Chapter Eleven

They arrived in Valecrest at midday, the sun hanging high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the bustling town. The streets were thick with people, merchants calling out their wares from wooden stalls, women carrying baskets filled with fresh produce, and children darting between carts, their laughter ringing through the air. The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the tang of horse dung, a sharp reminder that they had left the tranquility of the countryside behind.

The carriage inched forward through the crowd, the wheels rolling over uneven cobblestones. Unlike in smaller villages, where a nobleman's arrival might stir whispers and curious glances, the people of Valecrest were too consumed by their affairs to pay heed to their passing. Here, status mattered only in coin, and a stranger was just another body in the throng.

At last, they came to a halt before a sturdy-looking establishment, its wooden beams polished and its sign swinging slightly in the breeze. The building was new—at least compared to the weathered structures flanking it—but it bore the marks of a place that housed men of means. The scent of roasting meat and spiced wine wafted from within, mingling with the distant strains of a minstrel's tune.

Matthew descended first, stepping around the carriage before coming to her side. He opened the door and extended a hand.

"Careful now," he murmured as she placed her hand in his, allowing him to help her down.Natalie smoothed her skirts, her eyes drifting toward the entrance.

A man stood near the doorway, dressed in fine but unassuming attire. His bearing spoke of wealth and influence, yet there was no arrogance in his stance—merely the quiet confidence of a man accustomed to authority. Beside him stood a younger lad, perhaps in his early teens, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Raphael had already disembarked, his presence commanding as he stepped forward. The man inclined his head in greeting.

"Good day, Your Grace. How was your journey?"

"Pleasant," Raphael answered, his tone clipped.

"I am Attendant Hugh ."

"Where is Lord Hastings?"

"He is already inside, awaiting your arrival."

Raphael gave a short nod. "Lead the way."

Without hesitation, the man turned and entered the inn, the young boy remained behind. Raphael strode after them, his posture unwavering.

Natalie remained rooted to the spot, watching their retreating backs. Should she follow? She had not been summoned, yet standing outside like an abandoned pet hardly seemed preferable. With a quiet sigh, she trailed after them, feeling vaguely ridiculous for doing so.

Inside, the inn was nothing like she had imagined. She had expected rough-hewn walls and the lingering scent of spilled ale, but instead, the air carried the faintest trace of beeswax and dried lavender. The wooden floors gleamed beneath the glow of well-placed lanterns, and the polished banisters suggested careful upkeep. This was not a common traveler's rest but an establishment meant for those of means.

As she ascended the stairs, something—or rather, someone—caught her attention.

A man sat in the corner, his presence strangely at odds with the refined surroundings. His dark cloak was slightly frayed at the edges, his boots scuffed from travel. Yet it was not his appearance that unsettled her. It was his gaze. Cold and unyielding, his eyes followed Raphael with an intensity that made her stomach twist.

Natalie did not know why she continued to look. Perhaps it was the way he seemed so removed from everything around him, or the way his fingers tapped idly against the table as if in thought. Whatever it was, she regretted her curiosity the moment his gaze flicked to hers.

His eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto hers with the precision of a predator marking prey.

Her breath caught.

A sudden heat crept up her neck, though it was not warmth she felt, but something colder—something that made her blood prickle beneath her skin.

She tore her gaze away, forcing her feet to move faster. She all but jogged to catch up with Raphael nearly tripping in her haste to catch up, arriving just in time to see him disappear behind a door two guards stationed at its entrance.

The moment she reached for the door, however, a firm hand came down on her shoulder, halting her.

"Go away," one of the guards said curtly, his expression impassive.

Natalie turned to him with a frown. "I am with the Duke."

"You can wait here."

"But—"

"Only His Grace is permitted beyond this door," the second guard interjected, his tone making it clear there would be no room for argument.

Natalie opened her mouth, then promptly shut it. What was she doing? It was not as if she wished to remain by Raphael's side any longer than necessary. If anything, she ought to be relieved for the chance to be rid of him, if only for a short while.

Still, there was something deeply irritating about being dismissed so easily.

Casting one last glance at the closed door, she exhaled sharply and turned on her heel, descending the stairs with more force than was necessary.

By the time she stepped outside, the carriage was nowhere in sight. Her brows furrowed in frustration as she scanned the road. Neither Matthew nor the horses remained.

Had they left her behind?

She was about to storm toward the street when she caught sight of the young lad who had accompanied the minister earlier. He stood near the side of the inn, struggling under the weight of a large trunk.

"Is there a problem, miss?" the boy asked when he saw her approaching.

"Where is the carriage?"

"The man who drove it went to tend to the horses. He will return."

Natalie released a slow breath, relieved that she had not been abandoned entirely. Her gaze then flickered to the trunk in the boy's hands.

"Where are you taking that?"

"To His Grace's chambers."

"The Duke already has a room prepared?"

The boy nodded. "His Grace sent word ahead of his arrival." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "But… he made no mention of a maid."

Natalie's lips parted slightly, the implication settling in her stomach like a stone. She had not even considered that no accommodations had been arranged for her.

Noticing her dismay, the boy quickly spoke again. "You might ask the keeper of the house. If you tell her you are with the Duke, she may grant you a room."

It was not much reassurance, but it was all she had.

Muttering a thanks, she reentered the inn, making her way toward the counter where a woman sat.

She was a heavyset figure, her red hair dull with age, her skin weathered and dry. A clay pipe rested between her lips, curling smoke trailing toward the rafters. Her eyes—small, sharp, and gleaming with shrewd amusement—landed on Natalie with unhidden curiosity.

"Good day," Natalie said, though it felt rather misplaced given the circumstances.

The woman exhaled a stream of smoke before grinning. "You lookin' for someone, sweetheart?"

Natalie stiffened at the tone. "No. I am with the Duke."

The woman's grin widened, her teeth yellowed from years of tobacco. "Quite the catch, ain't he?"

Natalie's jaw clenched. "I am his maid."

The woman let out a low chuckle. "Never stopped anyone before, trust me."

Her patience, already frayed from the day's events, began to snap. "The lad outside said I should speak to you. I was not meant to travel, and as such, no preparations were made for my lodgings."

"And the problem is?"

"I have nowhere to sleep."

The woman leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand. "Ain't my problem, love. The Duke asked for a room. One. If he meant for you to have a bed, he'd have said so."

Natalie gritted her teeth. "I told you, I was a last-minute addition to the journey."

"That so?" The woman's gaze swept over her, assessing. "You got coin?"

Natalie faltered. "No, but His Grace will see to the payment."

The woman let out a low chuckle. "Sorry, hon. Can't do much for you."

"But why?"

"Don't know who you are."

"I just told you."

"Not how this works, love." The woman tapped the ash from her pipe. "Ain't in the habit of givin' out rooms to every pretty face claimin' to belong to a nobleman. Had too many try before."

"But I am telling the truth!"

"Then prove it."

Natalie's fingers curled into her skirts, frustration mounting. "How, exactly, do you expect me to do that?"

"Simple. Have the Duke confirm it."

"He is occupied at the moment."

"Then you can wait."

"I—"

"Or you can sleep in the stables," the woman added with an indifferent shrug.

Natalie was on the verge of snapping when a voice cut through the exchange.

"What seems to be the trouble?"

The breath hitched in her throat.

Slowly, she turned her head.

The man from earlier—the one who had watched Raphael with such unsettling interest—stood beside her, his presence making the hairs on her arms prickle. Up close, she could see him more clearly. His features were sharp, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable.