YET ANOTHER SNEAK PEEK OF 'OTHERWORLD'

NOTE: This chapter takes place immediately after 'THE CHAMBER OF WONDERS.' To understand the title (and Lorn's preoccupation with oxen), you may choose to read the 'UNEDITED SLIVER' set as 'BUDDY READ HOMEWORK' in the Sleazy Weasel Tavern Facebook group, though it is certainly not compulsory. You will only be gently mystified if you do not.

CHAPTER: THE OXEN OF LOVE

As it turned out, Sasha’s visitor was neither rodent nor stuffed, though most citizens of Otherworld would have preferred to have found a box of taxidermied weasels on their doorstep than a seven-Mark, black-garbed sorcerer. After all, it was a well-known fact that sorcerers only performed house calls to fix particularly gruesome magical catastrophes (which were fairly rare) or to cause them (which was far more common). 

As no one had given Sasha a handbook of Otherworld’s ‘well-known facts,’ nor had they bothered to scrawl a list of the Top Ten Most Important Things To Know When You’re Relocated to Otherworld Against Your Will on a napkin, she was free to feel inordinately pleased to see this particular sorcerer darkening her doorway.

Misery loves company, she thought wryly.

“Hi,” Sasha said with a bright smile, a touch breathless from her dash across her chamber to answer the door.

Lorn blinked as if momentarily stunned by her greeting, his hand still poised, mid-knock, in the air. His gaze traced the curve of Sasha’s smile before moving upward to the very top of her head.

“Your collection of head attire is a marvel to behold,” he drawled, dropping his hand back to his side.

“Head attire?” Sasha reached up and felt the soggy linen towel beneath her fingers. “Oh! I forgot I was wearing it. Do you like it?” She gestured grandly to the damp mound on her head. “It’s what all the superior monarchs are wearing nowadays.”

A smile tilted the corners of Lorn’s mouth. “That would explain why I have yet to procure one. Forgive me, I did not wish to interrupt you or your superior headwear; I merely wanted to see if the chambers were to your liking.”

At the mention of her chambers, Sasha balked. She was the only thing standing—literally—between the decorators and a probable swamping. Realizing that Lorn was trying to peer over her shoulder into the room beyond, she quickly stepped over the threshold into the hallway and closed the door firmly behind her.

“It’s—it’s great!” she said as enthusiastically as possible, given the circumstances.

Lorn looked slightly taken aback. “Truly?” His tone was laced with justifiable skepticism. He stared at the door as if trying to see through it. “The refurbishments were to your taste?”

Sasha surreptitiously crossed her fingers and tucked them into her pocket. “Yep.”

Lorn’s gaze swung back to her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You are pleased?”

“Mmmhmm,” she said between closed lips.

Lorn snorted. “You are a truly terrible liar.”

Sasha’s shoulders slumped. “I know.” She uncrossed her fingers with a sigh. “I’ve heard that a lot.”

“Then allow me to see whatever atrocity has been committed to your chambers for myself.”

Lorn reached past her for the doorknob, but again, Sasha barred his way.

“Sorry,” she said firmly, “but you can’t come in unless you promise not to swamp the decorators.”

“Swamp the decorators?” Lorn’s brow furrowed. “Did I threaten to swamp them?”

“Sounds like something you’d say, Majesty,” one of the guards piped up.

“You do say it pretty often,” the other guard added.

“True,” Lorn acknowledged. “It is one of my typical threats.”

“You definitely used it on the decorators,” Sasha confirmed. “Murgatroyd and Spetzelbrass said that if you approved of the refurbishment, you’d give them a royal reference—”

“Given that you are using your body to barricade the entrance to the chamber, that seems increasingly unlikely.”

Sasha decided to ignore that spectacularly accurate piece of deductive reasoning. “—and if you didn’t approve of the room, you’d send them to the Wetlands for a swamping.” She glanced back at the door. “And if you see the room, you’re definitely going to send them to the Wetlands for a swamping.”

Lorn waved away her concerns with a negligent flick of his wrist. “I was merely trying to motivate them. The likelihood of an actual swamping, as you phrased it, is very rare.”

“Really?” Sasha asked hopefully.

