The Trials of Sybil

Chapter Eight

Sybil

Sitting shivering on his horse, water dripping miserably off my body, I watch as Aramis and Nero go inside to secure us rooms overnight. The tavern is located near the center of the town. All the shops are closed as the storm continues to rage on. The alleys are cast in pitch black and shadows, heightening my imagination of what's hiding in the dark. They quickly return, followed by two stable boys.

"Looks like we're bunking up. They only have three spare rooms. Come," Aramis commands me, as he lifts me from the back of his stallion. Taking his hand, I barely land on my feet gracefully off of Percy's back. Aramis removes his pack from the saddle, then hands the reins to the stable boy.

"What about Sybil?" Nero pushes his hair absently out of his face before nodding in my direction.

"She will be under my guard." Aramis' hand pushes against the small of my back. The intimate gesture is a shock combined with his rough and stern tone. As he opens the door, he looks down at me, studying my reaction to his touch. "And if she values her life, she won't try to escape." He quirks an eyebrow at me in question, then turns back to Nero to finish his last thought. "Make sure the horses are rubbed down and fed. I've paid for supper and ale for the evening when you've finished."

Aramis tosses two keyrings at Nero, who catches them with ease before leading his horse along with the other guards. We cross the threshold and head upstairs. My stomach lets out an audible grumble as the smell of roasting meat mingling with fresh bread and mead wafts as we walk up the stairs. Inserting a matching key into the lock of a broad wood door, Aramis unlocks the door, pushing it wide open before dragging me inside.

A warm crackling fire illuminates and heats the small room. The space is sparse except for a small wood desk, an empty wood tub, and a single bed barely big enough for two.

Only one bed? And where exactly does he expect me to sleep?

Bustling behind me breaks my spiraling thoughts as servants appear in the doorway carrying steaming buckets of water. They brush past me, pouring their contents into the wooden tub before ducking out the door without a word.

"I hope the accommodations are to your liking, your highness." A willowy pale figure with blue eyes and waist long curling blonde hair appears in the door. Her arms hold a tray laden with soaps and oils. Her tight-fitting bodice leaves little to the imagination as she leans forward, her bosom nearly spilling out to set the tray on the table. "If you need any assistance with your ba-"

Her words stop short as her eyes fall on me, her nose wrinkling in shock and disgust. She places the bath soaps and oils on a table beside the bath, keeping her distance from me as much as the space for the room allows.

"That will be all, Oletta." Aramis replies coolly as she curtsies. He rests his hand on the door and slowly shuts it with a resounding click before turning the lock. The last thing I see is the outrage and humiliation on her face. I don't know what she was expecting. This lines up with what I know of Aramis' character. Cold. Abrupt. Clinical.

I watch as he leans his body against the door, gazing at me through hooded eyes. Aramis crosses his arms over his chest and a lock of blond hair falls into his face, obscuring one eye. The heat of his gaze rakes my body. My pulse quickens in response. We've had each other's company for the previous ten days, but this is the first time we're completely alone. I feel like a trapped animal in the small room under his gaze.

"Bathe, and then we will eat." He says, pushing away from the door and taking off his cloak before hanging it over a chair next to the fire. He rests his hands on the back of the chair, gripping the wood. My mind strays back to the memory of his hands gripping my shoulders, torn between wanting to run and wanting the touch.