4

The inn was unironically called The Mad Pit as the mud-splattered sign hanging crookedly from two rusty chains announced to us a hundred meters before the establishment itself emerged on a wide glade.

It jutted up on the sod like a broken-down brothel house, all audacious red planks, outdated stone beams, and stained glass windows with vulgar caricatures of little satyrs holding hands—and their private parts hanging out.

For this to be the first glimpse of civilization I got of the supposedly wonderful and affluent Faraway North was rather disappointing, if not downright disconcerting.

Of course, I knew we were still very far away from the city, but this place was a giant leap from the quaint shops and cozy taverns I had read about in the papers.

I fiddled with my pendant as a flurry of hoots, curses, and hoarse laughter—the unmistakable noises of what could only be described as male debauchery—sprung boisterously from inside the inn. I was fairly certain that the raucous thwack that split the periwinkle dusk in two was a body landing on a large piece of furniture after being shoved with formidable vigor across the room.

I froze mid-step and, inadvertently, reached for Apollo's arm. "Maybe we should just… sleep under the stars tonight," I croaked. "The night is rather lovely, isn't it?"

Apollo scrutinized me with chiding nonchalance. "I'm not risking my neck out in the woods just because you're afraid of people more than you're afraid of monsters."

"I'm not afraid of people," I hissed at the sheer outrage of the claim. "I'm a saleswoman, for goodness' sake."

Although, to be fair to the monsters, history has had countless examples of humans acting far more atrociously than any mindless beast ever could. A human's rationalized cruelty was perhaps the scariest thing in the whole wide world.

"Sure, darling, this is why you've gone as white as the moon," Apollo mocked.

"It's perfectly normal to be worried about spending the night with a stranger in this wretched den of sin. I'm not a rake like you, nor a warrior or a witch. I'm an ordinary person. I read books and do the laundry and go to the market once a week. I only find danger exciting when it's written on paper," I argued, and the more I realized my predicament, the more my anxiety expanded into utter dismay.

Apollo groaned impatiently. "I'm not going to hurt you, Nepheli. Come on, we've already gone through this."

"That doesn't prevent other people from hurting me," I pointed out, and in apt synchronicity, another muffled thwack came from inside the inn, followed by a series of unbecoming cheers.

"I'm not letting anyone else hurt you either," he snapped, his voice rough like stone. "No one will come near you, okay?"

He did seem genuine as he said this with his eyes clear and serious for once, and the charming lines of his face drawn into a mask of dignity.

Was this the man the Prince of Thaloria was before he lost his heart? Someone reliable and honest? Someone who honored his promises and led a righteous path instead of leaving trails of broken hearts behind him?

I supposed this didn't matter now. Now, he was the kind of man who would bring a girl the worst kind of trouble and wouldn't feel a morsel of remorse about it.

"As if the promise of a heartless man means anything," I said bitterly.

Without another warning, Apollo seized my wrist and yanked me forward, aiming straight for the entrance.

"Stop that," I grumbled as he kept dragging me behind him.

"No, you stop that," Apollo bit back, pulling the hood of his cape over his head. "This place attracts all kinds of people, and, darling, I don't know if you've realized this, but I'm very, very valuable. We can't afford to draw any attention to ourselves. So don't talk to anyone unless it is absolutely unavoidable, and don't call me by my name."

"How am I supposed to call you, then?"

"Husband."

I blinked, certain I'd misheard him. "Excuse me?"

"For all intents and purposes, and for the remainder of our stay here, I am your husband."

"Why?" I squealed.

"Because you're too pretty for your own good and too smart-mouthed for mine," he bit out, swung the door open, and shoved me inside.

By the Seven Spirits of Hospitality and the Great Goddess Estia, this was worse than I expected.

A foul amalgamation of cheap liquor, ash, and unwashed linens slapped me across the face the moment we stepped into the overcrowded common room. We were instantly swallowed by the roar of the patrons, chatting, shouting, and swinging their fists at each other. The floor was laid out with muddy footsteps, dubious stains, and shattered pieces of wood and glass. Unsuitably cheerful music was coming from somewhere ahead, but I could hardly see anything past the two burly men in front of us carrying two overlarge rucksacks with a sulfuric scent emanating from them.

I held my parasol to my chest and leaned closer to Apollo as we treaded between the full tables, heading towards the back. Apollo, to my surprise, assumed a humble and polite demeanor, all quiet apologies and sympathetic nods. He blended in easily, and even when a horrid, bedraggled brute threw a bronze chalice across the room and the thing flew right past Apollo's face before it clanged against the wall, he said absolutely nothing. He merely squeezed my wrist in his hand, almost on reflex, and continued ahead.

