Page 11

CHAPTER NINE

T he first light of morning filtered through the window.

Tav was already awake when the birds began to sing.

He hadn't slept well on the hard floor, though he had lain still for hours, listening to Agnes’ soft, rhythmic breath, sleeping on the bed.

She had curled herself tightly underneath the blanket, her face half-hidden by a curtain of unruly auburn hair.

He had watched her for too long, longer than he should have allowed himself.

There was something about her, quiet in her sleep, that both unsettled and calmed him.

In that stillness, stripped of all her sharp wit and the haughty little tilt of her chin, she looked heartbreakingly young.

Young, and yet not fragile. There was strength in her, a core of something solid.

He could feel it every time she challenged him, every time she stared at him, as though daring him to speak the words he bit back.

Tav rose with care, stretching the stiffness from his limbs and rolling his shoulders to work out the ache. He medicated his wound, dressed quickly, careful not to wake her, then knelt beside the fire, stirring the coals. Agnes had to wake up to a room warm enough for her to dress.

As he was watching sparks spiral upward like dying stars, he heard a yawn, soft and sleep-rough, followed by the rustle of the bed sheets as she shifted.

His hand stilled mid-motion. A spark popped, loud as a gunshot in the sudden silence.

His spine straightened without his permission, muscles locking like a man bracing for impact.

It was absurd, this reaction. As if her waking were a storm rolling in.

He turned just as she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Even that small, careless gesture had power over him. The way her lashes fluttered against her cheek, the way her mouth pursed in a drowsy pout made his breath catch.

Gods.

He forced himself to look away, back to the fire, but not before he saw her stretch, the blanket slipping off one shoulder, revealing the pale slope of her collarbone. A spark of a different kind stirred low in his gut.

"Dae ye always look this grim in the morning, or is it a special treat just fer me?" she asked, turning to face him, her voice still thick with sleep.

He gave her a look.

She shrugged, lips quirking. "Dinnae sit there all gloomy. Cheer up. We have adventure ahead of us."

"Hoping this adventure daesnae include death," he muttered.

She grinned, her eyes bright now, alive with something impish. Agnes rose and sat on the edge of the bed, eyes tracking his every movement. He couldn’t bear it any longer.

“I’m goin’ down fer breakfast,” he muttered, turning away. “Get dressed and come down after. Cannae have ye faintin’ off the horse from hunger.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, he just opened the door and walked into the hallway, the echo of his footsteps lost in the stillness.

The door shut behind him with a soft thud.

The tavern was hushed in the early morning haze, wrapped in the kind of silence that settles just before the day begins to stir.

A pale shaft of sunlight filtered through the narrow window, slicing the dimness and falling in a golden line across the rough wooden table where Tav pulled out a chair and sat, his shoulders slumped forward.

A servant walked over and placed a bowl of porridge in front of him, without a word.

He didn’t look up. Just hunched over it, eyes locked on the dull gray mass like it might speak first. Like it might say something he didn’t want to hear.

After what felt like half an hour, Agnes slid onto the bench across from him with a yawn and a messy braid that looked only half-finished.

"Now," she said, plucking a piece of bread from the plate between them, "what grand path are we takin’ today, Captain? Through thickets and thorns? Or shall we ride straight into some cursed marshland fer the fun o’ it? "

Tav didn’t look up. "We’ll take the west road out past the old stone bridge, then turn south. There’s a pass through the hills that should see us past the woodland before dusk."

Agnes raised a brow, tearing her bread in two. "Ye’re too precise. Sometimes I think ye’ve swallowed a map."

"I like tae be prepared," he muttered, not lifting his gaze. Her presence across from him already made his shoulders too tight.

She leaned in a bit, voice lowering like they were sharing a secret. "Tell me, Tav, dae ye rehearse in the mirror before dawn, or does it come naturally? This endless brooding?"

That made him glance up. Her eyes were bright with mischief, her lips twisted in a grin that made the muscles in his jaw clench. She’d done that on purpose.

"I dinnae brood," he said, reaching for his cup.

"Ye absolutely dae," she said, leaning back like a cat stretching in the sun. "All the time. It’s impressive, really. I’ve kent priests who frown less than ye dae."