The guards exchanged skeptical looks. “Really?” they asked less hopefully.

“There are always exceptions,” Lorn said pointedly to the guards.

The guards quickly straightened their posture and directed their attention to the far wall.

“Failing to decorate a chamber to my standards is not an adequate reason to swamp someone,” Lorn informed Sasha.

Sasha reached for the doorknob. “Just remember you said that.”

“I can be reasonable,” Lorn chastised as Sasha opened the door. “In fact—Midra’s sack.” He visibly flinched. “I am going to swamp the decorators.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Sasha said with a sigh. Nevertheless, she found herself grinning as an expression of pure horror crossed Lorn’s features. “Allow me to present Murgatroyd and Spetzelbrass’s ‘vision’”—Sasha remembered to air quote—“The Chamber of Wonders.”

“More like the Chamber of Ocular Torture.” Lorn stepped into the room, blinking in what appeared to be a mixture of disbelief and retinal discomfort. “This looks like something you would have the misfortune to see in Vetch.”

Sasha closed the door behind them. “Funny you should say that; a house in Vetch was their inspiration.”

Lorn ducked to avoid one of the swinging lanterns and surveyed the taxidermy predators scattered around the room.

“I thought I was being watched,” he mused. He approached the elk-beast, shaking his head. “My, my—it certainly is crowded in here.”

“The decorators didn’t want me to feel lonely.” At Lorn’s incredulous look, Sasha shrugged defensively. “I thought it was sweet.”

Lorn gestured toward the ceiling. “Are the beasts in the rafters sweet, too?”

Sasha glanced up. “What beasts in the raft—agh!”

A flock of what appeared to be demonic owls stared down at her from the ceiling beams, poised mid-pounce.

“I didn’t notice them until you pointed them out.” Sasha swallowed hard at the sight of so many pairs of red eyes directed toward her. “If you see any others, just keep it to yourself.”

Lorn smiled darkly and turned his attention to the shelf. “Good gods!”

“Did you spot the leapfrogging horses?” Sasha asked, warily turning her back on the owls to stand beside Lorn.

“Is that what they are doing? I did not realize horses were so acrobatic.” Lorn’s gaze narrowed as he surveyed the multiple paintings of rural nudity. “I am sensing a theme.”

“If that theme is dwarven bordello, then you’d be correct. That’s where all this furniture came from.”

“Bord—?” Lorn paused and pinched the bridge of his nose. After a long moment, he looked up. “Do tell me that the rest of the chamber is more appropriately furnished?”

Sasha opened her mouth to explain, but changed her mind. “It’s something you really have to experience for yourself.”

“Very well.” Lorn braced his shoulders. “If I do not return, send for Maddox—he will find my successor.”

“Good luck,” Sasha said with a farewell salute.

Lorn marched into the bedchamber as if he were about to face a horde of irate, molting dragons. Sasha tilted her head, listening as the sounds of muffled swearing, followed by a hearty, “Good gods, why?” and then several long-suffering sighs marked Lorn’s progress across the room.

Eventually, Lorn re-emerged, his gaze glassy, and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Exciting, huh?” Sasha said with a sympathetic smile.

“Incomprehensibly dreadful,” Lorn corrected. “This is what comes from allowing thieves to furnish a chamber unsupervised.”

“Ah ha! I thought they were thieves, what with all their talking of liberating caravans …”

“They prefer to be referred to as ‘procurement officers,’ though that is merely a thief by another name. Regardless, the most pertinent part of my previous statement was the word ‘unsupervised.’ I am sorry—Maddox and I were too busy preparing for your arrival to keep an eye on them, so the thieves were left to their own devices.”

Sasha shrugged away his apology. “It’s okay. It’ll make a great anecdote. Lyla’s going to love this place.”

“Of course, Lyla will adore it—the room is positively diabolical.” Lorn tore his gaze away from a hypnotically garish rug and stared at her intently. “You are taking this far too well.”

