The Inn at Carrow

Rain drummed on the canvas. On her side of the tent, Isadora counted the reasons this was a terrible idea. On the other side, Maren pretended to sleep and counted the same ones.

In the morning, there was a second cup of tea beside her bedroll, made exactly how she liked it. Neither of them mentioned it.

“If you are going to kidnap me,” said Isadora, “you might at least have brought a better horse.”

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Captain Maren Vale had planned for resistance, for guards, for a chase across the border. She had not planned for the princess to critique her logistics.

“You’re staring,” Maren said. “I’m assessing,” said Isadora. “You’re assessing my mouth.” “It’s said a great many foolish things. It bears watching.”

The inn had one room left. Of course it did.