The inn they found that night leaned toward the road as though tired of standing.

Dunk ducked through the low doorway and still struck his head.

“Seven he.lls,” he muttered, rubbing the crown of his skull.

The innkeep glanced up briefly from his ledger, unimpressed. Egg did not even bother to hide his grin.

Coin changed hands. Not much coin. The innkeep counted it twice before nodding toward the narrow stair.

“One room. One bed. You want more than that, you’ll need more silver.”

Dunk thanked him all the same.

The room itself was small enough that Dunk filled half of it simply by standing there. The bed looked narrow, its mattress bowed slightly in the middle. A single candle burned on a crooked table, filling the chamber with a weak yellow glow.

Dunk set his cloak aside and eyed the bed like a man studying a questionable bridge.

“Well,” he said.

Egg tossed his boots into the corner and climbed up without ceremony, testing the mattress with a boun.ce.

“It’ll hold.”

“I hope so.”

Dunk glanced over at her, suddenly aware of the awkwardness of it all. One bed had not seemed so troublesome when they were paying downstairs.

He cleared his throat.

“It’s warmer three to a bed,” he said. “And safer than sleeping in the common room.”

Egg stretched out across the blankets.

“I’ll take the middle.”

“You would,” Dunk said.

It took some maneuvering to fit them all. Dunk tried to lie along the edge so there would be room enough, but his legs were too long for comfort. One heel hung over the side of the bed; his shoulder pressed against the wall.

For a time there was nothing but shifting blankets and the creak of rope beneath the mattress.

Dunk lay stiffly on his back, staring at the rafters.

He had shared beds before—hedge knights often did, to save coin—but this was not the same. Not at all. The warmth of her made him sharply aware of his own size, his elbows, the weight of his limbs.

He folded his hands over his chest as if he feared they might wander of their own accord.

Egg wriggled.

Then wriggled again.

Then sighed loudly.

Dunk did not look at him.

“If you keep squi.rming like that,” he said quietly, “I'll give you a clout in the ear.”

“I can’t move.”

“You’ve plenty of room.”

Egg shifted his shoulders and gave an annoyed huff.

“I’m being crushed between you.”

Before Dunk could answer, Egg pushed himself upright and swung his legs off the bed.

Dunk propped himself on one elbow.

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping somewhere else.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

Egg tugged on his boots with brisk determination.

“The stables are warmer than this. And quieter.”

“That’s a lie.”

Egg stood and reached for the door. When he paused, it was only for a heartbeat, long enough to glance back with an expression that had far more calculation in it than a b.oy ought to possess.

“Don’t stay up talking all night,” he said casually.

The door closed behind him before Dunk could reply.

The silence that followed seemed suddenly much louder.

Dunk remained half propped on his elbow, staring at the door and then lowered himself slowly onto the mattress again.

“Well,” he said.

He realized then that he had never before been alone in a bed with a wom.an.

Not truly alone.

His one awkward kiss years ago had been more spectacle than romance, a tavern gi.rl laughing as she climbed atop a table just to reach his mouth. And Ser Arlan—gods rest him—had once promised to see Dunk properly bedded at a brot.hel, though the old knight had drunk himself into such a fog that the promise was forgotten before the night was through. Dunk had not reminded him. The thought of paying a wom.an for something meant to be freely given had always sat ill with him.

Now here he was.

“If you’d rather have the bed to yourself, I can sleep on the floor,” he offered.

He glanced toward her then, earnest and uncertain.

“Wouldn’t trouble me none.”

Dunk pulled the blanket a little higher over her shoulder, careful and deliberate, the way a man might tuck a cloak around a friend at a cold campfire.

“There,” he murmured.