Page 20 of The Stolen Bride

Admirable goals, honestly. “Does she say, I don’t know, just spit-balling here, something like find, destroy, happy?” I took a stab at decoding his meaning. “Find the key, destroy the shifters, and be happy.”

His stiff demeanor responded for him, telling me the topic had reached a dead end. But I couldn’t gauge whether I’d gotten it right or missed by miles.

I veered, attempting a smooth detour. “Do you trust the Valkara?” She had access to him in ways no one else did.

Silence stretched between us, a clear sign he was done with that line of questioning.

Very well. We’d go with anewnew direction. “Mind telling me what set you off yesterday?”

A flash of glowing gold in his eyes. “The capturedturul-shifters relayed a message from their leader. Deco vowed to take possession of my most valued treasure.”

“Meaning me,” I said, pressing my fingertips into my sternum. Okay, I got that I was his firebrand and all, but to be touted as his most valued treasure so soon after we’d met?—

“Meaning the key,” he stated.

Right. Of course. That wasn’t upsetting at all. “Not to remind you of a sore spot, but, um, didn’t you lose it?”

“Nem.Idid not.” Bitterness drenched his words.

So he didn’t, but someone else did. “What’s so special about this key?”

“What comes with it,” he replied.

More seconds ticked by as I waited for him to elaborate. Or finally ask a question of his own. Silence, only silence.

“We’d both have a much better conversational experience if you provided details in bulk,” I said, tossing my arms up. “What comes with the key?”

“Your questioning is done.” He stood, the trunk sliding behind him, the daggers falling to the floor. Unconcerned, he rolled his shoulders. “Eat your breakfast, use the facilities.” He motioned to the curtained off area. “In the coming days, you will answer ten of my questions.”

The exact number of questions he’d answered for me.

He exited the tent. Left to my own devices, I took care of first things first, collecting my daggers, then wolfing down the meal waiting on the desk. A veritable feast of eggs, fruits, juices, lángos and pogácsa. Delicious, but still not satisfying. A third and fourth helping wouldn’t have been amiss.

When not even crumbs remained, I checked out the curtained off area, pausing to admire the small, pearl-size stones sewn into the fabric. Sweeping past it, I enteredwhat I believed to be the makeshift bathroom. Except, oh wow. How was this possible? My jaw dropped as I spun. An actual bathroom. Look at all this goodness. Walls covered in mother-of-pearl. A gold toilet. A marble floor with veins of gold. A massive shower stall with Swarovski crystal handles. A mirror surrounded with flowers made from rubies, black diamonds and emeralds. A gold-rimmed sink. Toiletries for every need lined shelves. There was also a stack of folded clothes. A pair of combat boots and ballet flats were tucked beneath the bottom rack, both in my size.

But where was the curtain? Thetent? There was only a closed wooden door framed by more of those pearl-size stones leading to a mystery location. Hand trembling, I twisted the knob. Hinges creaked, the entrance opening up to—hmm. Back in the tent, the curtain behind me. How was this even possible?

I slunk backward, shutting the door and sealing myself inside the luxurious bathroom. My gaze zeroed in on the rain shower, and I whimpered with longing. A steamy soak sounded as close to heaven on earth as I could get at this point. But there was no way I’d risk Viktor walking in on me.

No, you know what? I refused to bypass this opportunity. Who knew when I’d get another chance? I’d only been here a day, but I was filthy.

As fast as possible, I stripped, washed up under the perfect rainfall of hot water, then dried off with a fluffy towel that remained warm. Zero savoring occurred but hey, no one had interrupted me, and I now smelled of honey and lavender, so I called it a win.

After brushing my teeth, I shimmied into the clean clothes. Perfectly made undergarments the color of a blush, and a delightful knee-length dress in muted gold, withdelicate embroidery of bold red and yellow flowers adorning the neckline and hem. Somehow, the garments fit me like a hand-tailored glove.

I also donned a pair of matching leggings. Though the outfit demanded I choose the lace-up ballet flats, I went for the boots after pulling on a pair of socks. Wince. The fabric was soft, but my cuts and bruises protested the contact. I, however, required the warmth. Designer shoes would have to wait for another day.

I retrieved my daggers and hustled into the tent to await Viktor. I expected him to sweep inside with dramatic flare, but one minute passed… ten…fifteen. Noises indicating heavy activity filtered into the tent. Still no Viktor.

I paced and waited. And waited. A soldier arrived with a fresh pot of stew. He didn’t look at me or speak, just placed the food on the desk and exited. I was miffed enough to eat every drop, saving none for Viktor.

At dinner time, a different soldier did the same, bringing in a second pot. Again, I ate every drop. When darkness descended, I started pacing again. Still no sign of Viktor. Had he forgotten me?

I should run again, just for the heck of it. But that would be foolhardy. And I was tired. A nap would do me some good. Strengthen me up. Clear my thoughts.

Mumbling under my breath about feral berserkers, I stretched out on the pallet. Sleep didn’t come easily, despite my fatigue, but it did come.

Bright and early the next morning, I woke up alone, ready to conquer the day, even willing to bargain about going home for an hour simply to pay my bills. Maybe there was another magical doorway? Except, the day bled into another and another, a pattern emerging.

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