Chapter 8: Chapter 8

“Goodness.How festive,”Hazel gasped.

“It looks like there is something going on,” he murmured. This was much more extravagant than he recalled.

Fletcher turned when they came into view on the doorway. The lantern light lit Hazel up, reflecting softly off the pale planes of their face. There were little indulgences, small moments to get him through each day. Whiskey. A personal project. A solo game of Capture.

As Fletcher offered a gloved hand to help them down, he thought perhaps Hazel was one that could get him through a whole week. 

“Shall I take you to dinner, Miss Hazel?”

“Please do,Mr. Fletcher.” Hazel took Fletcher’s hand without hesitating.

“I suppose we should book rooms first.” Fletcher nodded towards their bag,clutched in their free hand. “Come with me.”

The streets were packed. People in thick coats of fur and leather stood about. But unlike most towns, the crowds did not seem to be rushing. The shops past the carriage house were already lit up, interior light and street lamps glowing like earthbound stars. 

Hazel followed behind Fletcher closely,their sides just brushing to avoid bumping into a passerby.

Children ran about, giggling to press faces against a large window. The display was of a miniature ferris wheel with nutcracker passengers. It moved, the clockwork audible even over the squeals of delight. 

The bakery was full, a line spilling out the door. A sweet smell, vanilla and sugar filled the cold air. Through the window as they passed, a chef was visible producing a flame from his finger tip to brown the top of a creme brulee. 

Clothing shops advertised sales. The racks of fur coats lined even the outside of the shops. Street vendors sold hot cider, caramel apples and pastries filled with cream. 

The jingle of sleigh bells echoed through the square that they had reached. In the very middle was a great tree, Spark crystals hung from the branches like fruit. A quartet of singers stood in front of it, keeping time with strings of bells.  

Thankfully in the square there was a prettily painted building, crimson and gold. The sign on the door read, ‘Briar’s Bed and Breakfast’ in cursive. 

Hazel’s eyes were wide with wonder as they gazed around. A soft smile was on their painted lips. Looking at them was like taking in a deep swig of water under the summer sun. Tracing the curve of their soft jaw it was easy to forget the rest of the world and just focus on this moment. 

Fletcher took a deep breath in. The scents were overwhelming, making his head spin as his keen senses tried to make sense of them. “Perhaps we can try here?”

Hazel nodded,tearing their gaze from the festivities. 

Warmed by a fire, the air inside the inn was pleasant. The walls and floors were the same periwinkle blue, a large violet rug sitting in front of the fireplace. A large arrangement of glass roses, crystalline petals glittering, sat on the front counter. 

Behind said counter, a man looked up. His hair was a shock of crimson, curly and frizzy over a pale freckled face.  “Good evening,”he said as they entered. “May I help you?”

“Yes,” Fletcher smiled, bowing politely. “Can we book two rooms for tonight?”

“Sorry, sir,” the red-headed man drawled,” We only have one room.”

“One room,” Fletcher,repeated, “H-how many beds?”

“One room with-” The red-headed man had taken a ledger out from under the counter, scanning it with narrowed eyes. “One bed, sir.” At least he had the wherewithal to look apologetic. “The Bicentennial has all the inns booked up.”

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Fletcher sighed, looking at Hazel. “What do you think, Miss Hazel?”

Hazel’s face turned as red as their lips.“O-one?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“The carriages won’t run at night.” Hazel could not manage to look either of the men in the eyes. “We need a place to stay the night s-so...this will have to do?”

“Of course.” Fletcher ignored how his stomach dropped. Their stuttering and avoidance of his gaze told him enough. He paid for the room, taking the iron key and pocketing it. 

“Miss Hazel,” he whispered. “I can sleep on the floor. I have no intention of making you uncomfortable.”

That expression had surely been of disgust. He had made sure that he was clean when he left his home. The dusty bottle of aftershave he had usually left neglected in his bathroom had even seen some use after he cleaned up his shaving. 

However when compared to the company of a Lord, what was he but a backwater blacksmith?

“No, no, I can’t make you do that,”Hazel interjected, finally looking up at him.

“Miss Hazel-”

“I just-just have never shared a bed before, other than with my sisters. This will be my first time.” they said. “But, we will make it work. I’m sure the bed is big enough for the both of us to lay comfortably.  I don’t take up much space.” Hazel’s face was adamant, even if the blush had not faded.

“The bed is a king size,” the red-headed man spoke, the smile on his face a little too sharp for that of an innkeeper. “It is the honeymoon suite.”

Fletcher ignored the urge to throttle him. “As you wish. But if you change your mind I beg you to speak up.” He turned from Hazel, hiding his face with one hand. “After we drop our bags off we can get dinner, if you’d like.”

Hazel nodded “D-dinner would be very nice.” 

They both ascended the stairs. The inn was decorated almost as if it was someone’s home. The walls were all that pretty blue, like forget-me-not blooms. Simple oil paintings of landscapes and vases of fresh flowers filled the empty space. 

Their room was the very last one on the second floor a cobalt door with the phrase ‘*Honeymoon Suite* painted on it in gold. 

Inside the room were mostly pinks and reds. The walls, covered in a blush color, were mostly bare except for a large bay window with a window seat and a floor length mirror. The bed was larger than anything Fletcher had ever slept in and covered in a maroon duvet and silk sheets. There was a door, halfway open and revealing a private bath. 

“This is…” Fletcher said, gazing around, “Fancy.” The floors were wood, but with his bedroll he could make a bed there if needed. 

“The clerics’ chambers at Castle Briargarth are nowhere as nice as this.” Hazel reached out and touched the silk sheets, marveling at their fine texture

Fletcher disappeared into the bathroom, coming out after a moment. He had changed into a clean shirt, the color akin to blood in it’s intense red. His jacket and viridian scarf were in his arms. Throughout the ride his hair had become unkempt but now it was smoothed back, loose and falling in waves on his neck. 

“Oh! Before we go-” Hazel pulled the perfume bottle with their sister’s pink rose scent and reapplied it. They examined their reflection, fidgeting a bit before turning to Fletcher. “Okay. I’m ready!”

“As am I,”he pulled his jacket and scarf on. “After you, Miss Hazel.”

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