A Single Bed — Part 1 (Patreon)

Hadrian tenses, shoulders stiff as he stands frozen by the doorway. The rain outside is pouring, slamming against the glass of the only dusty window in the bedchamber. Its echoes ram against his eardrums, mixing with the heartbeat that soars in his veins. That pools in the thin skin of his ears, radiating heat that reddens his traitorous cheeks.

The lone candle by the corner can barely illuminate the room enough to keep the corners from vanishing into shadow, but it uncovers enough. It uncovers the lone bed, small and narrowed, and with a hole-filled duvet that Hadrian would rather keep away from you. It also uncovers the lack of any other bed. And as his eyes bulge in their sockets, his feet seeming to sink into the floorboards, Hadrian looks from you to the bed. Back to you. Your eyes are on him, and it’s too dark to read your expression. Much too dark.

“… there’s only one bed.” Your voice breaks the silence, pointing out the obvious.

Hadrian’s hand tightens on the doorknob. “I, uh. Yes,” he says, cursing his eloquence.

“We can take shifts,” you suggest, but even as you try to smile, he hears the tiredness in your voice. The flame flicks, and light plays in the lines of your face. A lovely face, but one riddled with exhaustion.

Hadrian straightens up. Not like I’d get any sleep anyway. "No,” he says in as firm a tone as the knot on his throat allows. He turns on his heels, turning away from you, and it's a relief, but there's disappointment in his chest too. "I’ll take the stables.”

"Hadrian, it's pouring!" He hears from his back, but Hadrian closes the door and rushes down the hallway. His heart drums in his chest, so loud that he didn't hear the door opening, he didn't hear your footsteps chasing, and he didn't hear you, really, not until a hand suddenly closes around his wrist.

"What—"

"Will you stop? You're not sleeping with the horses, Hadrian." You're right in his face, your eyes narrowed and lips into a tight line. Hadrian freezes, watching your soaked hair cling to your forehead. You are so beautiful. "It's insulting you even thought I'd let you."

You tug him then, your nails digging into his skin, and Hadrian follows you instinctually. "The bed is large enough for us both. If you're that panicked about sharing it, you can just sleep with your back to me. I don't mind."

You get to your chamber and practically shove him inside. Hadrian blinks, words dead on his tongue as you close the door and face him with daring eyes. "Now, take off that armor."

Father in Heaven.

There's so much he can say. So much he probably should. I don't want to face away from you. I want you to be near. I want...

He bites his tongue and looks down. "Alright. I'll, uh. I'll stay in my corner."

You give him a smile. "Good," you say and start to wiggle out of your cloak.

Hadrian quickly spins around, cheeks burning more than ever, but as he reaches for the clasps of his breastplate, he can't help but smile too. By the Lord, this will be a long night. Hadrian knows he won't sleep.

But you'll be an arm's length away, and he doesn’t need to be asleep to dream. Hadrian will have long, long hours to dream of a future where he can simply... reach over. Where he can wrap his arms around you and tuck your head beneath his chin and drown in the warmth of your body.

A dream of an impossible future.

- - -

Alessa does not notice it at first. She storms into the room, blue eyes sharp as they glare at each corner. Her steps are quick and fluent as she crosses the small chamber, looking behind doors, closing the window's shutters, and listening in on the thin walls between rooms.

Only when her inspection is final, and she can unclench the knife from her fingers, the sharp little blade disappearing in a flash in the pockets of her belts, does she turn. And sees you standing still with your arms crossed and a smirk tilting your mouth in a way that is almost infuriating in how it makes her stomach clench.

You are staring at her, silent but smug, and Alessa’s eyes slowly narrow. “Yes?” she asks, lifting her chin in defiance. She knows that look. Knows you too well by now.

“I think you’ve missed something,” you say, sitting down on the bed and crossing one ankle over a knee.

Alessa quickly looks about the inn’s room with furrowed brows. "Have I?” she says, slowly prowling about. “I see nothing of note.”

But your smirk only widens. “I’m pretty sure you did, Alessa.”