Sasha was pleased that he’d noticed but decided to be nonchalant about it. “I’m a substitute teacher. I’m used to adapting to novel situations.” From the corner of her eye, she noticed yet another crowned ferret—this one brandishing a fork—tucked away behind a lopsided stack of books. “Though this is probably a little more novel than what I’m used to. Maddox said the best way to deal with the castle was to take everything in my stride. I figure that’s probably the best way to handle Between in general.”

“Denial and delusion are usually the best strategies when it comes to living in Between,” Lorn agreed. “A moment.” He turned away, his coat flaring dramatically behind him, and strode briskly to the door.

“You had better not be deserting me,” Sasha called after him.

“It is tempting,” Lorn called back as he exited.

Moments later, four castle guards entered the chamber. They stared open-mouthed at the outlandish decor.

“Fancy,” one said in hushed tones as he picked up one of the armchairs.

“Well, she is a queen,” said another as she lifted one end of the tiny table.

As the guards removed the exclusive dwarven bordello furniture, the leapfrogging horses, and several of the pantsless paintings, other guards arrived with less tawdry replacements. Better yet, Lorn returned carrying what appeared to be a wine bottle and two glasses. A hessian sack followed him into the room like a stray puppy, bounding across the rugs at his heels.

“I have brought wine,” Lorn said, sitting in one of the new, appropriately-sized armchairs. He deftly uncorked the bottle and filled the two glasses to the brim. “It may help to dampen the shock.”

Sasha watched, bemused, as the hessian sack settled beside him. “Thanks. I’ll have both of those glasses. Oh! Hang on….” She rushed out of the room and returned with Martha’s tin of cookies. “Now we can have a room-warming party.”

Lorn flicked his fingers toward the fireplace, and the flames leaped in response.

“That’s better.” Sasha settled in the chair opposite Lorn’s and stretched her hands toward the flames. “Despite all the color, it’s still a little dark in here.”

Lorn stilled, his hand halfway to his glass. “It is rather dark in here.” He glanced furtively around the room. “Some may even consider this to be a darkened chamber.”

Sasha noted his slightly panicked expression and briefly wondered if he had a phobia of the dark. “If it bothers you, we could light up the squirrel candelabra.” She tipped her head toward the candelabra in question.

Lorn took one look at the candle-bearing squirrels and sighed mightily. “I expressly forbid the squirrel candelabra.” Nevertheless, with a wave of his hand, the candles burst into cheery flame, brightening the chamber considerably.

“Shall we have a toast?” Sasha lifted her glass, the firelight turning the wine a rich, ruby-red hue. “To Murgatroyd and Spetzelbrass—who will not be swamped.”

“But deserve to be,” Lorn added.

They touched glasses, both trying to hide their smiles, and sipped in unison. The wine was fruity with an aftertaste of blackberries and something peppery. But most importantly, it was full of alcohol, which Sasha needed to take the edge off her current reality.

“I also come bearing gifts,” Lorn said as he placed his glass on the table. “Or, more specifically, I am returning lost things.” He reached into the bottomless pouch at his waist and removed a very familiar shoe. 

“My sneaker!” Sasha exclaimed. Her joy at seeing her missing footwear was quickly replaced by the memory of how she had lost it.

White mist … her foot caught in quicksand … two men stalking toward her … the glint of a dagger.…

Sasha forcibly pushed the memory away and gulped down another sip of wine. “I thought it was lost forever.”

“I retrieved it.” Lorn placed the shoe on the floor. “Midra knows there are enough lost and discarded things in the Wetlands.”

“Well, I’m very grateful you got it back for me.” Sasha was happy to see that there wasn’t a trace of enchanted quicksand or various swamp bits on the fabric or sole. “It’s part of my favorite pair.”

“There is more.” Lorn nudged the sack with the toe of his polished, black boot. “This contains all manner of objects from the Earther Realm that came through the Portal while you Dreamed.”

Sasha drew the sack closer and pulled open the drawstrings, revealing a treasure trove of Earther objects within.

“It’s my hairbrush!” she exclaimed. “Do you know how hard it is to find a brush that doesn’t make your curls frizzy?” She paused, noting Lorn’s effortlessly windswept dark hair. “Scratch that—clearly, you don’t. And my toothbrush! And my other missing shoe.” She held up her red high-heeled pump triumphantly.

