Page 132 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
She can protect him. She can protect all of them.
Even if it means walking straight into the Duke’s hands.
I survived him once,she reminds herself. She can do it again.
For Dorian, she would do anything.
The ride is long and jarring, the carriage swaying over uneven roads. Selene sits stiff-backed, hands curled into fists in her lap. The brigands don’t speak much—just the occasional grunt or muttered word—but she feels their eyes on her. Watching. Waiting for her to break.
She doesn’t.
When they stop at the inn, one of them hauls the door open. The leader jerks his head. “Out.”
Selene gathers her skirts and steps down. The inn looms before her, its wooden beams weathered and dark. Light spills from the windows. The smell of roasted meat and ale thickens the air, but Selene finds no comfort in it.
She knows, even before stepping inside, that this place is not a refuge.
Thedoor swings open, and she’s ushered through.
Voices hum low over tankards. Firelight flickers against the walls. It looks like any other roadside inn—but Selene recognises too many faces.
Men from the Duke’s estate sit in quiet corners, hands wrapped around drinks, eyes sweeping the room with the sharp, assessing wariness of soldiers waiting for orders.
Her stomach turns.
The innkeeper stands behind the counter, wiping down a tankard. He’s older, broad-shouldered, with a permanent furrow between his brows. His staff move about the room, keeping their heads down, their steps brisk.
Are they locals? Do they recognise her?
And if they do—will they say anything?
If word reaches Dorian, what will they tell him? That she was here, surrounded by the Duke’s men? That she went willingly to the man who tried to kill him?
A hand clamps around her wrist, guiding her through the room. Selene doesn’t resist, even as the weight of every gaze presses down on her.
Then a voice—smooth, amused, venom-laced—cuts through the noise.
“I hear you’re now a widow,” the Duke says.
Selene stops breathing.
He stands near the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back, watching her like a man who already knows the outcome of a game.
“My condolences.”
Selene is steered into a seat. Food and drink is placed in front of her. She takes neither. “You won’t get away with this.”
“Forlong,” the Duke tells her. “I won’t get away with itfor long.But luckily, I don’t have to. You’re not the only one happy to cause a scandal if it means getting what you want. Let society talk. Let them spin tales about how SeleneNightbloom ran off withanotherman the day her husband died. My, they might even think you did it.”
Selene clenches her jaw. “I didn’t run away with you. You abducted me.”
“And who here will speak on your behalf?”
The barkeeper, drying tankards, looks down at his feet. He whispers something to the boy sweeping in the corner, but he does nothing.
Selene knows the Duke is right. No one will speak on her behalf. Her parents could challenge him, if they were so inclined. But why would they? This is the outcome they’ve wanted all along.
Except, of course, Selene is still married.