Her frown is now turned to you. “Enlighten me,” she says drily, and your laugh makes her lips twitch. She has always liked the sound.

“There’s only one bed,” you inform. “I guess that innkeeper made her own assumptions.”

And then it hits her.

If possible, your smirk turns even smugger. Alessa would love to erase it if her useless tongue would only work. But all she can do is dig her nails into her palms.

Foolish.

"It is of no consequence.” She finally finds her voice, making sure it sounds calm. Making sure her face is calmer still. Alessa is glad she closed the shutters, for even her self-control cannot stop the heat from blooming in her cheeks. "It is of sufficient size for the both of us.”

You laugh again and start to take off your boots. “Easy for you to say,” you say, eyes twinkling in a way that makes it impossible not to smile.

Fool.

“I’ve seen how you twist and turn in your sleep, Alessa,” you continue. “If I wake with a foot on my back, I’m pushing you to the ground.”

Alessa laughs then. Sharply. Dangerously. “You may certainly try.”

But when the shadows are as thick as walls, closing down from all sides, and your gentle breathing is all she can hear, deep and calm and right beside her. When Alessa turns aside and brings her knees to her chest, trying to close you off. Trying to fall asleep. Trying to—

You move, and her eyes fly open. And Alessa knows then, that she will have no sleep, for you are right beside her. Warm and silent and closer than you have ever been before.

And her heart is the biggest fool of all.

- - -

He supposes it will have to do.

It doesn’t quite meet his standards, but then again, so very rarely anything does. The room is clean, at the very least, and the windows are whole without any cracks in the glass. That is certainly a plus. The drapes are washed, and obviously old, but Alain can't see moth holes, either on them or the carpet on his feet.

An ugly, much too large, much too fuzzy carpet, but the nobleman isn't about to comment on it. There's no point, really. Right now, Alain is just glad for the mattress that cradles his backside and for finally discarding the maddening boots off his feet.

"Ahh," he groans, stretching his toes. It hurts. Being on the road hurts. Who would have thought those carriages actually made everything easier? "I think I have a blister. I haven't had one since..." Alain purses his lips. When was the last time he had one? "Since Bella still wore those pigtails, I suppose. How old were we?"

He crinkles his brows, thinking to himself. From the room, only silence meets him, but he wasn't expecting anything else, either. Alain, as it turns out, never really expects anything. It makes when something does happen to feel so much better.

"Anyway, I think I also have blisters on... other places, but a gentleman shouldn't mention them in polite company." Alain grins, lifting his chin to look at you. You're slowly turning on your heels, inspecting the dingy inn's room. His grin fades just a little bit as Alain takes you in.

You're dirty from the road, your hair sticking out, your clothes rustled, and there's a smudge on your right cheek. But the candlelight reflects off your eyes, and Alain doesn't remember a time when he thought of someone as... endearing.

He shakes his head and hopes the embarrassing thoughts fly away with it. "What a great conversationalist you are. Do they teach you those skills in your mercenary training?" Alain asks, settling on the bed with his elbows propped behind his back. You finally turn to acknowledge him, and he makes sure his grin is as bright as the midday sun. "Is the room to your satisfaction, sparrow?"

He doesn't know why he keeps calling you that, but Alain likes the way you suck in a breath every time he does. And you do so right now as you take a step closer. "There's only one bed."

Alain's eyebrows shoot up. He looks left, then right, before finally looking down to see the only bed in the whole room. "You also have excellent observation skills," he compliments you. Or maybe he was the one lacking them, but Alain doesn’t like to admit his defaults. There are too many too number, after all.

"I'm not surprised you rushed to claim it," you accuse him, your eyes narrowed and your mouth doing that sort of pout that he wishes he could kiss away.

But instead, Alain just laughs. "Sparrow, I would never dare to claim anything." He waves a hand at the spot beside him. "You're free to have this side."

He said it off-handily, but even as Alain fights the shreds of exhaustion, he takes notice of you. He takes notice of how your eyes, lovely eyes with lovely eyelashes, suddenly widen and you open your mouth, but no sound comes out. He notices how you bite your lower lip then, and cross your arms over your chest, hands clenching your elbows.

