Broken Dove (Fantasyland #4)(36)

The good part about this was it worked. He quit trying to talk to me from the moment I looked away from him.

The bad part about this was that when my eyes slid through him moments later, he was leaning against the side of the sleigh, his gaze to the ground, his mouth curved up and I knew it was me he found amusing.

That annoyed me also so I decided to ignore that too.

Off we went maybe ten minutes later and he kept apace with my sleigh but he said nothing further.

He also said nothing when he guided us into a larger village, this one beside a lovely streaming creek that had glistening black rocks at its banks. He took us straight to a building that had a shingle hanging from it that said “Rock Creek Inn” (not original, but apt), where we stopped.

He also said nothing when he wrapped his reins around a post in front of the inn and came back to me, offering his arm as I dismounted from the sleigh. I was, of course, a now-consummate sleigh-driver seeing as Gaston gave me a lesson when we got to Lunwyn and I’d been in charge of my sleigh ever since. Though, truthfully, it wasn’t much to brag about since it wasn’t all that hard.

I took his arm but did it with my face turned away and I didn’t even glance at him because I didn’t want to see if this amused him due to the fact that I knew that would annoy me.

He did curve his fingers around my hand in the crook of his elbow but I ignored that too. Since my hand had rabbit fur-lined gloves on it, I could even pretend his hand wasn’t there.

This was what I did.

He then took us into the inn, right to the desk and instantly asked the innkeeper for his best room.

That would be one room, singular.

It was not your standard Holiday Inn but it had more than one room, I was sure. And I seriously doubted Apollo intended to sleep in my sleigh. Further, the only other time we’d stayed under the same roof overnight, for some insane reason, he’d slept in bed with me.

So he either intended to share a room with me or find somewhere else warm to lie his head (or not lie his head, considering who had shared his bed in Fleuridia before me—it was doubtful he got much rest when he was paying for the time of the person he was with).

Therefore, I was seething but controlling it.

We’d have words in our room.

Which was right where the innkeeper took us, opening the door for us to the room at the very end of the hall on the second floor.

He turned to Apollo, handed him the iron key with a big cross at the top and said, “I’ll have a boy up to start a fire soon’s I can, yer lordship. Would you be requiring any wine, ale or tea to warm you after yer ride?”

I felt Apollo’s eyes on me and I didn’t look at him but I did take this as a sign he was asking me if I wanted any of these things.

“Wine, please,” I requested, forcing my tone to sound calm and wishing I could order tequila. Alas, I’d asked the guys and also copiously tasted the various spirits available in this world and tequila wasn’t among them.

“Of course, milady,” he muttered.

He glanced at Apollo and when Apollo grunted, “Wine will be fine,” the man nodded, skirted us with difficulty (due to the fact that Apollo hadn’t let me go so we were taking up the hallway; nor, might I add, did he move us out of the poor man’s way when he was obviously sucking in his gut to slide by us) and scurried away.

Apollo led me into the room.

The minute he closed the door, I pulled my hand from his elbow and took three paces into the room, sucking in a deep breath.

Then I turned to him but made a show of glancing around the room, taking it all in before I lifted my gaze to his.

When my eyes hit him, I noticed he was in the process of rearranging his face. And what he was arranging it from was amusement. What he changed it to when my eyes caught his was fake courteous inquiry.

I ignored that and remarked, “This is a lovely room.”

Apollo looked around and I knew what he saw since I’d just looked at it.

A bed, double at most, with a quilted bedspread and two fluffy pillows, the pillows being the only good things in room.

The rest included a thick braided rug on the floor that looked like it needed to be taken out and beaten and this needed to be done about twelve months ago. There was not a thing on the walls, not even a chipped mirror. There was a table and two chairs by the window. The table was nicked and scratched. The chairs looked like their comfort level was set at “torture chamber.” And over the windows, heavy drab curtains of a nondescript color because whatever color they were originally faded to nothing two decades ago.

His eyes came to mine and his face was studiously blank when he replied, “Indeed.”

“I’ll enjoy my brief sojourn here,” I shared, ignored the blank look slipping as his eyes flashed with humor and inquired, “Would you care to share where you’ll be sleeping?”

He held my eyes and answered, “In here.”

I cocked my head to the side. “So I’m to sleep in the sleigh?”

“Not unless you fancy your digits being amputated tomorrow due to frost bite,” he replied.

“No, I don’t fancy that,” I informed him, taking great pains to keep my tone neutral. “So, will it be you or me sleeping on the floor?”

“Neither.”

I took in another deep breath, found calm on the exhale, and asked, “Would you care to explain?”