Page 13 of The Little Shop of Grand Curiosities

For this to be the first glimpse of civilization I got of the supposedly wonderful and affluent Faraway North was rather disappointing, if not downright disconcerting.

Of course, I knew we were still very far away from the city, but this place was a giant leap from the quaint shops and cozy taverns I had read about in the papers.

I fiddled with my pendant as a flurry of hoots, curses, and hoarse laughter—the unmistakable noises of what could only be described as male debauchery—sprung boisterously from inside the inn. I was fairly certain that the raucousthwackthat split the periwinkle dusk in two was a body landing on a large piece of furniture after being shoved with formidable vigor across the room.

I froze mid-step and, inadvertently, reached for Apollo’s arm. “Maybe we should just… sleep under the stars tonight,” I croaked. “The night is rather lovely, isn’t it?”

Apollo scrutinized me with chiding nonchalance. “I’m not risking my neck out in the woods just because you’re afraid of people more than you’re afraid of monsters.”

“I’m not afraid of people,” I hissed at the sheer outrage of the claim. “I’m a saleswoman, for goodness’ sake.”

Although, to be fair to the monsters, history has had countless examples of humans acting far more atrociously than any mindless beast ever could. A human’s rationalized cruelty was perhaps the scariest thing in the whole wide world.

“Sure, darling, this is why you’ve gone as white as the moon,” Apollo mocked.

“It’s perfectly normal to be worried about spending the night with a stranger in this wretched den of sin. I’m not a rake like you, nor a warrior or a witch. I’m an ordinary person. I read books and do the laundry and go to the market once a week. I only find danger exciting when it’s written on paper,” I argued, and the more I realized my predicament, the more my anxiety expanded into utter dismay.

Apollo groaned impatiently. “I’m not going to hurt you, Nepheli. Come on, we’ve already gone through this.”

“That doesn’t preventotherpeople from hurting me,” I pointed out, and in apt synchronicity, another muffledthwackcame from inside the inn, followed by a series of unbecoming cheers.

“I’m not letting anyone else hurt you either,” he snapped, his voice rough like stone. “No one will come near you, okay?”

He did seem genuine as he said this with his eyes clear and serious for once, and the charming lines of his face drawn into a mask of dignity.

Was this the man the Prince of Thaloria was before he lost his heart? Someone reliable and honest? Someone who honored his promises and led a righteous path instead of leaving trails of broken hearts behind him?

I supposed this didn’t matter now.Now, he was the kind of man who would bring a girl the worst kind of trouble and wouldn’t feel a morsel of remorse about it.

“As if the promise of a heartless man means anything,” I said bitterly.

Without another warning, Apollo seized my wrist and yanked me forward, aiming straight for the entrance.

“Stop that,” I grumbled as he kept dragging me behind him.

“No,youstop that,” Apollo bit back, pulling the hood of his cape over his head. “This place attracts all kinds of people, and, darling, I don’t know if you’ve realized this, but I’m very,veryvaluable. We can’t afford to draw any attention to ourselves. So don’t talk to anyone unless it is absolutely unavoidable, and don’t call me by my name.”

“How am I supposed to call you, then?”

“Husband.”

I blinked, certain I’d misheard him. “Excuse me?”

“For all intents and purposes, and for the remainder of our stay here, I am your husband.”

“Why?” I squealed.

“Because you’re too pretty for your own good and too smart-mouthed for mine,” he bit out, swung the door open, and shoved me inside.

By the Seven Spirits of Hospitality and the Great Goddess Estia, this was worse than I expected.

A foul amalgamation of cheap liquor, ash, and unwashed linens slapped me across the face the moment we stepped into the overcrowded common room. We were instantly swallowed by the roar of the patrons, chatting, shouting, and swinging their fists at each other. The floor was laid out with muddy footsteps, dubious stains, and shattered pieces of wood and glass. Unsuitably cheerful music was coming from somewhere ahead, but I could hardly see anything past the two burly men in front of us carrying two overlarge rucksacks with a sulfuric scent emanating from them.

I held my parasol to my chest and leaned closer to Apollo as we treaded between the full tables, heading towards the back. Apollo, to my surprise, assumed a humble and polite demeanor, all quiet apologies and sympathetic nods. He blended in easily, and even when a horrid, bedraggled brute threw a bronze chalice across the room and the thing flew right past Apollo’s face before it clanged against the wall, he said absolutely nothing. He merely squeezed my wrist in his hand, almost on reflex, and continued ahead.

Behind a long oakwood desk inwrought with the same obscene little caricatures as the windows sat a grey-haired satyr, busy scratching the spot behind his left curly horn.

Apollo cleared his throat and took a low, serious tone, “Good evening.”

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