Tav tried to focus on sipping his tea. Tried not to look at the curve of her smile or the way her knee brushed against his under the table.

"We’ve a long ride ahead," he said stiffly. "It’s best ye eat proper."

"Aye, aye, Captain." She bit into her bread again, still smiling.

He didn’t answer, just stared down into the steam rising from his cup. His ears were hot, and he cursed himself for it. She was just teasing. It was light, harmless. But damn it, it lit something inside him that had no business sparking, and he didn’t know how to turn off.

Agnes finished her bread and rose, dusting crumbs from her skirts. "Come then, Tav. Let’s ride this precise and perilous route o’ yers."

He stood, grabbing his pack, keeping his expression carefully neutral as her laugh followed him out the door, and despite everything, it curled in his chest like a warm coal.

They mounted soon after, weaving their way back into the thick green maze of the woodland. It was quieter than it had been the day before. The mist was thinner now, burning off quickly beneath the rising sun, and the world smelled of damp earth and new growth.

For a while, they rode in companionable silence. But he could feel her watching him.

The road narrowed into a shaded passage where the trees grew thick, curling over like old bones reaching across the sky. Ferns spilled across the edges, brushing against their boots as the horses picked their way along the soft, uneven ground. Birds trilled above; the forest still wet with morning.

Tav rode just ahead, reins held loose but eyes alert, more for the conversation to come than the road itself. He felt her gaze before she spoke.

"Why the rush, soldier?" she asked finally, nudging her horse a little closer to his. "Ye’ve barely let us breathe since we left. Are we being chased again? Or is this just yer usual cheerful approach tae travel?"

Tav's jaw tightened. The question was innocent enough on the surface, but it pressed against a boundary he could not allow her to cross.

He didn’t turn. Just kept his gaze fixed ahead. "We need tae make good time," he said simply.

She arched a brow. "Ye’ve said that already. I’m asking why . "

Because ye're tae be married before the ten days are over. Because the contract yer faither signed was conditional upon your prompt delivery, and the man ye’re tae wed is waiting with all the eagerness of a man who sees only yer family name and yer dowry.

But how could he say that? How could he speak the truth and still look her in the eye? She would think he had been conspiring with her father. She would hate him.

“Because the sooner I get ye tae yer betrothed, the sooner I can return tae me duties.” There. All she needs tae ken.

A silence followed that shifted something in the air between them.

When he finally risked a glance, her expression had changed. No more playfulness in her eyes. Her posture had gone still, her smile was gone and Tav felt it. Like the crack of cold wind through an open window.

She looked away, her gaze drifting to the trees, and he cursed himself silently.

What had she expected? He wasn’t there to be her companion.

He wasn’t here to indulge the girl in fantasies of friendship or.

.. anything else. He was here because her father had ordered it.

Because he was bound by duty, not desire. And yet...

He remembered the way she’d looked in the morning. Her smile as she had looked at him. The lazy way her hair had curled down her shoulder before she’d tied it back to travel. The sound of her laugh when she’d teased him about looking grim. He hadn’t felt grim then.

They rode in silence for the next stretch. She didn’t look at him again, didn’t say a word.

Tav forced himself to focus on the road, on the path ahead.

Anything but the ache in his throat that had no business being there.

She was engaged, spoken for. He’d known that from the first moment they had set out on this journey.

He was to deliver her, that was all. Not befriend her or understand her. And certainly not...

He clenched the reins tighter, jaw working.

Behind him, she sniffed. He couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or something else.

“Ye alright?” The words left him before he could stop them.

Agnes didn’t answer for a moment. When she did, her voice was soft. “Aye. Just tired.”

He swallowed.

“We'll have tae endure. We cannae rest. Ye ken the dangers,” he said, though it wasn’t needed. They could’ve ridden another hour easy. But something in him couldn't bear her silence much longer.

She gave no response. Just nodded, barely perceptible.

By midday, the sun had begun its slow crawl westward when Tav realized she was flagging.

He had noticed it first in the way her shoulders drooped in the saddle, how she shifted often, trying to find a more comfortable position.

Her horse moved slower, and when he cast a glance over his shoulder, he found her rubbing at her eyes like a child being forced to stay awake.