Page 94 of Beyond the Cottage

“So this is a…commune?”

River smiled without responding and stopped at a rustic wooden door. “Here’s the loot room. Next door is the armory. The bathing chamber is at the end of the hall.” She dispersed the bedding between them. “I’ll bring you something to snack on while you rest before supper.”

She patted each of their cheeks, thumb brushing. Gretta found it a tad creepy but didn’t comment.

When River left, Ansel opened the loot room door and turned to Gretta. “I’m going to lay down for a while.”

“Me too.” The day had discombobulated her, and it was barely noon.

He nodded, lingering in the doorway. He looked at her, and she looked back.

Pulse kicking, Gretta opened her mouth to say something—she had no idea what—but he ducked inside and shut the door before anything came out.

Oddly dispirited, she trudged to her room. It was packed with shelves full of weapons, and armor hung from hooks on the wall. It was cramped, but it would do for a night.

Gretta dumped her bag and set her lantern on a footstool. Making her bed took all of three minutes, and when she finished, she stretched out, ankles crossed, and stared at a broken crossbow propped in the corner.

There was zero chance she’d nap. The day had been bizarre, yet all she could think about was Ansel. Her rapidly evolving perspective on him far out-weirded the nereid train heist.

But was it really all that weird? He’d taken on a sword-wielding madwoman for her. He’d promised to camp outside with her if the tunnel proved too terrifying. He’d even insisted on going with her to a witch, one who wouldn’t be plying them with cookies and dandelion wine.

Then there were the previous two nights…

She’d already realized she’d stopped hating him. Now? She was pretty sure shelikedAnsel.

This version of him.

He’d changed, but not in the ways that mattered. He was still protective and comforting. He had a way of making her feel likethey were on a team. That morning, in all her hungover glory, she’d shit on him bad, and he still treated her like a friend.

Logically, she knew what he’d done to her was unforgivable, but what if Isobel was right? What if Ansel wasn’t a bad person but a flawed one who’d made a mistake? God knew Gretta had made her fair share.

So fuck it. Shedidforgive him. Grudges had always been her fuel, energizing and focusing her, but letting go of this one made her feel lighter.

But what was she supposed to do with this development?

Gretta covered her face with her hands and swiped hair off her forehead.

She knew the answer. The thought of talking to him about this made her gut twist, but what good was forgiveness if the other party didn’t know they’d been forgiven?

Besides. She missed her best friend. Wasn’t reclaiming him worth an uncomfortable conversation?

Decided, she got to her feet. Waiting wouldn’t make it easier, and she might not get a better chance. Gretta slipped from her room and knocked on his door.

After several raps, she wondered if he’d managed to fall asleep. When she was about to turn back in defeat, she heard movement in his room.

He whipped open the door. “What?”

Gretta sucked in a breath and released it on a pitiful puff of air.

Her nose was inches from his chest—hisnakedchest. In the corridor’s flickery torchlight, it seemed cast in bronze, burnished and unyielding, forged by fire. He looked less like a bookish scientist and more like some ancient god of hedonism. The line of hair trailing into his low-slung trousers demanded she follow it to otherworldly delights.

She’d seen his chest before, of course. But frame of mind was everything.

As she stood there wide-eyed and mute, he alertly scanned the corridor. “What’s wrong?”

Problem Two is what’s wrong!Instead of formulating coherent words about forgiveness, she was gawking at his body, devising clever ways to touch him again. If he let her do it while in his lap, all the better.

“Um,” she said.

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