The sun shines brightly in the sky, not a cloud to be seen. Cordelia could have been grateful that it didn’t rain, but she chooses to sulk. Inches away from death, she feels she deserves that right. Cordelia shivers, embarrassed at all the leering stares she got from passersby. She was mere seconds from death, but her thoughts linger on her bare thighs—and her cream coloured shift. Not to mention the man carrying her on her back was only wearing a pair of trousers. She was thankful the material covered her modesty, her cheeks hot from her ill-thinking. She had stripped for her killer—using her body as a distraction, which, didn’t work on the dark-haired woman as much as she had hoped. Never in a millennium did Cordelia anticipate stooping to such low levels of desperateness… She prays that her hair covers the parts that her shift doesn’t. Her matted, distressed hair dangles down her back like a matted makeshift rope. It’s embarrassing—she’s dirty, smelly, and probably sticky after the events of last night… God, she hopes she hadn’t made a mistake lying with that man. Her body doesn’t think so, as a shift is the only thing that seems to remain between her and this man—she despises that the thought makes her gut churn with joy…

The thief had barely said a word to her, except for allowing her on his back, to protect her bare feet from the branches and sticks below. She should have been thankful for his quick thinking, appreciating that she was still alive… For however long, she wasn’t sure. This meant she couldn’t afford to get on his bad side, no matter what outlandish desire she had… Or how bad he deserved a verbal lashing.

A half hour had passed, the thief suddenly stops walking, letting her down. He turns around, suddenly tugging on her wrist—pulling her behind a large oak tree. It wasn’t until that moment that she heard the clank of armoured men travelling through the pathway. Cordelia is surprised she hadn’t noticed the sound herself, then again, she's used to hearing the sound of armour ever since she was a child—watching her father hack at wooden posts—which now, she wasn’t sure if it was to relieve stress, or, keep his swordsmanship up. Other knights would often join him, the delight in watching her father parry with them excited her core. It didn’t inspire her to take up the sword, but it was delightful entertainment. A longing pang swirls within her—this was the first time she felt homesick since her escape.

It was natural that the thief named Radjerd was weary of the armoured knights—he was an assassin for hire. Another harrowing thought—what if he kept her alive only to be of use—in his bed! She pales, gripping onto the hem of her shift.

Cordelia crosses her arms, raising her chin. <You’ve been quiet all morning, the silence is deafening.> That wasn’t exactly what she meant by reasonable.

He remains quiet, his eyes don’t leave hers.

<What can I say? I betrayed my closest companion, cheated myself out of instant riches… all because you put a fucking spell on me.>

Cordelia did no such thing. She had only given him her company, mostly on his lips—and more recently—in his bed. Was that what he had meant? Now that he had let that little detail slip, she would keep it in mind for later.

She speaks calmly, <I believe spells are your specialty, not mine.>

He doesn’t appreciate her joke.

<For crying out loud!> He hisses. <You’re the god-damn princess, and I just whisk you away from the target. If I had any sense I would have brought my weapons—and your jewels—but your blasted safety was all I could prioritize. Now I’m stuck carting you around until I know what to do with you—dammit I should have let Freydis have her way! I don’t have my own head screwed on straight.>

<I’m glad you don’t have your head screwed on straight, as it were, and am quite happy to be alive.>

<You being alive means I don’t get my reward.> He mumbles gruffly, <It means I’m still poor. Don’t look so pleased, there’s got to be some way I can use you.>

Her thought from earlier resurfaces. The best way she can remain diplomatic is to bite her tongue. He might not have had his weapons, but he could still use his weird mind powers on her. Speaking of which…

<What on earth did you do to the woman back there—it wasn’t the same as you did on the spiders, because you said she’d wake up after only a few minutes?>

<It was a sleeping spell.>

<You know how to put people to sleep?> She gasps in awe, even though she shouldn’t have. That meant he could easily put her under at any moment. His flat stare indicates that he’s noticed.

<I’m not going to use it on you if that’s what you’re wondering.>

<I suppose you said you wouldn't kill me.>

<Not now, no. Unless you give me a reason.>

She changes the subject back to the woman at the Locke Manor. <You think Freydis won’t get arrested? I didn’t scream quietly you know.>

<They don’t know Freydis’ voice by heart. They’ll just assume that any woman’s scream would have been her own. The worst they’ll assume back at the Locke Manor is that she got robbed, not that she tried to kill anyone.>

A fair point. Cordelia rubs the tips of her fingers gently. <I suppose I should thank you for your noble sacrifice.>

It catches him off guard, his violet eyes intrigued with her expression.

<You’re welcome.> He nods with a smile, <Deely.>

<It’s Cordelia. You might as well call me by my true name.>

<I prefer Deely over Queen Cordelia the 1st. It suits you.>

<Suits me?> A commoner name suited her? Cordelia shakes her head in disbelief. <I highly doubt it.>

He further adds, <Calling you Cordelia would land you right back home …which, I assume you weren’t lying about your fiancé, as that would make him the king of my lands.>

<You’re correct. I wasn’t interested in being a bargaining chip for my mother’s nefarious plans.>

<That’s an interesting choice of words.> His eyebrows raise.

<I don’t even know—it has to be nefarious if she wanted me out of the palace.> She slumps her shoulders. Her stomach pangs in hunger, but that doesn’t stop her speculative nature. <But what do you get out of this ...saving me?>

His frown is deep. <I don’t know yet. We have no money, not even shoes to our name unless we want to return to the scene of the crime. But…> His eyes light in inspiration. <Maybe there’s something you can do. I saw that you can dance.>

<They raised me to dance since birth.> Cordelia says with gratitude.

<I may have an idea, but we need to the border first.> He ponders, staring at her intently.

<I’m not whoring myself out if that’s what you’re thinking.> She crosses her arms.

<Don’t get me wrong. I’m not letting any man touch you.>

<Or woman?> She raises her brow, recalling her interlude with Freydis.

<Or woman.> The thief repeats after her. <I have something a little more dignified in mind for you.>

He weaves her from behind the trees, bending his knees so she can hop onto his back. She secures her arms around his neck, wrapping her legs around his torso. <And I suppose you’re not going to divulge that information until it’s too late for me to say no.>

<You owe me for saving your life. I’m in a steep hole thanks to you.> He grumbles.

< What’s your relationship with her, anyway. She’s not your wife, but is she your lover?> Cordelia knows she need not name the woman in reference.

<We used to be, but more importantly, we are lifelong friends. We grew up together in the Slums of Frizbane. Freydis had a family but they abandoned her when she was little—my mother took her in after my sister passed away—she was hoping we’d marry and aspire to live a pauper’s life, but that was never our way.> Cordelia notes that his voice sounds smoother when referencing his past. <I thought I’d do anything for her, Freydis, I mean. Well, until I knock her out with one of my forbidden spells. He grimaces. <God, what have I done… She’s going to murder me.>

<I’m grateful you did, even if she’s going to murder you.> Cordelia attempts to soften the mood with a joke.

He laughs softly. <Before I get murdered, I’d love to have one last kiss from those soft lips of yours.>

Cordelia doesn’t stop her reflexes, smacking him upside the head.