?” Brimar asks as he steps into the main living space, which consists of two couches, one sitting chair, a coffee table, and a dining room table.

“Probably not going to work until tomorrow morning, when the wind dies down,” I answer. “Is the soup ready?”

“Yes. It just needed heating.”

From the couch, Lilly stands and presses her hand to her stomach. “Would it be okay if I skipped dinner for the night and went to bed? I’m not feeling too great and I think I just want to lie down.”

It’s obvious she’s not feeling herself. Ever since I introduced her to her jail cell, I mean bedroom—my mistake—she’s been quiet, withdrawn. She perked up a bit when Lara brought her warm clothes, but that was only temporary. She’s spent most of the last half hour staring into the flames of the fire, probably questioning every decision she’s made in the last twenty-four hours.

This was not the welcome I’d envisioned. I assumed we’d take her to the palace, let her meet Theo and Katla, and go from there. But having to stay in a distant castle that has seen better days with three strangers that have no family connection to her . . . it can’t be easy.

“Are you sure?” Lara asks. “I don’t want you to be hungry.”

“I honestly don’t think I could stomach anything right now, and I don’t mean that to sound rude, but I’m just feeling weird and I think I want to lie down.”

Lie down, run away . . . probably the same thing.

“Would you like me to walk you up to your room?” I ask.

Her eyes connect with mine. They’re weary, tired . . . scared. She shakes her head. “I can handle it. Thank you.”