And Alain may be what others call tactless, selfish even. But if there's one thing he won't admit is having you uncomfortable. So, with a big sigh, fighting against all the instincts in his body, Alain gets to his feet. And how they hurt. "But alas, I made a mistake. I declared myself a gentleman, and now I'm abided to act as one."

He takes a bow, picking up his cloak from the ground. Is the innkeeper still awake? Oh, it doesn’t matter. If the man sleeps, Alain will simply wake him. "Have the room, mercenary. I'll seek another one."

Alain makes for the door when you step in front of him. "Wait," you say, putting a hand on his chest.

Alain stops, cocking his head to the side. One of his curls slides down his forehead. "Yes?"

He sees you swallow. His fingers twitch to caress the lines of your throat. "You don't need to go," you say in a mumble. He inclines his head closer to make sure he hears you, and you shy away from his eyes. "The bed is large; we can share it."

You're looking down, so you miss the way his grin gradually grows. Alain doesn't fight it then, he lifts a hand and carefully, almost tenderly, pushes your chin up until there your eyes are. Locked in his. "Share it?" he asks, wiggling his brows. "Or share it?"

Your whole face falls in such a dry look, that Alain throws his head back to laugh. You hit his chest, frowning in a way that makes you more adorable than scary. "I'll cut your hand."

Alain laughs again. "Peace, peace, I was jesting!" He smiles, but takes a step away from you, giving you space. If a sparrow is to come, let it come of its own volition. "I'll behave, of course. Honestly, I think I'll just pass out the minute I lay down."

Alain plops down on the bed again. "See? I'm passed." He closes his eyes and turns on his side away from you.

For a moment, Alain only listens...

Until he feels the mattress shift and a warm weight settle in beside him. "Goodnight," you whisper, blowing out the candle on the bedside table.

"Sleep well, sparrow," Alain murmurs back, hiding a smile in the darkness. Much too large and goofy and an embarrassment if anyone were to see it. But no one is. So the noble smiles, and ignores the warmth in his chest, right in the center.

Where your hand had rested.

- - -

Ysabella is buzzing.

Her skin tickles, sparks as if it's burning, but instead of pain, all she feels is eagerness. Her legs are sore and tired, but she could walk for many more hours. She feels as if she could keep going until the sun rises from the horizon and morning greets her like a life-long friend.

The road had stretched before her, long and winding and free. Gorgeous, in every sense of the world. Exciting, wild, unpredictable. Perfect. The road had been perfect, and it waits for her right outside the crossroads inn. It awaits her, and had it been her decision, she would simply keep going.

But you insisted on stopping, and Ysabella supposes that's the right call. The sensible one. She is so tired of doing what is sensible, but she didn't argue. Well, she didn't argue much. You stopped at the inn, rested the horses, and now she storms into the room while you deal with the innkeeper.

Ysabella walks back and forth, not truly seeing the space properly. The chamber has four walls, a door with a lock, a fireplace, and a dresser. It is sufficient. She turns on her heels, her heart still beating like a war drum in her chest, and clenches and unclenches her hands because she does not know what to do with herself. So much energy, and so much to discuss! Where are you? She needs—

The door swings open, and Ysabella swings right along with it. "Ah!" she gasps out, bouncing towards you. "There you are! What took so long?"

You open your mouth, but Ysabella quickly covers it. "Oh, it doesn't matter. You're here now. Come, sit with me. There's so much to plan! What time would you rather leave tomorrow? I reckon when the first rays of the sun light the sky, what do you..."

She quiets when she takes you in. Her fingers are pressed against your lips, and while her glove bars her from feeling your skin, Ysabella snaps it away anyway. Your eyes are what give her pause. She can see the deep, dark circles beneath them, the dull light with which they shine at her.

She puts her hands behind her back, feeling ashamed of her lack of tact. "I'm sorry," she says. "I should have noticed how tired you are. I am feeling... atypically energetic. What would my dear mother say if she saw me?"

