The Prince

Chapter 4- Cotton Sheets

JACK CUTHBERT

"Hello?" I called out to behind the empty counter.

After walking around the dark streets in search of a sheltered place to sleep, I found myself ending up back here: The Appleby Inn.

One hundred and fifty pounds worth of bundled, rough notes still sat in my pocket, the amount stubbornly remaining the same even after multiple recounts.

Just tonight, I could afford to peel away a small amount of my savings, afford to have a roof over my head and a pillow under it. Just for one night.

A girl emerged from a white wooden door, hidden slightly by large barrels of beer.

"A pound a glass," she said monotonously, swiping the counter with a wet cloth.

"I've come for a room actually," I replied. "What's the cheapest you have?"

Blue eyes raked me up and down.

"We're full..." she said, and then she glanced around. "Although there is one room you wouldn't have to pay completely with money, shall we say?"

A thin eyebrow rose, asking if I had gotten the hidden meaning. One side of my mouth lifted, and I leaned forward as I met her cool stare.

"Well, if you are the one offering, I'll take it," I answered, voice as smooth as I could manage. I had long gotten out of practise with this sort of thing.

Red lips stretched over pearly teeth, and I allowed my eyes to drop to them briefly before meeting hers again.

"Zella!" someone called, the white door creaking open.

The blonde boy stepped out, balancing plates that were dripping with water on his forearms. He set them down a grabbed the drying cloth off of his broad shoulder.

As though just realising I was there, his head snapped up, and then his eyes narrowed as he recognised me from earlier.

"What are you doing?" he asked the girl, but didn't take his eyes off of me.

"Just giving a customer his room key," she replied, dropping a long key into my hand.

"Room seven," she whispered, before spinning around and taking a plate off of his hands.

"Thank you," I said to the girl, before meeting boys glare and adding, "Zella."

The last thing I saw before heading up the stairs were his narrowed eyes.

I should really try to get along with more people. Maybe the bar-girl would be a good friend. Albeit a slightly flirty one.

I passed a few oak doors along the landing, a thick rug snaking through, adding a little touch of homeliness to the place. Although it wasn't really needed.

5.

6.

7.

I slotted the key into the hole, turning the stiff lock. The door creaked open, and I stepped into the room.

It was simple, clearly one of the smaller rooms, with few possessions littering the shelves. Dark wooden beams ran along the ceiling, contrasting with the white-washed walls.

A small bed sat in the middle of the room, an old looking mattress atop, with thin sheets barely covering it. Yet the thought of having some cushioning under my back meant I wouldn't have cared if there were no sheets at all.

I took off my coat, hanging it on a rusty nail hammered into the wood of the door. I peered at the objects on the shelf. A hairbrush, a necklace, a small wooden box with a lock, some metallic objects probably used for beauty, and a folded up piece of paper.