There was also a porcelain figurine of a chicken holding an Easter basket, two leatherbound books, a handful of charcoal pencils, one of Lyla’s headbands, and a well-plumped throw pillow that had once sat on the chaise in the rose drawing room.

“Miss Adeline is probably beside herself wondering where this went.” Sasha brushed a sprinkling of gold dust off the cushion’s satin surface and carefully placed it back in the sack. “Lyla thinks she’s inappropriately bonded to all her throw pillows. How did all of this end up here?”

“There is a balance between our worlds. If something or someone enters Otherworld from the Earther Realm—as you did, during your Dreams—then something or Midra forbid, someone from Otherworld will enter the Earther Realm, and vice versa.” Lorn gestured to the objects. “It is usually something small. Shoes, books, trinkets, seeds—”

“Seeds?”

“They are easily blown between realms.”

“Huh. I bet poison ivy is from Between.”

“If it is poisonous or ill-tasting, it was probably from Between. During the Crossing, more ephemeral things also make their way between our worlds, especially while we dream. Thoughts and ideas … visions and memories … words and names. Even songs and stories.”

Sasha perked up. “Fairy tales?”

Lorn nodded. “Even in this strange land, you will find reminders of your home.”

That was comforting in a peculiar sort of way. “I like that.” Sasha nudged the sack with her sock-covered toes. “And I’m happy all of these bits and pieces were not really lost.”

Lorn stretched out his long, leather-clad legs toward the fireplace, neatly crossing his left ankle over his right. “In my experience, most lost things eventually find their way to Between.”

Something about his words made Sasha pause, even as the hair at the nape of her neck began to rise.

How long have you been wandering, trying to find your place? that insistent voice in the back of her head whispered as Sasha’s pulse spiked. Are you not lost, too?

Sasha frantically pushed the thought away. The idea of finding her place in Between was, quite frankly, disconcerting.

But you had the same thought when you first met Lorn in a Dream, the voice whispered. Don’t you remember?

Much to her dismay, Sasha did remember.

I might belong here more than you think, she’d told Lorn as they stood on the top of the Hill. He had stared at her as if questioning her sanity, but at that moment, she had felt so sure.…

Sasha took a long, fortifying sip of wine and set her glass back down on the table a little harder than she’d intended.

“Thanks for returning all of this.” She gestured a little erratically to the sack. “That deserves a reward.”

She fumbled with the cookie tin lid until it finally took mercy upon her and popped off with a muted thunk. Almost immediately, the scent of dark chocolate and warm spices wafted enticingly from the tin.

“Try them,” Sasha urged, pushing the tin toward the King. “Martha is a phenomenal cook. The chocolate chip cookies are my favorite.”

Lorn gave the cookies a dubious look. “The last time you offered me chocolate, I experienced a strong desire to scrape off my taste buds with an axe.”

Nevertheless, Lorn reached inside the tin and plucked out one of Martha’s double chocolate chip cookies. At the first bite, he closed his eyes in delight.

“Should I go and find an axe?” Sasha asked sweetly.

“These are glorious,” Lorn groaned.

There was something almost carnal about that groan. Sasha stilled as the sound reverberated along her nerve endings in a very pleasant fashion.

“Have another,” she said shamelessly and pushed the tin closer to him.

Lorn gave her a rare, almost boyish grin and took her advice. “I have not eaten since this morning.”

“Why not?” Sasha stole a glance at the vicious mouse clock. “That was hours ago.”

Lorn finished his mouthful and brushed the crumbs from his fingertips. “I was too busy bringing strange Earthers through gateways.” Sasha rolled her eyes at that. “I did not have time to go off in search of food.”

“But … shouldn’t food come to you? You’re a king.”

“One that is plentiful in oxen,” Lorn muttered under his breath and took a long sip of wine.

Sasha wasn’t sure about the role of oxen in Between’s food delivery system, but pushed on regardless.

“And food, too, right?” she pressed. “Don’t you have servants to make you meals? Isn’t there a kitchen in the castle?”

“The castle no longer has a kitchen; it caught fire when one of the kitchen staff foolishly attempted to cook something.”

