Internally, she actually hoped for the opposite. She needed a bit of time and didn’t want to gain it by drawing attention to her true motives. The owner not being in sight had been a minor godsend.

She left Russel and then headed up the central staircase. She took them up to their private suite and unlocked the door. She went inside and immediately went to the fresh notepad left on a desk as a complimentary addition to the room. There was an irritating few seconds when she couldn’t find anything to write with and then relief flooded her when she found an inkwell and quill. She dipped its pointed end into the ink and then started writing as quickly as she could.

She addressed the letter directly to King Harrison by way of Sir Thomas. She figured the knight would be the best person to relay the information. In the letter, she detailed everything that had happened at Gloucester, the fact that she was the sole survivor and that her life had been saved by a werewolf from the Oclan kingdom. She finished it up by making sure to tell him who had really killed everyone in her village.

Drake Wittam. A royal of the Harvenk Kingdom.

She signed her name to it, not bothering to read what she wrote. She didn’t have time. Russel would be coming up soon and she needed to at least have some things packed away so she didn’t draw his suspicion. There was some wax and a seal bearing the inn’s logo. She folded up the letter, put it in an envelope the inn also provided, and sealed it. On the front, she made sure to address the letter to King Harrison by way of Sir Thomas again.

I hope this works, she thought to herself, not confident that it would but hoping anyway.

She hid the letter in the cloak she planned to wear and then rushed around the room to pack things up as best she could. When everything was said and done, she had almost everything finished. A few minutes later, Russel came back in. He looked at her, saw how empty their room was, and nodded with approval.

“Ready?” he asked.

She stuffed the last balled-up pair of socks into her pack, closed and latched it, and threw it on. Then she picked up his and threw it clumsily at him. It was much heavier than her own. He caught it with ease, despite the weight, and slung it over his shoulders.

“Yes,” she answered. “Oclan, here we come.”

She started walking toward him, the letter hidden away in one of the interior pockets of her cloak.