Craindre (verb) to be afraid of...

We rode at an unforgiving pace for three days, never stopping except to change horses, then went right back to riding hard.

I saw Bastien only briefly during that time. There was never an opportunity to exchange more than a glance with the vampire prince I was supposed to be spying on.

Sometimes, I'd pull back the heavy black curtains to watch him riding alongside the coach with his eyes fixed on the horizon. His blond hair loose in the wind. The set of his jaw hard. I wondered if his necklace was still pulsing like a heartbeat, and what that meant, but I knew he'd never humor my curiosity.

The smug vampire.

Frustrated, I closed the curtains and let out an exasperated huff, which drew the attention of my only companions. Bastien's nephew, Tyson, and his sanguine partner, a young woman by the name of Okeri.

At times, we'd talk. At other times, they seemed content to ignore me. More often than not, Tyson was grumbling about being locked inside a carriage instead of being allowed to ride. Okeri listened while massaging a sweet-smelling cream on her mahogany skin until it glistened.

Neither seemed interested in me except in fleeting bursts, like when they produced a deck of cards and wanted me to play to pass the time—some game from the capital they called Depouiller that took me the better part of a day to learn. They'd said it was more fun with strong drink and more people and quickly lost interest.

I didn't mind when they ignored me. I was used to being invisible. It was the daily feedings that were more difficult to endure.

At sunset, when the last rays of light were streaking through the sky, Okeri would set her hand on the side of Tyson's face and examine him.

"You need to eat," she'd say without fail.

He'd always make some joke about 'being full' that he probably found funny, but Okeri didn't. And neither did I.

"Laugh all you want, Tyson, but by sunset you always start to look weak."

This caught my attention. I watched them from the corner of my eye, wondering if that was true. If vampires needed blood every day to maintain their strength.

Swallowing hard, I wondered if Bastien expected daily feedings.

Okeri tilted her head to one side, offering herself to him. "Come, drink from me. I can't stand that sickly look in your eyes. It's unbecoming of a prince."

"Well, if you insist," Tyson replied with a cheeky grin, gripping her neck and drawing her close.

I looked away to avoid swooning, but there was no escaping the way Okeri gasped when his lips found her neck or the sound of him gulping mouthfuls of her like she was sweetened tea on a hot day.

The sound was sickening, and a sheen of sweat broke out across my brow.

I didn't know how I would endure the same once we arrived at Chateau Rose.

In the hours I spent in silence, I stared out the window and thought of Sera. Hoping that she'd made it back home without doing something reckless. At night, when I could sleep, I dreamed of seeing her again in the graveyard outside our house. Casting spells under the light of the full moon.

Sometimes, the dreams would turn into nightmares that left me drenched in sweat.

On the morning of the fourth day, when I had a terrible crick in my neck from sleeping on the tufted bench inside the coach and barely exercising my legs, we stopped at a small inn on the bank of a massive lake that looked as big as the ocean, just as the sun was setting.

I'd studied enough maps to know this must be Emerald Lake. And by the sun's position, I knew we were near the northern tip, just south of Swift River.

The sky was a riot of colors that reminded me of wildflowers in spring. Pinks and blues and pale purples, all reflected on the smooth surface of the water. When the door to the coach was opened, goosebumps lifted on my skin, pebbling my flesh in the bitter chill of the evening.

I hugged myself, teeth chattering as I descended the wooden stairs. My aching legs did not want to move as I stepped onto the dirt road in front of the inn. It was colder here than in Corbin, a clear sign that we were nearing Chateau Rose.

The wooden sign out front read Hare and Tooth and was adorned with a picture of a bloody rabbit in the jaws of a wolf.

How...pleasant.

"What a dump," Okeri said under her breath, gesturing to the sod-roofed building with her pointed chin. Her voice as deep and smooth as the surface of the lake. "Surely your uncle could afford better accommodations than this."

I thought the inn looked quaint, and I was especially interested in the line of smoke puffing from the chimney, which meant warm food and a cozy fire. The smell of roasting meat hung heavy in the air, and my mouth salivated.