“Wow, that’s—that’s not good.” But not unheard of, Sasha conceded. After all, Lyla had almost set her kitchen on fire multiple times while trying to boil water and had declared the oven number six on her list of mortal enemies.

“As you will soon find out, everything in Between is far too flammable,” Lorn continued, reaching for another cookie.

“So if there’s no kitchen, where do you get your meals?”

“Maddox and I are the only permanent residents of the castle, and we typically venture into the city when we are hungry. It gives us a chance to escape our responsibilities … a brief taste of freedom, if you will. The castle guards eat in their own hall.”

As a food lover, Sasha was beginning to panic. “Fair warning—Lyla says I become feral if I’m not fed on a regular basis, and she’s absolutely right. Food is very important to me. For everyone’s safety, I need to be fed regularly.”

“If feeding you is necessary to ensure the safety of the kingdom, I am sure we can arrange regular meals for you.”

Sasha watched as the firelight flickered over Lorn’s sharp cheekbones and hollow cheeks. Despite the regal cut of his clothing and the pointy crown on his head, there was something rather overworked and undernourished about the Shadow King, and it made Sasha’s protective heart twist.

“For both of us,” she insisted. “We’re going to be eating together.”

“Good gods,” Lorn blurted out, almost dropping his last bite of cookie. “Why ever would you want to do that?”

He looked so shocked that Sasha almost laughed out loud. She wondered if she’d have provoked the same reaction if she’d asked him to dance the polka naked with the pantaloon weasel.

“Aside from the fact that you’re the only person I know in Between, we’re going to be job-sharing coworkers—”

“And almost-spouses,” Lorn interrupted. He tilted his head, watching her reaction to his words with a sort of focused intensity that made Sasha’s heart pound. “I believe you once said that I would be your almost-husband, correct?”

“Correct,” Sasha confirmed, her tone a little too breathless for her liking. “Though I still haven’t been told when that’s going to happen—which seems like a pretty big oversight, given that I’m supposed to be an active participant, don’t you think?”

“I do, though the dates of arranged royal Joinings are often subject to secrecy to thwart escape attempts. I believe both our Joining and the coronation will take place on the last day of November,” Lorn continued blithely, unaware that Sasha was still trying to digest the previous piece of information. “Maddox was careful not to schedule the events on a Wednesday.”

Sasha nodded numbly. One thing at a time, she told herself. Get through the trial run and then worry about the wedding.

“All the more reason we should take the next seven days to get to know one another,” she insisted. “And I’m sure I’ll have lots of questions about this place; we can talk about them over a meal.”

“I cannot while away my days feasting,” Lorn said loftily as he brushed the cookie crumbs from his lap. “I am a very busy man, you know. I am a king.”

“The crown is a dead giveaway,” Sasha said dryly. “Busy or not, you need to eat at some point in the day, so I’d like you—and all your kingliness—to join me for meals.”

“How many?” Lorn asked, a calculating gleam in his eyes.

“Three. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You can forage for snacks on your own.”

Lorn waved away her demands with a graceful flick of his fingers. “That is an exorbitant number of meals. I will join you for one.”

“Two,” Sasha countered. “And that’s my final offer. After all, we promised we’d be friends, and you can’t become proper friends over one meal a day.”

“My, my,” Lorn drawled, staring at her with something close to admiration. “You have been in Between for only a handful of hours, and you are already issuing commands.”

“Just think how much worse I’ll be when I get my own crown. So, what do you say?”

Lorn tapped his lip thoughtfully with his index finger. He was studying her with a puzzled furrow to his brow, like a thief presented with a particularly intricate lock. It made Sasha instinctively sit up straighter in her seat.

“Very well,” he said eventually. “Two meals, starting with breakfast tomorrow at the stroke of eight.”

The candlelight caught on the black metallic threads in the fabric of Lorn’s coat, revealing vines that twisted around his buttons and curled around his wrists. Coupled with the mirror-shard crown, he looked every inch the fairy tale king.

I wonder if he’ll be dressed up like that for breakfast, Sasha thought to herself. Or maybe he wears something less fancy when he’s eating toast and eggs.

