Dantes leaned against the weathered stable post, boots dusted in road ash, cloak still stained from the fight in the woods. The late afternoon light cut slanted shadows across the dirt floor.
His arms folded. Voice flat. Casual in the way knives were casual when sheathed.
"She's not royalty. Neither of them are."
The young mercenary frowned. "Then why the cloak-and-dagger?"
Dantes didn't even look at him. "They're nobles from the coast. Quiet family. Private business. They're paying."
A pause.
"And I like coin."
"...That's it?"
He looked up then-just slightly. Just enough.
"You want a longer story?" Dantes asked, eyes sharp beneath the brim of his hood. "Alright. They're cursed prophetesses smuggling a forbidden relic while the Church licks its holy boots in the dark. I'm here for the scenery and spiritual growth."
The mercenary blinked, then laughed nervously.
Dantes didn't.
His voice dropped lower.
"That was sarcasm. Get lost."
The kid got the message and shuffled off.
Dantes remained still. Just for a second.
Lie easy, he told himself. Lie clean.
But it wasn't clean. Not anymore.
Because somewhere in the lie, she had become real.
And that made it harder to tell.
Later, by the broken desk of the outpost, he wrote in quick, jagged strokes:
"Temporary escort assignment.
Traveling with two women. Protected status.
Will resume patrol after safe delivery.
Guria shows signs of covert Church activity.
Watch the southern route.
-D"
He folded it clean, sealed it with ash wax, and passed it to the crow-handler with a coin and a warning look.
He didn't write his full name. He hadn't in a long time.
The Marquess would understand.
He always did.
And if not-
Then we burn that bridge like the last ones.
Alberta stood by the window, fingers pressed to the warped frame.
She had watched him hand the note to the crow, the way he didn't smile or stall, like it wasn't just a message-but a burden passed to the wind.
She didn't know what burned more-
the truth he was hiding,
or how easily he seemed to carry it.
When he came in, she didn't face him.
"So," she said quietly. "That's how you explain us?"
Dantes unhooked his cloak, tossed it over a chair, and sat with a sigh too loud for a man with no guilt.
"Better to be called spoiled nobles than dead heirs," he said. "I like you alive. It's inconvenient otherwise."
She turned now. Arms crossed.
Francesca, by the hearth, gave a dry laugh. "Well, at least he gave us a polite title. Could've gone with 'trouble magnets' or 'walking curses in boots.'"
Dantes arched a brow. "Oh, I was this close to 'Her Highness and Her Human Dagger.' But I figured the local mercs would start bowing."
Francesca smirked. "Or stabbing."
He shrugged. "Both work."
Alberta's eyes didn't soften. But her stance eased, just slightly.
Why do I still trust him? she thought. Even when I know he's lying?
And Dantes, watching her from the corner of his eye, thought-
Why does she look at me like I'm someone worth believing in?
He reached for his waterskin, took a slow drink.
"You're safe for now," he said, quieter. "I made sure of it."
Alberta said nothing. But she didn't look away.
Not this time.