Wilma leaves them to get settled in. The duke pokes around the room while she spreads his cloak out on the bed. She decides to test the strength of the bedframe by sitting on it and bouncing.

The sound of the metal headrest knocking against the wall brings to mind a certain something, she thinks amusedly. There’s a knock on the door, and she ceases her bouncing with embarrassment.

“Dear guests, you must be weary from traveling! I’ve made tea and sandwiches. Come sit down in the parlor while I draw a bath for you.”

The duke and her look at each other. I’m not eating or drinking anything from this house, she tries to tell him with her eyes. The duke looks down at the food sack he’s kept with him, seemingly agreeing with her.

“I need a moment to figure out how to change. We will join you downstairs as soon as I finish,” the duke says loudly. Wilma makes no effort to reply, but there’s no sound of her leaving either.

“Do you even have other clothes?” she wonders.

“I do. Nothing fancy, but it is a bit more padded than usual. My skin is quite fragile, I am afraid,” Duke Wulf says, digging out a dark grey suit. The design befits a noble of lower class, and the fabric looks oddly stiff.

She turns around so the duke can change in privacy.

“Not wanting a free show?” he teases, and she throws a gross, yellow pillow over her shoulder.

While she does have an emergency dress of her own, the holy vestments’ enchantment keeps it sparkly clean even as the rest of her is caked in mud. There is no other outfit she’d choose to be in, in such a dirty home.

“Done.”

She turns to look and almost does a doubletake. Without his armor, Duke Wulf looks less like a warrior from a fairytale and more like a handsome businessman. His black armored shoes somehow don’t look out of place.

With a smug smirk, Duke Wulf twirls with arms wide open, and she rolls her eyes so hard, they feel like they are about to fall out of her head.

Such a showoff.

She opens the door only to jump back in fright. Wilma stands there, staring straight ahead vacantly. Without a word, she turns around and leads them back downstairs to the parlor.

Unlike the bedroom, the parlor isn’t rundown, but the dust everywhere makes her nose itchy. The furniture here, at least, matches even if it’s because there are white sheets draped over everything.

She sits down on the sheet-covered couch, and the duke joins her.

Wilma fetches a tray of teacups and sandwiches and sets it down on the table in front of them. She doesn’t bother grabbing anything before taking a seat on a nearby armchair.

“Where is Mayor Huber?” she asks, picking up a teacup and its matching saucer. She takes a careful sniff and nearly recoils from the pungent odor. The duke, seeing her expression, makes no move to grab a teacup for himself.

“Huber had to take care of an emergency! He’ll be right back,” Wilma says cheerfully.

Hm, maybe the mayor is a serial killer after all.

“You have quite an,” she pauses, “interesting home.” She settles on while holding the teacup near her lips, careful to keep from touching the rim.

“It’s lovely, living here with Huber! I can’t think of living anywhere else,” Wilma says cheerfully.

“My dear, where might I find a postal messenger? My wife and I should like to write home at once.” The duke asks as if he’s not ready to rip her throat out to get some answers.

“Huber can answer any questions! He’ll be back shortly.”

Wilma is strange, both in mannerisms and in the way she only ever seems to speak at them. She feels like they’re talking to a robot. She sets her tea down firmly and dares their host to say anything. Wilma only continues to smile vacantly.

“I think we will wash up and rest,” she says cooly.

“I had the servants draw a bath and heat it. I will show you the way to the bathroom.” Wilma all but jumps up to shuffle them off, tea and sandwiches forgotten. She hands them bathrobes and washcloths from a hall closet and stands by the doors leading to the toilet and bath.

Even after shutting and locking the door, there isn’t a sound of Wilma shuffling away.

The tub takes up almost the entire bathroom, and its ceramic body is filled to the brim with water. She dips her hand in to find that it’s hot but not scalding.

“How?” she asks in disbelief. At the cathedral, it takes multiple people nearly an hour to fill a much smaller tub. They haven’t even been here long enough to boil water of this size.

The duke, in the middle of rolling up his sleeves, points to the red, egg-shaped stone at the bottom of the tub.

“Heating stones. Rare and expensive, most people usually buy one and break it into pieces. This is the first time I have seen an entire stone used to heat a tub.” From the interested look on his face, she assumes this will be a future experiment for the Wulf duchy.

The hot water feels so good, but they don’t undress and get in. She doesn’t feel safe enough to bathe in front of the duke, and he can’t rely on her to guard his back.

They wash the best they can with the washcloths and a bar of soap. Even though the duke is the main reason the water darkens, seeing it makes her feel cleaner, makes her feel like her demons are further away.

“I think we are done here,” the duke calls out once they’ve finished rinsing their hair.

The door flies open, and Wilma looks at them with wide, unblinking eyes.

“You must be tired! I will take you to your room,” Wilma tells them with that wide smile. When they shut the door to the bedroom on her, there is no sound of her shuffling away.

Wordlessly, she helps the duke shove the dresser in front of the door.

“Now what?” she mouths at him.

The duke looks around, and his eyes fall on the window. It’s just big enough for them to crawl through. The clasp keeping the window locked won’t budge, but with a few sparks from his fingertips, it breaks; the window swings open silently.

A sturdy tree reaches the second floor, but the distance between it and the window is too great for anyone to jump. There is nothing under or around the window to fall or climb with.

“Do not scream,” the duke suddenly whispers into her ear. He scoops her up in a bridal carry. Squeaking, she instinctively throws her arms around his neck.

Before she can understand what he plans on doing, the world rushes past her. Her body bounces in his arms as the ground meets them. In a dazed blink, they’re outside, the duke having jumped out the window.

“Is this considered carrying you over the threshold?” Duke Wulf asks.

The duke grins wolfishly at her, and she slaps his chest, fighting down the urge to blush.