There is nothing that can be seen out the window, so she spends her time examining every bit of the coach’s interior. It’s quite ugly. The colors are mixed as if someone couldn’t pick a theme, and the plaid patterns bleeding into polka dots speaks of rushed patch jobs.

While she’s glad to no longer be sitting on the cold ground, the entire ride to Helmbeck is awkward. She’s thankful that Huber mainly wants to talk to the duke, but his creepy staring is getting to her.

That, and the fact that all his conversations tend to drift into how women prefer being nude in the hot springs.

She keeps her hand intertwined with the duke’s as a visual reminder of her unavailability. It doesn’t help much as a deterrent, but it makes for an excellent stress toy.

“The inn is quite full these days,” the mayor tells them. “Why, practically overflowing! You should stay at my house. It’s quite roomy, you know.”

The duke glances at her, giving her control of the answer. The thought of staying in this man’s presence and letting him have access to her sleeping body makes her sick.

She smiles winningly, “We wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Not at all, my dear. Not at all!” Mayor Huber beams at her. “Why I insist! My wife makes such lovely blueberry biscuits. You’ll simply never want to leave!”

Wife? Who would marry such a creep? Honestly, she’s starting to think the man calling himself the mayor is a serial killer in disguise.

“Then we will take you up on your offer. The duke will most definitely reward you for aiding one of his citizens,” Duke Wulf says graciously, rubbing her hand soothingly with his thumb. She wants to tear her hand away and scream. She smiles instead.

She doesn’t know much about the duke, but she knows he has his reasons. She’ll place her trust in him because that’s all she has.

“How kind of you good sir,” she says with her best working voice. “Surely you are a man of great honor.” It’s not as bad if she pretends that Mayor Huber is one of her creepier dinner guests. Bountiful coin requires good service, the archbishop would tell her.  

It’s kind of sad how similar being the saintess is to working in retail.

Lights begin shining through the window, and she all but glues her face to it. When the lights grow stronger, a town comes into focus. She tries not to cry.

If the town around the palace is one from a fairytale, this one is straight from a horror story. Dim lit lampposts shine through fog, and vaguely gothic buildings claw their way through the haze. No other carriage can be seen moving down cobblestone streets.

“How long has the false night been here?” the duke asks.

“It’s terrible! We’ve burned through two weeks’ worth of candles,” Mayor Huber says. “We’ll be in trouble if suppliers don’t come soon!”

“I see.”

The carriage makes its way to a two-story house protected by a tall, iron fence, and barely squeezes through the gate. Varius lamps, lanterns, and candles light up the property. The high, pointy roofs loom over everything around it. With the fog, she almost mistakes the house for a mansion.

“Allow me to tell my wife we have guests,” the mayor tells them. “If you’ll wait here, it will only be a moment. She has a frail constitution I’m afraid,” he says apologetically.

Huber gets off the carriage first, so he can turn around and help her down. His face turns stormy upon taking hold of the duke’s hand.

“Why thank you. I find myself unstable in this armor,” Duke Wulf says before turning around and holding out a hand for her. He helps her out of the carriage with a smirk.

Mayor Huber speedwalks to the house with a furious expression. The heels of his shoes striking hard and fast against the stone pathway.

When Deven jumps down to unload the luggage, the duke grabs the sack containing their food and water before he can get to it. He slings it over a shoulder and offers his arm to her.

“Ready, dear wife?” he asks, serious expression at odds with his teasing tone.

She takes his arm with a sigh.

“Lead me onward, oh great husband of mine.”

Their slow walk up to the main door of the house is plenty of time for Huber to tell his wife about them. She’s expecting to greet her at the door, but the foyer is empty. They take the time to look around while they wait.

The décor is simple but expensive. The portraits on the wall have Huber’s face on them, alongside an older, chubby cheeked woman that must be his wife. There are framed news articles about Mayor Huber.

Well, there goes her serial killer pretending to be the mayor theory.

“No one has cleaned in weeks,” she notes, staring at all the dust and dirt.

A set of shuffling footsteps interrupts before the duke can respond. A door opens, and the same woman from the portrait appears.

“Hello, dears! I am Wilma, Huber’s wife!” Her wide smile combined with dull, unblinking eyes are unsettling. “Let me show you to the guest room!”

She can’t help but think the portraits paint Wilma far more alive.

With a weird shuffling walk that makes the heels of her shoes drag harshly against the wood flooring, Wilma leads them up the stairs to a bedroom. It’s in a much worse state than the foyer as the paint on the wall is cracking, and the double bed looks ready to collapse.

There is no way she’s sleeping on those yellow sheets either.

In the corner of the room is their luggage, neatly stacked. She shares a look with the duke. There’s no way Deven lugged those up by himself in such a short amount of time.

“Well, wife,” the duke says with fake cheer, “what do you think?”

“I think you still owe me a honeymoon,” she says with teeth.