Chapter Six – The Kindness of Strangers

The bath was already drawn by the time Eira reached the room. Steam curled in the air, laced with lavender oil and something darker—amber, maybe. Something warm and grounding.

Cass stood beside the tub, her sleeves rolled up, a towel slung over her shoulder. Her eyes scanned Eira from beneath thick lashes, and her lips quirked with something that was not quite amusement.

“You look like something the wolves dragged in,” she said gently. “But I think we can fix that.”

Eira hesitated at the threshold. She still clutched the traveler’s cloak around her naked form, her fingers white-knuckled in the fabric. Cass noticed.

“Hey,” she said more softly now, “you’re safe here. No one’s going to hurt you. Not while I’m breathing.”

That voice—low, steady, unflinching—carried a weight Eira didn’t expect. She nodded once and stepped inside.

Cass helped her strip down without a single leer or judgment. She was clinical but careful, as though tending a wound. And maybe she was.

The moment Eira sank into the bath, her body trembled. Heat clawed into her bones. She hadn’t realized how deeply the cold had seeped until it was chased out by lavender-scented water.

Cass knelt behind her and poured water over her hair. “What’s your name?”

Eira hesitated. Then: “Eira.”

Cass nodded. “Pretty. I’m Cass.”

They didn’t speak much after that. But Cass washed her hair, scrubbed the dirt from her skin, and wrapped her in a robe that smelled faintly of rose and smoke.

A simple cotton dress and soft underthings were laid out for her. Nothing extravagant, but clean, warm, and hers for the time being.

“Come downstairs when you’re ready,” Cass said, pausing at the door. “You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Just eat. Rest. Heal.”

Then she left Eira alone, and for the first time in days, Eira didn’t feel hunted.

She felt seen.

But when the silence settled, so did the sounds just beyond her door.

Moans. Grunts. The rhythmic creak of beds. Soft gasps and guttural groans that filled the space like smoke—unapologetic and raw.

Eira sat still, wrapped in the robe Cass had given her, and stared at the flickering candle on the nightstand. Her fingers curled tighter into the fabric. The heat of the bath had begun to fade, replaced with a cold knot in her stomach.

She was no longer in her parents’ estate. No longer draped in silk or paraded like a relic. Here, the world was different—undiluted, harsh, and honest.

For a moment, she wondered if she’d made a mistake.

If she had fled one prison only to end up in another.

But then she took a breath. Remembered Clara’s sneer. Alder’s grip. Her mother’s voice, cold as marble.

No.

This might be chaos, but it was hers.

And that made all the difference.

Eira stood and padded barefoot to the door, the soft cotton of the dress brushing her knees. The robe clung to her shoulders as she descended the stairs, one hand trailing along the polished banister. The scent of spice, woodsmoke, and something sweeter met her halfway down.

Cass stood by the hearth, speaking with the madam—a tall woman with sharp cheekbones and red lacquered nails who looked Eira over the moment she entered.

"Well, well," the madam said, lips curving. "Cleaned up nice."

Cass smiled gently and waved her over. A warm plate waited at the table—bread, stew, and a small cup of something that smelled faintly of berries. Eira’s stomach growled audibly.

"Eat," Cass said. "You need it."

Eira lowered herself into the seat and took a slow bite, watching both women from beneath her lashes. The food tasted like the first real thing she’d had in days.

When the plate was half-empty, she set her spoon down and looked between them.

"I want to work," she said quietly.

The madam raised an eyebrow. Cass looked surprised.

"Work?" the madam echoed. "You know where you are, don’t you, little dove?"

Eira nodded. "I know. I just—" she swallowed. "I can clean sheets. Scrub floors. I don’t care what it is. I just don’t want to be useless."

The madam tilted her head. "You have experience?"

Eira shook her head. "No. I’ve never... I’m a virgin."

Cass blinked, her mouth tightening—not in judgment, but in something softer. Understanding, maybe.

"Then you won’t be doing anything you're not ready for," Cass said quickly.

The madam studied her again, then nodded slowly. "We’ll find you something. Sheets, kitchens, maybe tending the fire. No one touches you unless you say so."

Eira exhaled.

She had no money. No plan. No home.

But now, she had purpose.

Cass returned a few minutes later and led her down a narrow back corridor, past a laundry room and a locked storeroom, until they reached a squat wooden door tucked beneath the stairs. It creaked open to reveal a tiny space with a single bed, a thin mattress, and a small dresser missing one drawer.

It wasn’t much.

But to Eira, it was everything.

A room without guards. A bed that didn’t belong to someone else’s expectations. A door she could close and call her own.

She stepped inside, ran her fingers along the chipped wood frame of the bed, and let herself smile for the first time in what felt like years.

This wasn’t a palace. It wasn’t polished or perfumed.

But it was hers.

That night, she curled up beneath the thin blanket, the scent of lavender still clinging faintly to her skin. The room was dark, quiet save for the muffled sounds of footsteps and low voices beyond the wall. She should’ve been afraid. She should’ve been second-guessing everything.

But instead, she dreamed.

And he was there again.

The man from her dreams. Not gentle this time—not warm and watching.

He was wild.

His eyes glowed like embers. His mouth was parted in a snarl. He came out of the forest bare-chested, covered in scars, and moved with the grace of a predator. His hands gripped her arms, pinned her to the ground. Not to hurt her—no. But to claim her.

Her body responded before her mind could catch up. She arched beneath him, breathless, drunk on his heat. His voice was rough against her throat.

“Mine.”

She woke with a start, gasping in the dark.

Her skin was flushed. Her legs tangled in the blanket. Her heart thudded against her ribs like a warning.

She pressed a hand to her lips.

She didn’t know who he was.

But her soul did.

And something told her—he wasn’t just a dream.

He was coming.