“Great! It’s a date.” Sasha’s eyes widened as she realized what she’d said. “Nope! Not a date,” she quickly amended, but not quickly enough to prevent Lorn’s sly smile. “Just a meal. Two of them.”

If anything, Lorn’s smile became even slyer.

“As coworkers and friends,” she continued firmly. “Friendly coworker meals. Twice a day. Now”—she lunged for her glass—“please excuse me while I drink all this wine.”

She saluted him with her glass and took a long, mortified sip while Lorn continued to look far too amused for her liking.

“Do you truly still wish for us to be friends?” Lorn asked when she put down her glass. There was a crease between his dark brows as if the concept bemused him. “You made that promise while lying intoxicated on my rug during a waking dream. I doubt such promises count.”

“They count,” Sasha said firmly, trying to tamp down the embarrassing memory. “Dream promises count.”

“All of them?” Lorn stilled as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just said. “Including being on a first-name basis?” he continued in a bland tone.

But Sasha knew by the way his fingers clenched around the stem of his wineglass that being on a first-name basis wasn’t the promise he was talking about.

One day, Sasha had told him—no, promised him during the Dream—we shall fall in love with our whole hearts.

“Yes,” Sasha found herself saying. “All dream promises count.”

And immediately cursed herself. What right did she have to make a promise that she couldn’t keep, especially one that was so vast?

Sasha saw something … something that looked remarkably like longing flash across Lorn’s face. It sparked in his eyes and hovered around his lips, inflating his chest with a hitched breath.

“As do dream actions,” she added, trying to dispel the odd energy growing between them.

All trace of that soft emotion fell away from Lorn’s features. “I am well aware,” he said dryly. “My calf has not recovered from the vigorous poking it received during that Dream.” He looked down at the abused calf in question. “Not even my boots were able to protect me from your vigorous poking appendage.”

Sasha held up her ‘poking appendage.’ “Shall we see if it works just as well when I’m awake?”

“I am sure it would be just as deadly.” Lorn took another sip of his wine and peered at her intently over the rim of his glass. “Given that my calves wish to remain unmolested for the rest of your reign, what else must we do other than feed you to keep your feral nature at bay, Your Majesty?”

It was a flippant question, but Sasha decided to answer it seriously. “I guess … I guess it all comes down to respect. We’re going to be coworkers, so I want you to see me as your equal and to treat me the same way you’d like to be treated. I want you to communicate with me as openly and honestly as possible.”

Lorn made a disapproving noise beneath his breath. “You will soon learn that honesty is vastly overrated in Between. When disaster strikes, it is far better to be lied to in an engaging manner.”

“Honestly as possible,” Sasha repeated firmly, tapping her finger on the table for emphasis. “We don’t know each other very well, so we’re bound to have disagreements. But when that happens, I want us to talk through them. I don’t want you to turn into a bird and fly off every time the conversation becomes difficult.”

Lorn glanced wistfully toward the balcony doors. “Pity.”

“And I’d like you to tell me what’s going on,” Sasha added, recalling her latest series of misadventures. “I don’t want you to keep me in the dark, even if you think you’re protecting me; I’ve had enough of that from the coven. For better or worse, I’m here now, so I want—no, I need to know what’s happening around me.” She made a gesture that was supposed to encompass all of Between, though initially, it looked as though she was pointing to the vicious mice. “And then—”

“There is more?” Lorn asked incredulously.

“—there’s the smaller, day-to-day things. Keep me fed and dry—do you hear that, Between?” Sasha asked the wall. “Dry!”

Between wisely chose not to reply.

“Be patient with me while I learn,” she continued. “Don’t jump to conclusions or make assumptions about me without talking to me first. But most of all, be my friend. What do you think?” she asked when the silence between them had stretched to the point where it was almost threadbare.

“I think your list is far too long,” Lorn said, reaching for another cookie.

Sasha stared at him open-mouthed. Too long? She had just poured her heart out to him, and—and—“Did you just say that my list is too long?”

“Ridiculously long. Choose one of those items—”

“One?”

“Two items, if you must, and I shall try to adhere to them. And I use the words ‘try’ and ‘adhere’ quite loosely.”

