Book 4: A Rogue’s Help

Isla

Our room is… plain, but I am not too bothered. Framed oil paintings hang on the stone walls, and the smell of cleaner is sharp and acrid in the air. A fireplace takes up the far wall, and a simple, gray rug covers the stone pavers lining the floor.

Again, I wonder how old this place is, and who may have lived here before Maddox bought it.

I let out my breath, still tired from the journey and aching from being cramped in a car for what felt like hours. It's not musty or dark in the room, which is a miracle sent by the Goddess herself after spending several nights on the stuffy ship from Maatua.

I’d rather be home, however.

“Not bad,” Poppy muses, turning in a circle as she scans the room. “But it could use a little paint.”

“Hopefully we won’t be here long enough to justify painting the walls,” I say, smoothing my hand over the quilt folded at the foot of the four-poster bed. “Maybe we can go back to the castle in a few days.”<