Page 71 of The Dead Queen

When I finally stand, Hunter cleans up the remains of our meager meal. I stoop to grab another apple and throw it to Tristan with a wink. He grins wickedly at Hunter, who chooses to ignore it.

Reluctantly, I walk back toward the horses, but Hunter guides me to the gray mare this time. He helps me up, grumbling. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting him ride with you again.”

Tristan swings up onto Honor’s back, then takes a giant, obnoxious bite of his apple. Juice drips down his jaw as he grins.

We ride well into the night, through forests and past farms with empty fields. The air is cold and an autumn wind rustles the leaves from their branches. Soon, I’m shivering again. I’m so exhausted it’s becoming difficult to stay astride my horse, even with Hunter’s arms tight around me.

“There’s a town up ahead,” Tristan calls back to us from atop his horse. “We should stop for the night.” He tips his head in my direction.

“I already know that,” Hunter says, grumbling.

Tristan lets the attitude slide and leads us toward a wooden bridge that crosses a narrow but deep river. On the other side, there’s a small village of thatched roof houses and leaning two-story buildings. Most of the windows are dark for the night, but at the center of the town, a small tavern is still alight with customers. We lead our horses toward a tiny stable and tie them to a hitching post inside the shelter.

When Hunter helps me down from the saddle, my knees buckle beneath me and I struggle to steady myself. I can feel Hunter’s eyes as he scans me anxiously. A few paces away, I catch Tristan’s glance too, but I don’t know him well enough to read his moods.

After we care for the horses, we head toward the tavern. Tristan holds the tavern door open for us as we pass. Inside, there are several long tables with customers who appear to be well into their cups. Their clumsy movements make me suspect they’ve been drinking for several hours at this point in the night. At the other end of the room, there’s a roaring fire in the hearth. I instinctively lean toward it, eager for warmth.

“We’d like a room for the night,” Hunter says to the barkeep, who’s wiping chipped mugs with a ratty towel.

The barkeep raises an eyebrow at the three of us.

Hunter quickly adds, “Two. Two rooms please.” His eyes narrow toward Tristan, no doubt imagining an evening sleeping next to a Wolf. “Three, if you have them.”

The man studies us, taking in Hunter’s copper gauntlets and my red cloak. Tristan leans against a nearby post, seemingly unconcerned with sharing a room. I wonder if he’d be perfectly happy curling up next to the fireplace like a household pet.

“Can’t do that,” the barkeep says. Beneath his bushy moustache, his teeth are brown and rotted. “Only got the one.”

Hunter visibly cringes. “Alright, she can have it. We’ll sleep down here at the tables.”

The bartender shakes his head. “Not allowed. It’s either the room or the stables with the horses and pigs.”

Hunter sputters.

Tristan rolls his eyes and walks forward to join us. “We’ll take the room.”

Hunter moves to protest, but Tristan holds up a hand. “The lady will be even safer with two of us there to protect her virtue. Don’t start on your moral nonsense.”

The barkeep shrugs. “I care nothing for morals myself.” He holds out a hand.

Before Hunter can dig money from his bag, Tristan drops more than enough coins into the barkeep’s hands. “For your discretion,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

The barkeep’s eyes dart back to Hunter’s gauntlets. He nods. “I’s always discrete, but I’ll not turn down an extra coin or two.”

“In that case,” Tristan says lightly, “I’ll take a mug of your finest ale as well.”

Hunter gives Tristan a withering look.

The barkeep joyfully delivers the ale, then points us to a nearby staircase. As we walk up to the room, Hunter leans forward to whisper to Tristan.

“And where did you manage to find so many coins after being imprisoned at the palace for weeks?”

Tristan takes a sip of froth from the top of his mug with noisy relish. “A rich man never divulges his secrets.”

“‘Rich man’?” Hunter’s voice is edged with disgust. “More like ‘thief.’”

Tristan takes a large gulp of ale, then shrugs. “Would you like to sleep in the stable with the pigs?”

Hunter glares at Tristan but says nothing.