Page 95 of Thrones We Steal

“I’m going to pull off,” he shouts over the noise and pulls into a car park. We’re in one of the small villages we passed through earlier. The car park belongs to a tiny pub. Its lights are only a hazy glow, but nonetheless a beacon of life in the midst of the flood pouring from the sky.

He shuts off the engine. The silence of the car coupled with the noise of the rain outside creates the feeling of a warm cocoon. Except that warm cocoon is going to become suffocating very quickly. For some reason, sitting in a car alone with Henry is much worse when said car is not in motion.

“Want to make a run for it?” I ask and nod toward the building.

He raises his eyebrows. “We’d get drenched.” Glancing into the backseat, he adds, “I have an umbrella, but the way this wind is blowing, it won’t do us any good.”

I swing my door open, jump out and directly into a giant pool of water beside the car. Ignoring my drenched trousers, I dash through the rain to the door of the pub, Henry right on my heels.

We burst through the door and bring a spray of water with us. Dark paneling rises shoulder-height up the walls. Above that, framed oil paintings and black and white photographs are scattered in a haphazard pattern. Booths line the small room, their blood-red vinyl upholstery cracked and peeling. An ancient stereo struggles to be heard over the rage of the storm.

At our entrance, the handful of patrons sprinkled around the dining room turn in our direction. All too late, I realize we’ll be recognized, even in a small village nearly an hour from the city. Maybe especially here. I don’t know what reaction to expect—do they hate me?—but I desperately want to retreat back the way we came.

But surprisingly, after assessing us, everyone turns back to their meals. I look over at Henry. His normally roguishly styled and tousled hair has lost all of its volume in the rain and is matted to his forehead, sending rivulets of water down his face. He actually doesn’t resemble himself much at all if you aren’t used to seeing him up close and in person. The murky interior of the pub helps dilute his features, although how anyone doesn’t recognize that signature jawline is a miracle.

A young woman with an apron, a dark ponytail, and roughly eight piercings on her face alone greets us with a warm, enthusiastic smile. Something crosses her face, but after a few seconds, she decides we just bear a strong resemblance to the royal couple. She motions with her hand and leads us to a booth at the back of the room. After sliding onto the sticky vinyl, we take the proffered menus.

“I am dying for a cup of coffee,” I say and decide to also order a bowl of what I can only hope is piping hot seafood chowder. A chill has set into my bones.

“Warm ale will heat you faster,” Henry offers, absorbed in his own menu.

“Do I strike you as an ale drinker?”

“No. That’s precisely why I suggested it.”

If he thinks I’m about to be coerced into ordering an ale simply because he doesn’t think I will, he’s wrong. “I’ll have a coffee and the chowder,” I say when the waitress reappears.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to try something new every once in a while,” he says after placing his own order.

“Actually, it might. But please, feel free to try all of the shark swimming and buffet sushi you want.”

He just smiles and shakes his head, sending several drops onto the marred wooden tabletop. The waitress serves our drinks with a smile and assures us our food will be ready shortly.

“I’m so glad we weren’t recognized,” I say and clutch my warm cup. “Sometimes I long for the days when no one knew me.”

He chuckles into his ale. “We were definitely recognized.”

I frown and take a sip of my coffee. The heat chugs through my bloodstream like a small train carrying important goods. “No, we weren’t. They would have said something.”

“This will blow your mind, but not everyone voices every thought aloud.” He pushes his ale across the table. “Taste it.”

I roll my eyes and lift the glass to my lips. The full, malty flavor is intense but not unpleasant. He’s right. Instant warmth shoots through my belly, then spreads to my limbs. I set the glass back down and lift a shoulder. “Not bad. I still prefer my coffee, and I still don’t believe she knows who we are.”

He smirks and raises the glass to his own lips, keeping his eyes on me. A familiar tingle rings through me at his look and I avert my eyes. I can feel my face flush like a lovesick teenager.

“You forget, I know women,” he says.

“Then you’d know that smile meant you’d be welcome in her bed any time.”

At this he guffaws. “Those smiles I also know quite well. And that one wasn’t for me.” He takes another swig of beer and licks the foam from his lip. I drag my eyes and thoughts away from them.

In perfect synchronization, the waitress in question arrives, bearing our plates on her tattooed arms, steaming hot and smelling delicious. Henry’s stomach growls as she places his fish and chips before him.

“I know this is hugely inappropriate of me,” she says, “but tonight is Trivia Night, and I would score so many bragging rights if I brought you.” She clasps her hands together in a pleading gesture. “It’s so much fun, I promise.”

Henry pops a chip into his mouth and looks at me questioningly. The spark in his eyes is unmistakable. “You’re the walking encyclopedia. It’s your call.”

I know he thinks I won’t do it, and my first inclination is to decline. But I can’t stand his gloating. “Sure, why not.”

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