Quite some time passed after that first night. The waiting stretched thin, each hour chewing at Alain until the silence itself rang louder than chains. Seria hadn't shown. Not once. No matter how long he looked toward the edge of the yard, no matter how many conversations he rehearsed to sink his teeth into her the moment she returned, she did not come.
So he waited. That was all he had.
The week dragged like a dull blade. Every glance at the guards, every swing of the axe in the yard, every breath of sawdust and smoke made him itch. By the seventh day, patience tasted like rust.
That evening, heading back to his shack, something small cracked across his boot. He froze. A pebble. Nothing strange in a logging camp, except this one hadn't fallen by chance. He scanned the ground, then turned.
A pale hand moved between rotted lumber. Fingers curled, inviting.
For a second he thought of spirits. A ghost perhaps, the way stories slithered here in the night. But camp gossip carried no tales of wandering souls. He snorted under his breath. He already knew who it was before the red of her hair gave it away. Seria.
Glancing around, Alain slipped from the stragglers, his movements slow and casual until the eyes of others shifted elsewhere. Once their backs were turned, he slid toward the scrap pile.
She crouched between planks, smiling wide enough to split the dark.
"Hehe…"
Her laugh cracked his tension. He almost laughed too, but the sight of her clothes stopped him cold.
"…What are you wearing?"
"Disguise!" she said, lifting torn fabric like a badge.
Alain's stare dragged down the pitiful rags that barely clung to her frame. Filthy cloth, reeking of dust. If she hadn't spoken he might have mistaken her for a beggar crushed in here by mistake. He ran a hand down his face.
"Why in hell would you need to disguise yourself here? This isn't enemy territory."
She scratched her cheek, sheepish. "If Karen finds out, I'll be in trouble."
At that name, Alain remembered. Blonde, sharp tongue. The officer who had dragged Seria off last time.
"Ah. Her."
"Exactly. She's strict to the point of madness. Even when I'm half wrong she makes it sound like I set the barracks on fire."
Seria puffed her cheeks in irritation before letting it go, slapping her knee with sudden laughter. "Still, I came all the way. You should be grateful!"
Her grin was warm enough to melt stone. For the first time in days Alain let himself exhale, though suspicion kept him steady.
"So tell me," he asked, "why are you here?"
She groaned, eyes flicking up, face pinched in thought. His stomach tightened. The question he'd stoked all week burned hotter. Their first meeting she saved him. The second proved she could find him again. Now? The third? She had promised to return, and now his chest clawed at her answer.
Finally, her lips parted, hesitant but certain.
"To be honest…" She leaned close, dropped her voice. "I'm bored."
Alain blinked. "…What?"
"Bored. Everyone here's older than me." She shrugged, smiling awkwardly.
He stared back, dumbfounded. Of all calculations he had run in his head, this answer never crossed his mind. She had turned a week of grinding tension and suspicion into… boredom.
She filled the silence without hesitation. "All the workers, soldiers, knights; they're older than me. I wanted someone closer, someone to talk to. Simple as that."
She looked at him directly. A gaze polished bright, too open, too trusting.
His throat locked. He stepped back without meaning to, hounded by that unguarded light.
"…Don't want me here?" she said softly. Her head tilted, a smirk teasing behind the question.
His chest knotted tighter. He wanted to refuse. To cut clean before she sank her claws into him. But the words didn't leave.
He exhaled slowly. "Fine… it's fine."
"Good!" she jumped, clapping once before tucking her laugh behind her hand. "Then tomorrow, same time. I'll be here."
She ran before he answered, the rags flapping behind her as if her own disguise mocked her.
Alain stood where she left him, staring, expression frozen. The air in his chest felt heavier than when he swung the axe.
I did it. I did it. I did it.
Seria's thoughts danced louder than her steps as she crossed the square, her smile stretching wide enough to bruise her cheeks. Light skipped in her eyes, her voice almost breaking into humming.
Tomorrow. What do I say tomorrow?
She counted her blessings. The first friend she had made here. The first man she had spoken to besides her father. To her, it was special, glowing, precious.
Another memory carved. Another reason to smile. Her heart beat with excitement that ignored the clock ticking down. She didn't see the warning.
In her mind the days ahead stretched wide with possibilities. Innocence inflated them, fed them until her chest wanted to burst.
She didn't see how Alain's eyes trailed along her body when she laughed. Nor the keenness that cut behind his calm face, measuring her, marking her place in his plans.
She didn't see the difference in the hunger between them.
And not noticing was the worst mistake she could make.
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Author's Note:
Dear Readers,
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