“Yes?”
“A game of hiding sound with sound.”
“Uh… it wasn’t a game.”
“If it wasn’t a game, were you trying to ambush me from behind, looking for an opening?”
“No!”
“I’ll have to be careful not to be assassinated by a little kid.”
Blayden muttered in a rough voice, then turned and went up the stairs.
As her feet dangled in the air, Leni instinctively grabbed Blayden’s arm.
Every time the stairs creaked, her heart thumped beneath Blayden’s solid chest.
The stuffy air was trapped even on the second floor, which they reached by climbing the stairs.
Blayden went to the end of the long, narrow corridor, put Leni down on the floor, and unlocked the heavy door with a key.
The room they entered was cramped but bright.
Two long candles in a candelabra were burning as if someone had just been there.
The light revealed the dirty and shabby attic.
Cobwebs hung in various parts of the steeply sloped ceiling, and dust rolled on the old, scratched floor.
It wouldn’t have been surprising if a rat or an insect popped out.
Leni placed a hand on her chest, which had finally calmed down.
She hadn’t expected a luxurious life since she had become a slave, but this was strange.
Blayden was the Commander-in-Chief of the Ekilium Cavalry.
It made no sense for a renowned knight and a close aide to the King to stay in such a place.
She couldn’t tell if he was hiding his identity every time he traveled, or if this trip was special.
If it was the latter, it meant Blayden needed to conceal his journey to the Shadow Lands.
His trip to the Shadow Lands would undoubtedly be related to shadow spirits, and it was highly likely to be a secret.
Her mind raced with possibilities, piecing together fragments of information she had gathered during their travels.
The secrecy surrounding Blayden’s movements only heightened her suspicions about the true nature of his mission.
Her father’s advice from the Tower of Time came to mind.
He had told her that the Shadow Lands were dangerous and that she shouldn’t leave Blayden alone.
It was as if he had ordered her to protect Blayden, but that also didn’t make sense to her.
Why would this strong man need her help?
He had been through countless battles and had even survived being bitten by a wolf controlled by a shadow spirit.
She pondered her father’s words, a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve.
What hidden weakness or vulnerability could such a formidable warrior possess that would necessitate her protection?
The sheer audacity of the idea was almost laughable, yet her father’s seriousness had left an indelible mark.
Her complicated thoughts scattered the moment Blayden spoke.
“Since I said you’re my ‘woman,’ I can’t have you sleep somewhere else.”
Without waiting for her reply, Blayden opened the window.
The large, dust-filled window creaked open, and the red-burning sky unfolded like a painting.
As fresh outside air blew in, Leni felt a sense of relief.
The stale, heavy air of the attic had been suffocating, and the cool breeze was a welcome respite.
Blayden looked up at the setting sun, his profile silhouetted against the vibrant sky, then turned and went to a corner of the room.
He took off his hooded cloak and tossed it onto a pile of straw on the floor, then spoke to her, who was still standing dumbfounded by the door.
“You should take yours off too.”
“Yes?”
Leni’s voice came out like a hiccup.
“I mean your cloak. You’ll use it as a blanket. It gets quite chilly at night.”
Her gaze flew to the pile of straw. He couldn’t possibly mean for her to sleep there?
It wasn’t the uncomfortable-looking spot that was the problem.
The thought of lying next to Blayden sent a chill down her spine.
The proximity, the implications of such an arrangement, made her stomach clench with an unfamiliar anxiety.
Looking alternately at the cloak on the straw pile and Blayden, Leni hesitated and then asked,
“Um… shouldn’t you wash?”
“Do you want to get water in a basin and give me a bath?”
What a bizarre thought.
Am I your maid?
Leni bristled but quickly put on a docile smile.
Her mind raced for an excuse, a way to maintain some semblance of distance and decorum in this strange situation.
“That might be difficult, but I’ll try to get some water for you to wash your face.”
“No need.”
This isn’t right.
The abruptness of his refusal caught her off guard.
It was clear he had no intention of indulging her attempts at polite conversation or delaying the inevitable.
“Then, do you need anything else?”
Leni tried to continue the conversation as naturally as possible.
Perhaps suspicious of her sudden docility, Blayden slowly raised an eyebrow.
The flicker of suspicion in his eyes was almost imperceptible, but Leni noticed it, a tiny warning bell ringing in her mind.
