“Oh, I guess that makes sense. But do we have to share a bathroom? I hope you don’t hog the sink.”
“There are two sinks.”
“Perfect.” She pats me on the shoulder. “We can become best friends while brushing our teeth together. Show me the way.”
Bags in hand, I move up the narrow staircase to the second-floor suite. I open the door, revealing a small sitting area, no bigger than the private plane we were just on. Although partially decorated with wood-carved couches and a matching table, it lacks a sense of comfort . . . and a pillow. Floor-to-ceiling curtains of damask gold drape on either side of the thin windows, a mere sliver compared to the palace. It’s a step up from a jail cell.
Perfect.
“Well, this is . . . different.” I see her swallow hard and can only imagine what might be going through her head. Regrets. A massive number of regrets. With trepidation in her eyes, she asks, “Which room is mine?”
“On the left,” I answer.
She follows me to her door, where she takes a deep breath, places her hand on the doorknob, gives it a twist, and pulls, but the door goes nowhere. She tugs again. And again.
But nothing.
Finally, she turns to me and says, “Perhaps you’d like to give it a try.”
I set down our bags and grip the doorknob before giving it a pull, yanking the door wide open with a loud creak that echoes through the stark space.
We both peek into the pitch-black room. She glances at me and then pushes my shoulder forward. “You first. I’ll, uh, I’ll cover your back.”
I’ve never been in these rooms, so I have no goddamn clue what I’m searching for, but given the way the castle is set up, I’m assuming if I walk straight, I will reach the—
BANG.
“Motherfucker!” I shout as my shin radiates with pain. “Fuck,” I repeat.
“What happened?” Lilly asks from the doorway. “Did something hit you? Did you hit something? I have no ability to defend myself other than with this oversized coat.”
“Table,” I groan out as I hobble closer to the wall, taking it slower now. A few more steps and I’m touching the stone wall, feeling around for something soft, praying it’s not a dead animal’s tail but rather a curtain. When I connect with velvet fabric, I know I’ve found what I’m looking for. I tug on it, and a crack of light spreads through the room, illuminating a very bleak and simple space.
The window can’t be any larger than two feet wide, and from the look of it, it’s the only window. Planted in the center of the room, up against the wall, is a four-poster deep mahogany wood bed with navy-blue bedding. On either side is a night table with an accompanying lamp. Across from the bed is a matching dresser with a mirror. And that’s it.
No rug.
No pictures.
Nothing to make the space comfortable.
Fuck.
She’s going to run right out of this “heap of stones.”
“Maybe the other room is more comfortable,” I say as I make my way to the pocket door that leads to the bathroom. It screeches open, a sound so horrifying it makes me believe the trees that sacrificed their lives to make the door are suffering through a slow, agonizing death.
Her lips pull together as the concern on her face grows. I don’t blame her.
I flip on the light switch to the bathroom and stop in my tracks . . .
Ah, hell.
The space is completely covered in stone, with another sliver of a window. There is no shower, only a wood-planked circular tub that looks as though it has seen better days. Next to it is the toilet, which has to be only five inches off the ground. Might as well set a bedpan on the floor.
On the opposite side of the bathroom are two exposed-pipe sinks with cloudy mirrors hanging above them on the wall and rickety gold sconces flanking each mirror.
I scratch the back of my neck. I don’t care about a lot of things, but this is even a bit low for my standards.
Maybe the room on the right is better.
I move to the other pocket door and use all my might to push it open, revealing another dark room. Being smart this time, I carefully work my way through the space and find the curtain to the window. I pull it open and, to my chagrin, find a replica of the bedroom we were just in. But instead of navy-blue bedding, this one has green.
This does not bode well for convincing her to stay.
When I turn toward her, I can see true regret in her expression. Her frown takes over her face, her lip trembles fast enough for me to notice from a distance, and as she wraps her arms around her waist, I know she’s mentally clicking her heels together, wishing she could be sent back home.