Page 65 of Settle Down, Princess

Silence reigned and she blinked, as if she’d expected a very different response. “Is there a drying cloth in the room?”

“Here, let me,” Creed said, picking up the one his mother had provided.

“No, I’m fine to do this myself.”

And she did, patting dry the wrists marred by ropes, the bruises on her skin. We marked every one of them silently, just as she did. We regained our feet and stepped forward once her body was dry, hovering as she bent over, wincing at the movement, she wrapped her hair in the towel and twisted it into a turban that sat like a crown on her head.

“Now, the lady Marian spoke of some food.”

She was good, so very good, at masking what she felt, but I knew all the signs of distress. There was just a tiny little quaver in her voice, one she quickly obliterated, but I heard it. It buzzed in my ear, long after she’d stepped out of the bath with Creed and Roan’s assistance.

“I brought your bags up,” Roan told her, one hand worrying at the fingers of the other until he pulled them free of each other. “Figured you might want your things. I can go get them for you if you like. They’re just outside the door.”

“Having fresh clothes to change into would be a very pleasant thing,” she replied. “And thank you, Master Roan, for bringing my things to me.”

That small moment of gratitude had all three of us becoming immediately alert because it set alight something far more fragile, yet stronger, than the chemical blast of roseblood. Hope. And it sprang eternal, flickering in the dark, even though it threatened to snuff it out. I made a silent promise to earn a similar acknowledgement for myself.

Chapter 37

Why on earth was I thanking the men who’d left me trussed up like a turkey? Who’d left me to swing on the rope the bandits had tied around the bonds at my wrists, as I… I couldn’t even finish that sentence, a flush of embarrassment and shame painting my cheeks red.

But not just shame.

Something hotter, darker, and far more insidious had my chest heaving, even as I clasped the drying cloth to me. Something that had my eyes running over each one of them in turn. And they noticed. Of course they did. They’d watched my every move as I’d washed, staring then forcing their eyes away, but now I saw the Adam’s apple in Silas’ throat bob up and down, and Creed’s eyes bleed to pale greenish-yellow, as Roan took a step forward. I was saved by a sharp knock on the door, which interrupted whatever the hell this was. They all stiffened, Silas’ hands going to the knives at his belt, Creed’s hands turning to claws, and even Roan dropped into a loose pose. All of them ready to defend me, I realised. Though they seemed to think an enemy might lie beyond the door, a sharp, feminine voice made clear that wasn’t the case.

“Creed, brother, are you in there?” she said.

“He better bloody not be,” another woman said. “Fated mate or not, he’s not to be left unsupervised around the girl, especially when she’s human.”

“Really, Saffie?” I could hear the creak of age in this woman’s tones. “Like I didn’t walk in and catch you with those likely lads you call mates in your room of a nighttime? There were boys leaping out windows left and right.”

“Yes, well, that was different—”

But whatever this Saffie might have had to say, it was cut off abruptly by two things. Creed moving forward to put his body in between me and the women that stood outside, and the door being opened.

The first woman who entered was beautiful, that was clear. She had Creed’s hazel eyes, but in her case, they were more green than brown. They were keen, too, because as she took in the scene before her, her lips quirked up into a smile, then a laugh bubbled free.

“Oh no, the favoured one is in trouble now…”

“That’s enough, Fern…” An older woman, whose long brown hair was pulled back into a bun with a few grey streaks at the temples, had come in behind her and was taking in the tableau in front of her with a slight frown. “Creed.” I knew who she was then. She had to be Creed’s mother because no woman mastered that tone of barely repressed disappointment than the one who had borne you. “What on earth are you doing in here?”

“Mother Marian asked us to assist my fated mate with a bath,” he replied stiffly, still providing a physical barrier between me and the women.

“That meddling old witch…” The third woman said as she walked into the room. Her hair hung free in long waves of perfect grey, and her face settled in soft folds as she smiled past Creed at me. “Though it appears we’ve arrived at just the right time. Fern?”

She nodded her head at the younger woman, who stepped toward me with an armful of neatly folded clothing.

“We thought you might like something clean to wear,” Fern said with a smile. “Not that the dress you were wearing wasn’t awfully pretty. We had it laundered and it’s hanging up to dry, but…”

She offered me the clothing, and I just blinked at it. My brain reminded me belatedly that I needed to take it, and thank her for her kind offer, so I tucked the drying cloth around me tightly and smiled.

“Thank you so much. Fern, is it?”

“Everything’s arse-about, as per usual,” the grey-haired woman said with a sharp shake of her head. “You three.” If you’d asked me when she first came into the room what colour her eyes were, I’d have said a soft brown, but they seemed to grow harder and greener as she inspected each of the men. “Get down to the elders’ lodge. You’re expected.”

“But Grandmother—” Creed started to say.

“Of course, Lady Hazel.” Silas sketched a perfect bow, though a slightly stiff one, before making for the door. When he got to the doorway, he paused to look back at me. “You’ll be safe here, Princess. Nothing can touch you on the packlands.” His lips twisted into a sardonic smile. “Not even us.” The smile faded as he turned to the others. “Come, a summons from the elders can’t be ignored.”

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