“What else?”
“Whatever you command, I’ll ask if I can get it outside.”
“Whatever?”
“Ah… ‘whatever’ might be difficult, though…”
As she bowed her head and fidgeted with her hands, Blayden strode closer to her.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in her ears.
The raw power emanating from him was palpable, a silent threat that both unnerved and captivated her.
“Hey.”
He abruptly called out to her, looked down at her with a displeased expression for a long time, and then sighed.
The weight of his gaze was intense, making her feel small and exposed.
“Don’t say things you can’t be responsible for.”
“Yes.”
Leni had no choice but to reply that way.
The reprimand, though delivered in a low tone, was sharp and effective, silencing her immediate protests.
“You’re luggage. Just stay where you are. You don’t need to do anything.”
He’s so dismissive.
She wanted to snap back, to unleash the torrent of indignant words bubbling within her, but Leni bit her tongue.
Now was the time to make Blayden let his guard down.
Being treated like luggage was better than acting rebellious, being disliked, and then being saddled with difficult tasks.
Her internal struggle was fierce, but prudence ultimately won out.
She needed to observe, to understand his motives and intentions, before making any rash moves.
Blayden turned as if the conversation was over, then muttered, “Ah, there is something you can do.”
He grabbed her elbow and led her to the corner of the room.
Leni, flustered by his strong grip, was pushed onto the cloak.
As her body collapsed onto the thick woolen fabric, a subtle herbal scent wafted up.
It was a comforting aroma, a stark contrast to the unsettling circumstances.
Leni clasped her hands over her chest as if to protect it.
Blayden looked down at her, who was curled up with her knees bent, then frowned and said,
“Warm up the spot for me.”
With her eyes just rolling in a dazed state, Blayden turned his back to her and walked to the door.
Leni stared blankly at Blayden’s back as he opened the door and went outside without even a candlelight.
The sheer audacity of his request, coupled with his casual dismissal, left her speechless, her mind struggling to process the bizarre turn of events.
The moment the door closed and she was alone in the room, her heart fluttered.
Should I escape?
Leni surveyed the window’s location, calculating the building’s height and her escape route.
Her pulse quickened with the thrill of the idea, a fleeting hope for freedom.
But just as she tried to get up, the door burst open.
Leni flinched and quickly bowed her head.
It was a good thing she hadn’t moved.
He didn’t go far at all.
Her escape fantasy dissolved as quickly as it had formed, replaced by the stark reality of her captivity.
Blayden walked towards her, took off his leather gloves, and dropped them on the floor.
Then, with his booted foot, he nudged her back.
“Move to the side.”
“Yes? Yes.”
Leni awkwardly pressed herself against the wall.
Without taking off his boots, and with his sword still at his waist, Blayden lay down on the pile of straw where she had been sitting just moments before.
The arrogance of the gesture, the complete disregard for her comfort or feelings, was infuriating.
What?
Is he really going to sleep like that?
Leni curled up even more. Blayden, with his legs stretched out, immediately closed his eyes.
“Rest when you can. We’ll leave as soon as dawn breaks tomorrow.”
He really intended to sleep here. The finality in his voice left no room for argument or negotiation.
Leni frowned and tried to get up.
I’ll go to that corner.
It’ll be cold on the bare floor, but it’ll be more comfortable than next to him.
As soon as the straw rustled, Blayden’s mouth opened.
“Hey, luggage. Stay where you’re put.”
Leni was startled and froze.
He really wants me to sleep here?
We’re within arm’s reach!
Blayden lay flat, his face relaxed, as if he didn’t care about her presence.
His breathing was so quiet, it was hard to believe he had just spoken.
The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow – he genuinely saw her as an object, a burden to be managed.
Leni silently gazed at Blayden.
His prominent nose and well-defined lips still looked strong, but his rugged features softened considerably under the candlelight.
His eyes, which had gleamed as sharp as blades, were closed, and the darkness hid his minor scratches.
The only visible injury was the wound on his cheek.
Her gaze fell on the long scar traversing his right cheek.
The bleeding had stopped a long time ago, and the torn flesh was healing, but it looked like a scar would remain.
She found herself studying him, searching for clues to the enigmatic man who held her fate in his hands.
A scar.
That’s what I’ll mean to him.
The thought that Blayden might regret saving her every time he saw his face made Leni’s nose sting.