Sasha could see hints of the grin Lorn was trying to hold back. She reached over and snatched the cookie from his hand.

“The entire list, Your Majesty, or no more cookies.” Sasha took a bite from the stolen cookie and made a show of chewing it with gusto.

Lorn’s eyes narrowed.

“Delicious!” she crooned.

Lorn’s eyes narrowed further.

“Tell you what”—Sasha paused to swallow the last morsel—“if you follow my entire list of demands, I’ll apply the same list to you. Respect, open and honest communication, friendship, feeding … the whole lot. I’ll be the best job-sharing-coworker-friend you’ve ever had!”

Lorn didn’t look convinced. “It would be far easier on my part to simply steal the tin of cookies.”

Sasha raised an eyebrow.

“Very well,” he sighed. “The entire list.”

“Good choice!” Sasha beamed at him. “I guess our agreement starts now.” She handed him a cookie. “Consider yourself fed, Your Majesty.”

“Lorn,” he responded almost unthinkingly.

As Lorn reached out to take the cookie from her, their hands brushed. Sasha could have sworn that an electric current—bright and sharp and exciting—ignited between their fingertips. She looked up at him, startled, and found him staring back with an identical look of surprise.

“Lorn,” she repeated softly.

For a moment, Lorn’s gaze seemed to burn brighter before he took the cookie and looked away, the muscles in his jaw tightening.

Sasha surreptitiously rubbed the tips of her fingers together, her skin still buzzing. “And you can call me ‘Your Majesty,’” she said airily.

Lorn gave a surprised bark of laughter. “If that would please you,” he said, bowing his head formally.

“I believe it will,” Sasha said gaily, relieved that the charged atmosphere between them had dissipated.

They sat back in companionable silence, sipping their wine. With the fire crackling behind the grate and the rain beating against the windows, it felt remarkably cozy (if one completely disregarded the taxidermy bordello decor). The thought caught Sasha momentarily off guard. She recalled her morose mood before Lorn’s arrival and suddenly felt ridiculously optimistic about the future.

“This may just be the wine talking,” Sasha began, “but I know we’re going to work well together. No, don’t laugh at me.” She shook her finger at his bemused smirk. “I’m an excellent judge of character.” She stretched out her legs, wiggling her toes in her stripey, woolen socks. “Strange as it may seem, I have a good feeling about this.”

Lorn leaned across the table and crooked his finger. Curious, Sasha leaned forward until they were a mere hand’s breadth apart.

“That,” Lorn said quietly, “is definitely the wine talking.”

Sasha threw back her head and laughed.

“Oh, how I envy your ability to get intoxicated.” Lorn watched her with an indulgent smile. “It would make life infinitely more palatable.”

“It definitely helps.” Sasha leaned back in her seat, the leather padding creaking against her back. “I can’t believe I’m here,” she said softly, her voice tinged with awe. “It hasn’t sunk in quite yet, but that’s probably because it’s been a very, very long day preceded by ten even longer days, each weirder than the next.”

Lorn hummed in agreement. “You must be exhausted. It is not every day that one leaves one’s realm only to be practically drowned by a deluge, aurally assaulted by an untrained band, and then forced to reside in a room inhabited by crowned rodents.”

“I’ve packed a lot into today,” Sasha agreed.

“There are many other rooms in the castle. Most of them are terrible, though none contain leapfrogging horses. Do you wish to brave another?”

Sasha smiled at the fork-bearing ferret. “No, thanks. This one is growing on me.”

Lorn lifted a brow at that statement but did not press the matter further. “Then I should leave you to your rest.”

There was an odd sort of reluctance to Lorn’s tone, which made something in Sasha’s chest preen.

I think he was enjoying himself as much as I was, Sasha thought, tickled by the idea. Then again, maybe he’s just reluctant to leave the cookies.

She watched as Lorn stood slowly and made a show of brushing the crumbs from his lap, either as a ploy to draw out his departure or to show off his leather-clad legs. Either way, Sasha was quite pleased by the display.

“Oh!” Sasha scrambled to her feet. “Before you go, would you mind explaining the plumbing?” She was suddenly very conscious of the multiple pairs of eyes staring at her from various vantage points around the room. “And could you also make sure that the stuffed animals aren’t secretly alive?”