Behind a long oakwood desk inwrought with the same obscene little caricatures as the windows sat a grey-haired satyr, busy scratching the spot behind his left curly horn.

Apollo cleared his throat and took a low, serious tone, "Good evening."

The satyr lifted his head and scanned Apollo from head to toe. His large brown eyes behind his round spectacles were keen with suspicion. "You look familiar," he said, his voice raw and harsh like sandpaper. "You've been here before, young man?"

"No, we're travelers from the East," Apollo curtly replied.

The satyr stretched up his neck, trying to get a good look at me as I stayed semi-hidden behind Apollo's massive frame. "You're here to drink?"

"We're here to sleep," said Apollo, reaching into the inside pocket of his cape. "One room, please."

A gasp ripped from my chest. "You mean two rooms."

He ignored me. "One room."

"Two rooms," I urged, tugging at his shirtsleeve.

Apollo turned to me, the muscles of his jaw flexing. "One room, my darling wife, because we do not want to be separated. Do we?" he snapped, biting at each word.

The man leaning on the wall next to the reception with a large cup of ale in his hand and a dreadfully menacing look on his face snorted with laughter. "If she gives you too much trouble, I'm happy to take her off your hands. That hair will sell well at the market," he said, ogling at my hair as if it were made from pure gold.

His little friend joined in, raking his eyes over my body with a look that made me more uncomfortable than falling from the sky. "The rest of her will sell fine too."

Madness blazed through my bloodstream. I lurched forward, clutching my parasol in my fist. "What did you just say to me?"

Apollo grabbed me around the waist and hauled me back. "My wife is not for sale," he said, his voice insidiously cold. He drew back his cape with a flourish and showcased his weapons in some silent but clear warning. "Now do you want to continue this argument outside or do you want to apologize to her?"

The two men shared a look, jaws clenched and cheeks bright. The tall one nodded and grunted out a disingenuous, "Forgive us, my lady."

"Walk away," Apollo demanded, and there they went. He turned to the satyr with a scowl. "One. Room."

◆◆◆

I was praying to the gods that the squeaking sound I kept hearing as we climbed up the stairs to our room was my boots and not a family of rats, while Apollo next to me did what he apparently did best—act like a colossal prick.

"You just couldn't keep your mouth shut, huh?" he snarled the moment we reached the first floor. "What were you going to do? Duel him with your umbrella?"

"Parasol," I hissed. "And as sure as bees make honey, I will duel with my parasol if I have to and not let some drunk brute talk to me the way he did. Something you would be able to understand if you weren't a heartless, inconsiderate, self-absorbed brute yourself!"

Apollo thinned his lips. "Are you done?"

I squared my shoulders. "Why?"

"We're here," he clipped, tipping his chin at the door behind my back.

I stepped aside and let him twist the rusty key into the bottle-shaped keyhole. The door creaked open, and we were welcomed by screeching hardwood floors and a moldy, wet-wood sort of smell.

A foggy window across, a broken light above, a small, unlit hearth to our right, and—

"Oh no. No. No. No. What is this? What is this tiny, single bed? This can hardly fit a grown person, let alone two!" I cried in unprecedented dismay, gaping at the wooden skeleton with its leaf-thin mattress and the single, rock-hard pillow.

"It's an inn. What did you expect? It's pleasant enough," Apollo claimed as he began stripping off his weapons.

"Pleasant? This place is more suitable for trolls than human beings. And I am not sleeping in this bed with you," I declared, crossing my arms over my chest.

His baldric clanged on the iron bench that was propped against the foot of the bed. I was such a nervous wreck that the sound startled me, something that Apollo—the horrid brute—found very amusing. "You're welcome to sleep on the floor, darling," he drawled, grinning wide.

"Or you can do the gentlemanly thing and take the floor for yourself," I suggested.

"Place has rats," Apollo announced casually. "So that would be a no."

"Why not? Has your rodent kind exiled you as well?" I mocked.

"Funny," he sneered. "And I'm not exiled from Thaloria. You shouldn't believe every piece of gossip you hear about the North. I'm still very close with my family."

"Then why are you sleeping in a rat-infested inn and not at the Dreaming Palace?"

"It's called seeing the world, darling. Some people like to leave the comfort of their homes every now and then and have actual interactions with someone other than their cauldron."

Oh, how I wanted to slap that self-assured smirk off his face!