I’m not sorry.
I was just trying to protect myself.
She insisted, but her heart remained troubled.
A wave of conflicting emotions washed over her – guilt, defiance, and a gnawing uncertainty about her place in his life.
She remembered Blayden looking up at Princess Kiabel’s head on the execution stand in Zeto Square.
She had been afraid of his cold face, which showed neither sorrow nor regret, but suddenly she wondered: Why did Blayden stop there?
How did he feel seeing the dead Kiabel?
The image of his stoic expression, devoid of emotion, resurfaced in her memory, deepening the mystery surrounding him.
After meeting her, Blayden Rehart had beheaded one person and saved another.
If he hadn’t intervened in the Great Hall, there would now be two heads on the execution stand in the square: Princess Kiabel’s head and her own.
Is this man a hound, or a savior?
Either way, it was clear she owed Blayden her life.
She recalled the nobles who mocked Blayden in the Great Hall.
While pretending to violate her, it was actually Blayden who bore the humiliation fully.
Why did you protect me?
Did you pity me?
Did you remember your own past, being caught in a war and becoming a prisoner against your will?
But why did you kill Princess Kiabel?
The questions spun in her mind, a tangled web of gratitude, confusion, and fear.
The shadow cast by the candlelight swayed over Blayden’s face.
Just as she wondered if the wind direction had changed, his distinct lips parted. “2… 4.”
Almost inaudible, his voice seeped into the darkness, deep.
The unexpected sound, barely a whisper, sent a shiver down her spine.
Leni couldn’t be sure if Blayden had really called her.
It felt like she had mistaken the sound of the wind, and also like she had heard a voice in her imagination.
Blayden’s lips were closed, and his face was as still as a statue.
It was her who moved, drawn by his stillness. Leni leaned forward slightly and replied, “Yes.” Did you just call me?
Her voice was barely a breath, a tentative offering into the silence.
Blayden’s eyelashes fluttered.
Or perhaps it was just the trick of the candlelight’s shadow.
When Leni looked again, there was no sign of movement on Blayden’s face.
No expression played across it.
I must have imagined it again.
Leni gave a wry smile and turned onto her side.
The darkness swayed, and a damp whisper drifted in.
“You should close the window.”
Leni looked back at Blayden.
Her gaze swept over his strong face, resting on his long, dense eyelashes.
Her heart throbbed.
Outside the window, the sky rumbled, drowning out the sound of her pounding heart.
Thunder was approaching.
Soon, heavy rain began to pour.
The storm outside mirrored the tumultuous emotions within her, a symphony of uncertainty and burgeoning fear.
A man swiftly entered the annex of the Paradise of the Nameless, his deeply pulled-down hat embroidered with a sheep.
Seeping into the darkness, the man looked around, then fumbled at a stone wall in the corner.
Tucked into a crevice of a heavy stone was a thin, rolled-up piece of paper.
The air in the annex was heavy with the scent of damp earth and old stone, a fitting backdrop for the clandestine exchange.
Pulling out the paper, the man put it into a leather pouch at his waist, then went to the stable and unbridled a horse.
He mounted the saddle and kicked the horse’s flank, and it galloped towards Claville.
The rhythmic thud of hooves on the muddy ground faded into the distance, a silent promise of information delivered.
Breaking through the pouring rain, the man arrived at Shaphiro Market and knocked on the back door of the candle shop Luminar.
Hakan, a young hooded clerk, opened the door.
The paper from the leather pouch was handed to Hakan.
The two men exchanged secret glances and parted ways.
The brief, unspoken interaction was laden with unspoken meaning, a silent understanding passing between them.
In a dark corner of the empty shop, Hakan read the message by candlelight.
Find out who killed the owner of Luminar.
As soon as it was confirmed, the end of the paper touched the candlelight.
The flickering flame devoured the dark blue letters on the document.
The tiny flames danced, consuming the words and leaving only ash, a testament to the urgent and secretive nature of the message.
The air thickened with the smell of burning paper, a smoky punctuation mark to the clandestine meeting.
Hakan’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as the last of the words vanished.
The weight of the task settled upon him, a grim resolve hardening his features.
He knew the implications of this message, the dangerous currents it portended within the city’s underbelly.
The search for the killer would lead him down a path fraught with peril, but it was a path he was now bound to follow.