Lorn opened his mouth to reply, but Sasha wasn’t taking any chances.

“Great!” She quickly grabbed his elbow and practically dragged him to the bathing chamber before he had a chance to complain or decline. “I can’t wait to introduce you to the pantaloon weasel.”

“What, pray tell, is a pantaloon weasel?” Lorn asked as he stumbled behind her. 

As it turned out, none of the taxidermied animals were sentient, not even the pantaloon weasel. He only looked as though he was perpetually winking, thanks to his incompetent taxidermist. Better yet, the plumbing was not broken.

“Behold as I, a Master of Water, fill the bathtub,” Lorn intoned dramatically. With a flourish, he pulled the tap toward him rather than turning it, and water began to gush into the cavernous tub.

“It’s a miracle!” Sasha cried, playing along with his theatrics. She dipped her fingers into the water and moaned happily as tendrils of steam began to waft from the surface. “Yes! Hot water! Thank you, oh mighty Water Master!”

Lorn gave her a courtly bow. “It is a pleasure to serve, Mistress Moisture.”

“Let’s permanently retire that name.” Sasha unwound the towel from her hair and shooed Lorn toward the door. “I’m really grateful for all your help, but I need to be inside this tub now. Thanks again!”

“Such gratitude,” Lorn said with a mocking sigh as he left the bathing chamber.

“Take a cookie for your troubles!” Sasha called out gaily as she slid one of the bricks of soap into the tub. “See you at breakfast!”

With a happy groan, Sasha shucked off her clothes and sank carefully into the tub, mindful of her still-healing Nightmare scratches and wounds. Surrounded by scented steam and the sound of the rain beating against the skylight, Sasha took a deep breath and finally allowed herself to relax. There was still a hollow spot behind her ribcage whenever she thought about Lyla and her family, but it was now muted somewhat beneath warm water, fine wine, and a feisty conversation with the Shadow King—

“Lorn,” she corrected. She smiled at the way the stained-glass skylight sent rays of jewel-colored light dancing across the surface of the bathwater. She raised her hand, and her palm was filled with emerald light. “It’s Lorn.”

Lorn was sarcastic, oddly prickly, occasionally dramatic, clearly undernourished, and ‘wretchedly exhausted.’ But he was also intelligent, darkly humorous, concerned about her well-being, and possessed a robust pair of calves.

He’s also ridiculously beautiful, an inner voice said wistfully, and you find him very attractive on a pelvic level.

“This is true,” Sasha said with a sigh. She was far too tired to argue with herself. “But it’s also very inappropriate given the circumstances … not to mention inconvenient.”

Sasha knew from painful experience that there were few things more excruciating than being in the throes of unrequited lust, especially with a coworker. Just the thought of it made her straighten her shoulders in resolve.

“So, from this point on, you’re going to pack away any hormonal urges you may have toward Lorn, and replace them with platonic, coworkery urges.” She pointedly ignored the way that certain parts of her body protested mightily at this development. “You can do it,” she added encouragingly. 

She ruthlessly crushed all thoughts to the contrary and contemplated her coworkery urges.

“At the very least, he needs a friend and regular meals,” she told the pantaloon weasel. “And luckily for him, I can fix both of those problems. You watch—the Shadow King is about to have the best job-sharing-coworker-friend he’s ever had!”

The pantaloon weasel appeared to wink at her.

“Damn straight,” she said, giving him a jaunty wink of her own, and went back to the important task of soaking away her woes.

Fireside Cookies by Rebecca Morse

***

NOTE: This is an early, unedited excerpt and may differ greatly from the final version. Please do not post the chapter on other sites. Many thanks to Lynsey Allen for all her wonderful edits and Rebecca Morse for her truly enchanting illustration!

OTHERWORLD, Book 2 of The Chronicles of Between

Copyright © 2025 L. L. Starling

Published by Wicked Fables Press

Illustrations by Rebecca Morse. Illustrations copyright © 2025 Rebecca Morse.

Title Illustration by Louisa Gallie. Illustrations copyright © 2025 Louisa Gallie.

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