She smiles then, her usual dazzling smile that, hopefully, covers the disappointment she feels. "I promise I'll be quiet."

But you frown as if she had spit on the floor. "What? I don't mind you talking, Bella," you say, letting your bag fall to the ground. You roll your shoulders, cracking your neck left and right. "Honestly, your voice is a balm to this pounding in my temples."

You're not even looking at her, and yet, your words make her heart flutter like a silly butterfly. Ysabella isn't a naïve little girl, but you keep making her feel as if the ground wants to swallow her. She stands there, hands behind her back, cheeks warming in a way that none but you are capable of causing, and she doesn't feel like the noblewoman she was made to be.

She feels... plain. Your off-hand comments catch her so off-guard, that she doesn't know how to answer. Luckily, she doesn't need to, for you keep talking. "If only noise were the worst of our problems," you continue as you lean against the windowsill and cross your ankles over each other.

Ysabella snaps out of her stupor. "What do you mean? Problems?"

You nod. "This is the only room available."

She lifts her eyebrows. "Oh?"

You nod again, and then give a big sigh as if the world is doomed. "All the others are occupied."

Bella cannot help but giggle. "This isn't so bad, dear. Look, we have a bed! What more do we need?" She steps closer then, leaning slightly to peer at your face. "Don't tell me the thought of sharing the same roof as me is too unpleasant? Because let me warn you, I will take offense to that."

She smiles again, brightly, but finds it hard to keep it at your silence. You look at her, brows pulled together in an unreadable look. You're always such a mystery. Ysabella is used to knowing what lies in the hearts of others, but whenever she thinks she has finally mastered you, you prove her wrong.

Are you... are you disgusted by the prospect? She feels a new wave of heat climb up her cheeks, but now it brings along the bitter taste of rejection. She straightens up and resists the urge to look away. She is not some little girl. Ysabella forces her mouth open—

"I was looking forward to sleeping in a real bed, is all," you say, sighing yet again. Then, to her complete puzzlement, you start to pull tunics and fabrics from your bag and cluster them all under the window. "I'll sleep here, the floorboards seem... softer. I think it's because of the humidity coming from the window." You grimace. "But I'd rather not think about it."

Ysabella watches as you stretch for the last time, and then start to bend down. "I—" She does not know what to say. "What on God's earth are you doing?"

You stop and look at her over your shoulder. "You're not sleeping on the floor, Bella."

She blinks. "Of course not."

"Then that's it."

You turn again, and she has had enough. "Sleep on the bed!" Ysabella grabs your elbow, pulling you up. She puts her hands on her waist then, and she really dislikes scowling, but she supposes that is what she's forced to do. "What has gotten into you?"

You stare at her. "There's only one bed."

"Yes," she says. "I know."

A pause. “Bella…”

Your voice is low, and your eyes seek hers, and Ysabella suddenly understands. Bewilderment vanishes like fog in the morning, and all that's left is delight. "Oh," she says with a smile, and then she can't help but giggle. Her disarrayed curls bounce along with her shoulders as relief spreads from her core to all her limbs.

Oh. So, this is why. You're not disgusted you— You have some false sense of modesty. "This is..." Ysabella giggles again, harder still when she sees you frowning. But you are a delight. "You are a darling."

You go to speak, but she's quicker. She covers your mouth again, same fingers, same glove. "You will sleep next to me, and that's the end of that. We're not children, after all."

You're quiet, so she taps a finger against your lips, prompting you to speak. And speak you do, but before that, you put a firm hand on her waist and a chest press hers, and Ysabella is not a little girl, but her head spins when she feels your breath washing over her ear. "Are you sure?"

She isn't now. "Of course, I am," she’s quick to declare. Her whole skin buzzes, but differently now. Maddeningly. "I don't bite, dear."

And shivers shoot down her spine when you smile a dangerous, beautiful smile. “But maybe I do. Have you thought of that, my lady?" you whisper before stepping around her and walking toward the bed.

Ysabella stays facing the window for a moment longer. Just a moment longer, just enough time for her heart to settle.

And her flush to waver.