The first light of morning filtered through the slats of the wooden blinds, tracing golden lines across the tangled sheets. The air smelled of them: a mix of the sweat from their efforts, her floral perfume, and the musky scent of sex.
Paul woke up first. The body beside him was a warm, soft presence, a perfect counterbalance to his burgeoning hangover.
He turned carefully. Hilda slept on her stomach, her face half-buried in the pillow, her long red hair splayed out like a silk map on the white fabric. The curve of her back sloped down to the base of her spine, where the sheets barely covered the swell of her buttocks. A soft moan escaped her lips as she dreamed.
Paul smiled. Last night hadn't been a dream. It had been a cataclysm. He had known heaven. Not only was she the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but also the wildest. A walking contradiction: nobility and elegance in person, who in private transformed into an insatiable beast. The way she had clung to him, demanding more, scratching his back…
Definitely, he thought, feeling an overwhelming certainty in his chest. I'm going to marry her. Whatever it takes.
Hilda stirred, a lazy murmur escaping her lips before her eyes slowly opened. They met his. An instant blush bloomed on her cheeks as she remembered.
"Good morning, adventurer."
Her voice was a hoarse, sleepy whisper, the most beautiful melody Paul had ever heard.
"Good morning, my runaway lady," he answered.
She stretched like a cat, the sheets sliding down to reveal the tops of her breasts, her pale skin marked with the faint reddish shadows of his bites. She let out a sigh of pure satisfaction and snuggled back down, in no hurry to get up. Under the covers, her leg intertwined with his in a gesture of comfortable possession.
"I'm not moving from this bed all day. That's an order."
"Sounds like an excellent plan to me," Paul agreed, sliding a hand under the sheets to find the curve of her hip. "But now that you're awake, my curiosity is killing me."
"Oh, really?" she murmured, her voice playful. "About what?"
"About you. What makes a woman like you, who could clearly have any nobleman in the kingdom eating out of her hand, end up in a dingy tavern at the end of the world?"
Hilda sighed, a sound not of sadness, but of exhaustion.
"Because in that world, I'm not 'me.' I'm a name. A title. An asset. My day-to-day life is… predictable to the point of being insulting. I wake up because a maid wakes me. I get dressed in clothes a maid chooses. I eat what the cook decides. My lessons are about how to walk, how to smile, how to run a household, and how to be a docile, productive wife. My life is a play where I already know every line."
Paul listened, his hand gently stroking her skin in a comforting gesture.
"Sounds like hell."
"It is," she confirmed. "A very comfortable and well-decorated hell. And you? What's the day-to-day of an adventurer like? Slaying dragons before breakfast?"
Paul laughed.
"I wish. No, my day-to-day is waking up with an aching back from sleeping on the ground, hunting for something so I don't starve, and hoping the next job pays enough for a warm bed and a cold mug of ale. It's hard, it's dirty, and sometimes it's terrifying. But every decision, every wound, every meal… it's mine."
Hilda turned to look at him, her gray eyes filled with a deep understanding.
"Freedom…"
"Exactly. So, what was the final straw? What made you take the leap?"
She hesitated for a moment, as if saying the name out loud would make it more real.
"A marriage. Arranged, of course. To unite my family with one of the most powerful in the region. I'm supposed to marry some man named Philip. Philip Boreas Greyrat."
Paul froze. His smile vanished. The name tolled in his head like a funeral bell. Boreas Greyrat. His own family. And Philip… his cousin. His stuffy, boring, ambitious cousin.
Oh, shit. I screwed up.
Hilda noticed the change in his expression. She sat up a little, the sheets falling to her waist, revealing her breasts.
"What's wrong? Do you know him?"
Paul regained his composure, a crooked smile full of cosmic irony forming on his lips.
"You could say that. He's my cousin. My full name is Paul Notos Greyrat."
Now it was Hilda's turn to freeze. The color drained from her face. She sat up abruptly, grabbing for the sheets to cover herself.
"Your… your cousin? You're a Greyrat? Oh, gods! Is this a trap?"
"What?! No!" Paul burst out laughing, a genuine and slightly hysterical laugh. "Believe me, the last thing my family would want is for me to get involved in their precious arrangements! I ran away from them years ago. To them, I'm dead."
Hilda stared at him, her eyes searching for any sign of deception. What she saw was the same brutal honesty. The tension in her shoulders relaxed, only to be replaced by a new and monumental wave of embarrassment.
"Oh, shit," she whispered, flopping back onto the pillows and covering her face with her hands.
Paul stopped laughing. He moved closer and, with a playful gesture, gave one of her ass cheeks a firm squeeze. She let out a small, surprised yelp.
"Well, at least now I know my cousin has excellent taste," he said, his tone light. "Though I highly doubt he'd know how to handle a woman as wild as you in bed."
She pulled her hands away from her face. She was blushing to the roots of her hair, but a small, trembling smile was fighting its way to her lips.
"I'm… not wild."
"Honey, the scratches on my back tell a different story. A very good story, by the way."
He moved closer, his voice becoming serious, intense.
"Listen, Hilda… I don't care if you're a Boreas, a Notos, or the queen of demons. And I certainly don't care about Philip."
"Don't get your hopes up, Paul," she interrupted, her voice still tinged with shame. "This was… madness."
"These aren't hopes," he said. "It's a decision. I met an incredible woman who's trapped, and I have no intention of letting her go back to that cage. Someone like you shouldn't be locked up."
The declaration, so direct and romantic, left her speechless. It would have been even more moving if he wasn't blatantly staring at her breasts as he said it, his eyes fixed on her pink, now sensitive and swollen nipples. His other hand, meanwhile, had begun to knead her ass again, playfully and possessively.
Hilda watched him for a second, processing the ridiculous contradiction of the man before her. And then, she laughed. It was a sincere, crystal-clear laugh, full of relief.
"You're incredibly honest, Paul Greyrat."
"Always," he confirmed, smiling before leaning in to kiss her again. "Now, about those duties you were running from… I think we have a couple of days to plan a permanent escape strategy. But first, breakfast. And after that… round two. The cage can wait."