Recognition at the Inn

I tried to close my eyes, willing my mind to relax, but the clamor of the bustling market outside and the rowdy inn downstairs made it nearly impossible to settle into the small, dimly lit room. The faint scent of stale ale and roasted meat drifted through the cracked window, mingling with the earthy aroma of the wooden furniture. I lay on the narrow bed, the coarse linen sheets scratching against my skin, my heart beating in rhythm with the chaos outside.

A sharp knock at the door jolted me, sending my pulse racing. James immediately gestured for me to stay where I was. His face tightened, eyes narrowing with caution. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he moved to the door, opening it just a crack. I strained to catch the low murmur of the innkeeper’s voice, but the words were muffled.

James swiftly closed the door, his movements fluid and controlled, balancing two trays of food. The rich scent of hot stew and freshly baked bread momentarily pushed away the tension that settled in the room. We sat on the edge of the bed in silence, the clink of utensils against ceramic the only sound between us. James’s gaze never left the window, his form tense, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across his face, deepening the worry etched into his brow.

Once we finished eating, James placed the trays outside in the dimly lit hallway. He returned with deliberate steps, his eyes softening as he crossed the small space toward me. Without a word, he pulled me into his arms, his embrace both tender and strong.


For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. The noise from the market below and the inn’s clamor faded to a distant hum, leaving only the steady rhythm of our hearts in the quiet room. The soft glow of the candle cast flickering shadows on the walls, a dance of light and dark that mirrored the emotions swirling within us.

James cupped my cheek, his rough palm a stark contrast to the gentleness of his touch. He leaned in slowly, his breath warm against my skin. When his lips met mine, a rush of warmth spread through me. His kiss was a quiet promise, a silent confession of feelings that words could not express.

He lay me down on the bed, moving with deliberate care, as though savoring every moment. The coarse linen sheets felt cool beneath me, grounding me amidst the whirlwind of emotions. He hovered over me, eyes locked on mine, his gaze full of love, worry, and determination.

His kiss deepened, and the outside world vanished entirely. Every touch, every caress, reaffirmed the bond we shared. James’s body pressed gently against mine, the steady beat of his heart a reassuring constant. His lips traveled from mine to my jaw, then down to the sensitive skin of my neck, each touch sending shivers through me. I closed my eyes, losing myself in the sensation of his warmth, his presence, and the overwhelming sense of security he provided.

Time seemed to blur. The noise from the inn below faded into a distant murmur, the market’s bustling silenced by the peace that had settled between us. Wrapped in his embrace, I felt safe. A feeling I hadn't known for so long.

I rested my head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. James’s arms tightened around me, pulling me closer. His hand came to rest gently on my stomach, where the faint swell of my pregnancy had begun to show.

His fingers lightly traced the curve of my belly. His touch was tender. The night wore on. The market outside quieted, the noise from the inn below fading until only the soft crackle of the candle remained. Before dawn, James woke me.

“Isabella, we need to cut your hair.”
“It is a dead giveaway.”

I nodded, understanding. My long hair, once a symbol of my royal status, had now become a dangerous liability. Sitting up, I felt the cool air brush against my skin as I gathered my hair behind my shoulders.

James retrieved a pair of shears from his pack, their metal glinting in the dim light. His eyes held a mix of determination and sadness as he approached. With swift precision, he cut my hair just above my shoulders. The severed locks fell silently to the floor, a silent testament to the life I was leaving behind.

I ran my fingers through my now-shortened hair, the sensation unfamiliar yet liberating. James set the shears aside and took my hands, his grip firm and reassuring.


“We will get through this, Isabella,” he said, his voice steady.
“We will keep you and the baby safe.”

We left the room swiftly, the urgency of our departure hanging in the air. James led the way, his movements purposeful. We descended the creaking stairs. The innkeeper’s station came into view. James reached for his pouch, ready to pay, but before he could hand over the coins, a low, menacing voice cut through the murmurs of the inn.

My heart stopped, dread flooding my veins as the voice registered. Standing in the doorway were two men—the ones who had tormented me under Blackthorn’s orders. The burly man with a scar across his cheek sneered, eyes gleaming with malicious intent. Beside him, the lean man twirled a knife between his fingers, the blade catching the dim light, sending chills down my spine.

“Well the treacherous first mate who killed our captain finally shows his face,” the burly man growled, his voice dripping with venom.

His sneer widened, yellowed teeth flashing as his eyes locked onto me.

“We will be taking the princess.”

Panic gripped me. I stepped closer to James, instinctively seeking his protection. The lean man’s gaze settled on me, his grip tightening on the knife as he took a step forward, his expression twisted with satisfaction.

The inn’s jovial atmosphere vanished. Silence fell, patrons sensing the tension in the air. The innkeeper’s eyes flickered nervously between us and the men. The burly man’s grin grew as he savored the power he held, relishing in the fear he had conjured.

James’s hand moved to his sword, his body tensing, ready. His gaze never left the men, his determination unwavering. I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my ears.