She laughed and called over her shoulder, “I’ll get to you later.” Hopefully, that would be enough. She raised her eyebrows at the innkeeper and sidled towards the door, scratching her forehead to hide her face from the rowdy officers.

Her heart pounded. Never had eight feet felt like such a distance to cross.

But then she was through the door and in a small hallway. Her knees shook, and her chest heaved as though she’d climbed a mountain, not just walked through an inn.

But she carried on, pausing for a break halfway up the stairs.

Unsurprisingly, the door to room 3 was locked. No light spilled through the crack underneath. No light was good—it meant he’d drunk himself into a stupor. But the lock …

Chewing her lip, she peered through the hole—the key blocked her view. That was a good start if she could just …

She glanced around and soon found an etching in a frame—perfect. In a moment, she had the frame open and the etching’s thick paper in her hands.

With another check that no light came from his room, she slid the paper under the door below the handle.

Now to get the key out. If Knigh’s dagger was slender enough … She drew it—yes, perfect. It just about slid into the keyhole, albeit with a scrape of metal on metal.

She winced at the thunk as the key dropped to the floor. Frozen, she listened.

Just the distant voices and laughter of the men downstairs and the tall clock ticking at the end of the landing.

Exhaling a shaky breath, she put the dagger away and slid the paper from under the door. The key dragged, rasping on the floor, but it was a quieter sound than when it had landed—if that hadn’t woken him or anyone else, this wouldn’t.

And there it was—dark metal. Urgh, iron.

The back of her neck crawled, and she pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle the gagging.

“It’s fine,” she whispered. “It’s just a little key.” It wasn’t that cage.

Inhaling slowly, she used the hem of her skirts to protect her fingers and lifted the key. Through the fabric, it felt too hot, like sitting near a roaring fire. She shoved it into the lock and turned, sighing once she was finally able to release it.

Shaking her hand, she paused and listened again.

Still no sound.

She crept inside and closed the door before the light could disturb him.

It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dark, but her fae-blooded sight soon revealed the whole room. It was like a hundred other inn rooms—cabinet, fireplace, chair, dressing table, large four-poster bed.

Except that on this bed lay FitzRoy.

She clenched her jaw at the sight of him, sprawled on his back, head turned away, snoring softly.