I was not some unsociable hermit. And even if I was, it was hardly his business to judge me for it.

A tiny, vexing voice at the back of my head argued that I too had a tendency to judge people for their way of life, as I constantly complained that no one cared about how uncurious and dull our city had become. But that was different, wasn't it? The Dreadful Mundane was a sickness, after all. He was just being a world-class jerk.

I whirled around, refusing to indulge him in this pointless conversation any longer, and came face-to-face with an utterly exposed brass bathtub on the other side of the room.

Panic spiked up my blood pressure. "Wait—Where are the walls around the bathroom?"

Apollo pointed to the little arched door left from the bed. "The toilet is through there."

I must have looked absolutely mortified because he raised his brows at me in genuine surprise. "You've seriously never been in any sort of inn before?" When I failed to respond, he persisted, "Not even as a child? You've never taken a trip?"

"I think we've established that I've never been anywhere!" I barked at him, my patience spreading thin.

"Might not want to be this loud when announcing to the world how pathetic you are," he retorted.

For a moment, I honestly tried to see myself through his eyes, and the image hurt me as much as his words. If the rumors about him were just that—rumors—then he really was some worldly prince who spent his days diving into thrilling adventures, charming his way through all manners of people, and gliding through all kinds of places, while I was nothing but an ordinary girl with a funny Shop.

If life was measured in moments of courage, I began to fear that mine was very small indeed.

I looked away, wrapping my hands around my middle. "You really are heartless."

"If I had acted truly heartless, I would have sold you to these men just to get some peace tonight," he bit back.

"Then why didn't you?" I challenged.

His face hardened, and gods, was it a fearsome sight. His eyes had a wildness to them, an absentminded power. He could kill you with just one cold look, and he wouldn't even know it. "Maybe I will," he said, point blank. "They're still downstairs, aren't they, darling?"

I swallowed my tongue and turned away, trying to push down a sob.

You will not cry. You are not allowed to cry in front of this horrible man.

I could feel his eyes on me, keen and insistent, as though he waited for me to retort something, to taunt him back.

When I failed to say anything, he cleared his throat. "What's with the hair, anyway?"

On reflex, I reached for the ends of my hair, the silver curls dangling just below my breasts. "What do you mean?"

Apollo shrugged. "I've never seen hair like this on a human before, and I'm pretty sure I've seen everything on the face of the Realm."

I sucked in a breath. I had told this story so many times that my voice left me blunt as I explained, "When I was a child, my parents got a large shipment of stardust for the Shop. The cauldron needs it to stay alive. I was playing around with it, and I accidentally swallowed a bit, but thankfully not enough to kill me. It did change the color of my hair, my brows, even my eyelashes, though, from black to silver." I shrugged, reaching for my pendant. "Everyone always tells me that I would have been pretty if I still had my dark hair. And, I suppose, I do look a bit odd, but… I don't know. I kind of like myself like this. It feels like the star is a part of me now."

"They're just idiots," Apollo blurted out. My head whirled back to him. He had leaned against the wall and was now fiddling with a short, hunting knife. His cheekbones, to my bemusement, were stained a subtle shade of pink. "I mean, how many people can say they've eaten stardust and survived? You're a miracle. And apparently as resilient as a heartless man," he added, offering me one of his charming little half-smiles. "You know, considering you fell from the sky and lived."

His words rumpled me a little, although I tried not to take them too seriously. The star had changed me outwardly, but there had been no previous evidence to indicate that it had also made me stronger than the average human being. But then again, I had never fallen from the sky before. I supposed it was something worth looking into, but what I really wanted to know right now was how he was made unbreakable, because that must have taken some serious magic.

"Now your turn," I prodded, tingling with curiosity. "How does one become heartless exactly?"

His smile waned into a thin, stubborn line. "We aren't doing that, darling."

"Doing what?"

"We're not friends. We're not going to stay up all night, braid each other's hair, and swap life stories."

Suddenly, he went to grab the coat rack and chair from the other side of the room, only to drag them in front of the bathtub. With inexplicable diligence, he placed them at an equal distance before jamming his longest sword into one of the seat's many gaps.

"What are you doing?" I huffed.

He cast off his cape and draped one end over the coat rack and the other over the sword, creating some kind of partition between the bathtub and the rest of the room.

"Have your bath," he clipped, swiping his pouch and his dagger from the bench. "I'm going to get some food."

I could not describe it—the expression on his face as he stormed out of the room. For a man with no heart, he looked exquisitely heartbroken.