Page 35 of The High Mountain Court

Chapter Nine

The inn outside Ruttmore was nicer than any tavern Remy had ever seen. Swept floors, washed windows, no leaks fell from the roof, no tables tilted at odd angles. Even the courtesans by the bar dressed ornately in expensive jewelry and immaculate makeup. It was clear they entertained a well-off clientele.

The matron bustled into the main room of the inn to receive them. She was a short, round woman with smooth umber skin. She wore a low-cut, floral yellow dress and a corset that heaved up her ample bosom. A long, white feather adorned her brilliantly dyed red hair.

“Your Highness.” She bowed with a flourish of her hand, her golden bangles jingling on her wrist. “It is an honor to have you stay with us.”

“Thank you, your establishment is very pleasing indeed,” Hale said, with all the practiced splendor of a royal.

The matron blushed and bowed again.

“The stable boy said you arrived on a wagon?” She asked. Remy watched the matron, worried that she’d uncover something about their ruse.

“We did,” Hale laughed nonchalantly. He didn’t seem troubled at all.

“Where are your horses?” The matron nosed.

“I’m in the market for some new ones, if you know any good places . . .” The matron lit up at that. Hale made it look easy.

“I have a cousin who can sort you out, Your Highness. The finest horses you’ve ever seen,” she said. Remy was certain the innkeeper would be cut in on this deal if it were to take place. This was the woman who knew a person for every such need.

“Would you care for some food or drink, Your Highness? The chef is just starting a roast but we could set out a platter while it cooks . . .”

“No, that is quite all right,” Hale said, surveying the room with casual indifference.

The four courtesans at the bar tittered to each other as they eyed Hale. Remy imagined they were wagering which one of them would successfully take him to bed. Without a thought, Remy stepped closer to Hale’s side. If she was to be his witch, then these other women had better fear her. She gritted her teeth, staring daggers at them. She decided then and there if she was to pretend to belong to him, then he would equally belong to her. The courtesans’ giggles turned to whispers.

“We have had a long day’s ride, and we wish to rest before we begin our holiday.” Hale slung his arm over Remy’s shoulders, startling her. He must have noticed that small step closer.

She knew what being a royal prince’s red witch implied. She knew magic wasn’t the only service red witches often provided their lords. Remy stood taller, regardless, leaning into Hale with a nonchalant familiarity. It was an act, Remy told herself, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy it.

Remy heard shuffling behind her as Carys shifted in front of Heather and Fenrin. She knew the fae warrior was hiding the witches’ looks of distaste at Hale’s arm around her. Heather and Fenrin looked to the entire world like the traveling servants they were cast to be, laden with heavy packs.

Talhan thundered down the stairs, followed by Bri, a glass of ale already sloshing in his hands. His shirt was half unbuttoned showing off his huge, muscled chest. He swayed on drunken legs at the landing but as he neared them, Remy saw his eyes were sharp and clear. Talhan was acting too. This ruse perfectly cast him in the part of a fae male on holiday: that easy smile, that air of recklessness.

Talhan fit perfectly into line with the Ruttmore plans. Hale was, after all, the Bastard Prince of the East. Rumors of his drunken philandering had spread throughout the realm. Drinking and bedding his way through the South was what the world thought he would do. It was an excellent cover for obtaining the Shil-de ring . . . if only the brown witches and Remy played their part.

“Come on,” Talhan called merrily to his comrades. His drink splashed as he pointed his glass toward the stairs. “I’ve got us rooms overlooking the river.”

“I can arrange a romantic trip down the river for you and your witch, Your Highness, should you wish it.” The matron offered with a plastered-on smile. No doubt the punter of the boat would be an employee of hers too. The matron was what Remy imagined she would find in the South: overly embellished clothes, dripping in jewelry, a caked-on face of makeup, and a penchant for revelry. She was equal parts innkeeper, actress, and pleasure house madam. So this was how the people of the Southern Court lived . . .

Hale dropped the arm from Remy’s shoulders, wrapping his muscular hand around her stomach. He tugged her back against his broad chest, his hand splayed wide and possessive. Remy schooled her surprise. Letting out a tittering laugh, she rested her head against Hale’s muscled shoulder. She prayed her act was as convincing as Talhan’s. She needed everyone in this town convinced that she was the toy of a powerful and careless prince. No more witch hunters could think she was up for grabs.

“Perhaps another night,” the prince said, smirking at Remy. “Tonight we go into Saxbridge to have a bit of fun.” He winked at the innkeeper and she returned it with a knowing smile.

“If you would care for any recommended establishments,” she said with a flourish of her hand. The way she said establishments told Remy exactly what she meant. “Or any bookings, please let me know how I can be of service, Your Highness. Enjoy your stay.”

She bowed one more time and tottered off to the bar. The courtesans all leaned into the matron to whisper about what had just passed.

They climbed the stairs and out of sight into a narrow and dimly lit hallway. Carys grabbed the pack off Heather. The brown witch sighed as the fae warrior lightened her load. Bri took Hale’s pack from Fenrin. He shook out his sore arms and gave her a begrudging nod of thanks.

Talhan handed Heather a key.

“Your room,” he said, nodding to the first door down the hall. Fenrin frowned. All witches knew the first door on the first floor of a tavern was a cursed door. It was the smallest room cut off by the stairs. It was the loudest door of any inn, too, and it would be sure to be a challenging time sleeping in it.

“Be grateful I didn’t throw you in the servant’s lodgings by the stables,” Talhan said, reading the look on Fenrin’s face. “I figured the witches of the prince should have at least some comfort.”

“How generous,” Fenrin groused.

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