Tyson settled a long fur-lined cloak around Okeri's well-defined shoulders. "I'm sure he could find better accommodations, but I'm guessing Bastien prefers to watch us squirm and call us soft. It's all part of the test, you see."

Offering her his arm, Tyson escorted his sanguine partner toward the inn. Heads bent together and chuckling over some private joke. Her long cloak emblazoned with the golden crest of House Allard flowing in her wake.

Absently, I wondered what it was like to be that close to someone other than my sister. To have a man place a cloak around my shoulders and make light of bad situations with me.

I found Bastien scowling as he shouldered a pack. I knew I would never have the kind of relationship with my prince that Okeri had with hers, which was fine by me. I didn't want Bastien to be my friend. I hated him. Despised being in his company.

After watching Tyson drink from Okeri each night, I'd spent long hours wringing my hands together, unable to sleep. Nervously waiting for Bastien to awaken me and demand the same, but he never had.

Instead, the past four days had been a reprieve from his irritating presence.

But at the same time, when his pale blue eyes found mine from across the road, something inside me stirred. Something deep and dark that he'd awoken at the ball.

He was built like no one I'd ever met before. Tall and broad. So at ease with the way he took up space.

His white tunic was a ruin of dirt and sweat. The sleeves carelessly pushed up his muscled forearms. His black trousers and riding boots snug against the thick lines of his legs.

He gathered the tangled strands of his hair into his hand and tied them off, better showcasing the angled lines of his face.

My attention narrowed on his lips, which were the only thing soft about his face. The memory of those lips ghosting over my neck infiltrated my thoughts, and warmth filled my cheeks.

That night, when I'd asked him what he was doing, he replied, "Trying to appeal to another one of your instincts."

He'd been trying to make me want him. And the scariest part was that it had worked.

I could never remember wanting anything more. Except, perhaps, magick of my own.

After four days in a cushy cage with nothing to do but sit with my thoughts, I'd decided that my inexperience was to blame. Bastien was the first man to touch me. To make me feel wanted. Of course it tugged on some primal instinct. 

Besides, it's not like I meant anything to him. It was all for show. So he could drink my...

I shook the thought from my head and strode forward, ready to be inside the warmth of the inn, when a woman appeared at the door, wearing an apron and holding a wooden ladle, and I stopped dead in my tracks—breath stilling.

Her long, fiery red hair marked her for what she was.

A dark witch.

I stumbled back, knowing that prayers wouldn't help me now. Why would Bastien have brought us to the den of a dark witch? It's not like she was trying to hide who she was. Her red hair was on display for everyone to see.

Witches of the Darkness kept company with demons. Their power was unnatural. An affront to the power of the moon. She'd kill me where I stood if she knew who my mother was.

"Rabbit stew and crusty bread for your companions, my lord," the witch called to Bastien, "and bitter red wine for you!"

Bastien nodded, and she disappeared back inside her house of dark witchery.

I backed up a pace, then another. Keeping company with vampires was one thing, but I couldn't break bread with a Witch of the Darkness. It would likely be poisoned.

Maybe that's what my vampire overlord wanted. Me, face down in a bowl of soup.

My chest became tight, and drawing in a full breath was impossible.

Especially when the witch reappeared at the door and locked eyes with me. I wondered if she could recognize me for who I was. The enemy. Sent here to spy upon her evil deeds and sniff out the location of her precious relics.

It was too much to leave to chance.

I needed to get out of here. I needed to hide. But there was nothing around except thickly wooded forests that were likely crawling with dark witches, and the lake, which likely concealed water demons.

I didn't have magick. I couldn't defend myself.

With a million terrible thoughts swirling in my head, I retreated for the safety of the coach. At least if I was in the coach, I could bar the door.

In my haste, I nearly tripped but managed to stay on my feet.

But before I made it up the steps, someone snagged my hand, pulling me back.

If you're a fan of the forced proximity trope, I bet you can feel what's coming next! This inn is small, and we got a host of people to put up for the night. Bastien has just pledged to keep her safe around dark witches.

IYKYK

Question: How much do you love the "only one bed" trope?