Chapter Twenty-four: Thompson’s

SIGRUN

Seven Days Later...

I was bored out of my mind.

It wasn't the normal kind of bored.

Not even a "there's nothing good on N*****x" bored.

I'm talking trapped-in-a-massive-mountain-fortress-without-WiFi-and-my-werewolf-husband-had-disappeared-into-the-northern-wilderness-a-week-ago-without-informing-me bored.

There was a difference. A very important difference.

For one thing, normal boredom usually didn't involve several hundred thousand square feet of gothic architecture.

Seriously, Pillak Towers was so enormous that after three days of exploring, I still wasn't entirely convinced I'd seen all of the east wing.

There were corridors that seemed to exist purely because somebody's ancestor had looked at a perfectly reasonable wall and decided, "Um, you know what this needs? Another hallway."

There were staircases that led to other staircases. There was an entire gallery dedicated to dead Northerners that glared judgmentally out of oil paintings. I was almost certain that one of them had followed me with his eyes.

Anyway, the point was that I had explored. Extensively. And I was still bored.

I wanted outside. I wanted answers. Darn it—I wanted something.

Preferably something that explained why I was stuck in a medieval universe and married to a broody werewolf who seemed to know my body more than actual human men I'd encountered back home.

But for now, I could have settle with something that explained why security around Pillak Towers had suddenly doubled ever since Darren had interrupted, ahem, dinner, looking like someone had informed him the world was ending. And why, hours later, the Alpha of the North—my husband—had vanished before dawn without doing me the curtesy of informing me first.

It wasn't like I had finished dinner that night and went up to my chambers and fell asleep while waiting to hear his knock on my door or anything. It also wasn't like I had felt a curious sensation in my chest that felt awfully like disappointment when Marta informed me of his departure the next morning. It wasn't anything like that. I wasn't hurt. I wasn't. I was...relieved—yes, I was relieved!

And if I felt anything silly like anger or worry for his safety, it was just the principle of the thing called marriage—I mean, husbands were obligated to inform their wives if they were leaving on a trip, right? That was like, the most respectful thing to do.

This crave-y, hyper feeling in my chest was definitely not because he was gone for a week and I was missing him. That would be most unfortunate. Thank God the fortune cookies I got whenever Eva and I ordered chow mein from Chan's always mentioned that I was a fortunate individual.

Anyway, ever since Varul left, guards seemed to be everywhere; at the gates, in the halls, in the courtyards...Everywhere I looked, there was another giant werewolf pretending not to be standing guard. Nobody would tell me why. And trust me, I had tried. Unfortunately, Northerners appeared to be genetically incapable of gossip. Which was frankly offensive. Conny and I should have been thriving here. I was sure that if this were the South, she would have extracted enough information to topple governments by now. But sadly, she had nothing.

Not like we spent so much time together anyway, since she and Rita spent most of these past days helping out in household duties because Marta (have I mentioned how much this sweet woman terrifies me?) wanted them to blend in with the workers of the Pillak household.

They attended to my immediate needs, but helped out whenever they could. I was still getting used to having actual servants at my beck and call. Conny seemed to be getting on pretty well with others so far. I'd seen her giggling with another maid on our first day here.

Rita, however, was another story.

She complained constantly of the way the Northern workers did things. Apparently, spices were not arranged according to color progression in Pillak Towers, and this was supposedly a bad thing.

"Could never happen back in Windsmoor Castle, I tell ye, Yer Highness," she'd muttered with haughtiness a few nights ago while washing my hair. "Could never happen."

Yesterday, in a desperate attempt to feel useful, I wandered into the kitchens and volunteered to help make bread. This had gone surprisingly well for approximately five minutes. I had been elbow-deep in dough beside three giggling kitchen maids—until Martha had found me and almost had a coronary.

"It is not done, My Lady," she'd said sternly after she'd gotten over her shock. She wiped my flour-covered hands with a kitchen rag like I was a child. "A kitchen is no place for the wife of the Alpha."

Needless to say, I was politely escorted from the kitchens shortly afterward.

Today was a new day, and I was in danger of climbing up the walls if I didn't find something to do.

I had an idea. I wandered into the kitchen again, this time, for a different matter.

Everyone paused what they were doing when they registered my presence.

Choruses of "Good morning, My Lady!" rang in the air.

I smiled nervously, still not used to it even after a week. "Good morning, everyone."

I got smiles, and everyone returned to what they'd been doing.

"Do you need something, My Lady?" The cook, Portia, eyed me warily, no doubt remembering my kitchen run-in from yesterday. I had no doubt that Marta had given her an earful for allowing the Alpha's wife to work with the servants in the kitchen. I felt a little guilty as I watched her round, sweet face. In her defense, Portia had tried stopping me, but I'd been adamant, and she'd given in.

"Yes," I said with a smile. "I—Where is Marta?"

Portia blinked. "Oh. She's out by the stables. You need not have worried yourself coming down here, My Lady. You could have used your bell to have a servant get Marta for you."

Right. My bell.

As much as I'd chosen to walk down here because I needed something to do, I also did it because I disliked the concept of summoning servants with a bell. The modern New Yorker in me grimaced at the concept. The bell sat on the table in my chambers, a tiny silver reminder that somewhere along the way I'd apparently become the sort of person who could ring for another human being. I hadn't touched it once.

Right then, Marta walked into the kitchen and looked about three seconds from giving me another stern but respectful lecture about hierarchy when she saw me.

"Marta!" I said with chirpingly. "I need something. Come with me."

She blinked but followed me.

"I need paint,” I said when we got outside.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Paint, My Lady?”

"And brushes. And canvas."

Understanding dawns on her. “Oh. Yes, My Lady. There is canvas in the western drawing room.”

"Perfect."

"But no paints."

My excitement deflated. “Oh."

"I can send someone to Thompson's.”

I straightened. “Thompson's?"

"It is a shop for stationery in the Market Square."

Market Square. Outside. Actual civilization. People.

Fresh air. Possibly gossip.

My heart immediately perked up. I smiled. “That’s fine, I’ll go myself."