Day 9, 6:30 AM

“Clara pacta, boni amici.”

— Latin proverb

“Good morning,” I say while sitting up and stretching my back. “Did you sleep well?”

“No,” she says honestly. “You would not have stopped where you did, if you wanted me to sleep.”

“Sorry, I thought you needed time to collect yourself and rest.” I turn around and see her sitting on the bed cross-legged, dressed in her green negligee. “Do you want to have breakfast? I can probably order some tea or milk—”

“Could you please get to the point?”

She’s nervous. Her eyes are red, and I can’t tell how much she has slept from the cheap, ugly makeup smeared all over her face, but I guess it wasn’t much.

“Do you want to escape?” I ask, and her face doesn’t even flicker.

The pause grows long, but I wait. I’ll give her all the time in the world to reach her decision. Finally, she speaks.

“If you are asking me whether I wish to be free, the answer is yes. If you are asking me to run away with you, so you can put me in another brothel, the answer is, ‘the guards will hang you if you try.’”

“I’m asking whether you wish to be free, albeit on the run, or would you prefer to stay here. What I’m offering is protection, money, and full cooperation. I’m strong, I have some money to my name, enough for several years on the run, I am intelligent and willing to do anything to stay free.”

She looks at me with a poker face, without a single muscle flinching. I endure her glare and wait. She will speak. I know she will.

“Why?” she asks. A reasonable question, and I have an answer lined up.

“Because I love you.” Blunt explodes my plan, and I wish to scream.

“Your unbreakable will and your willingness to keep trying. I heard you tried to escape over twenty times. I’m a runaway slave too. My first escape. They aren’t looking for me, at least not yet. I tried making a living as a mercenary, and it paid well, but it’s only a matter of time before they find me. So, I want to have a partner. Someone I can trust, and someone I know will not betray me.”

“How old are you? Eighteen? Twenty?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Ten days ago I was a slave, I’m a free man, for now. I killed some people, saved someone important, and got some money out of it.”

She bites her lip.

We’re heading in the right direction.

“If you heard about me, you know that people who will chase after me are not random peasants or landowners, like the one you escaped. Guards will pursue, and should they fail to find me, other, more dangerous people, may join the search. There will be bounties on my head, and you may be tempted to turn me in yourself. Are you certain you wish to do this?”

“You really are kind.” I smile, and she shakes her head.

“I am not. I simply do not want you to realize this later and kill me because of it. I cannot die.”

My skin crawls. She said it so many times already.

“I said I am a mercenary, a bodyguard.” I strip my shirt and show her the sword wounds and faded bite-marks. “I will protect you with my life, if you can promise adequate payment.”

“I only have my body, but I am willing to pay you for your services.”

I shake my head.

“I wouldn’t have slept on the floor if I wanted that. I already told you, I want a partner. Someone I can trust with my life—”

She shakes her head. “I will not risk my life for you.”

“And I will never ask you to do that. You don’t even have to take up a weapon the entire time we’re together.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

She gives me a confused look.

“I will be wounded. I will get sick. I will be weak in situations in which you are not risking your life. Trust me, it has happened.” I point at the slashes. “Having someone feed you, clean your wounds or even give you water to drink can be a lifesaver. Really.”

She nods. Slowly. “I will do everything for you, as long as I remain safe.”

She gives me a weak, vulnerable smile. “I need a rest from this… this life.”

I say nothing and let her gather her thoughts, but she remains quiet for too long.

“How about we discuss details over breakfast?” I offer, and we share stale bread, cold meat, and some unknown roasted vegetables gone soggy.

“The only problem with the escape are the bloodhowlers. I have bought spare outfits and some cheap perfume to throw them off. We could head for Monona, buy a boat and a goat. A day downstream we release the goat bound in our scented clothing. That should buy us some more time. As for us, we sink the boat somewhere convenient and continue on foot in fresh clothes and free of perfume. Hopefully, that should be enough to rid ourselves of the rats.”

She chews slowly, mulling over my words. Finally, she nods. “Good plan. We can sink the boat near Namir. Do you have a specific destination in mind?”

I purse my lips and shrug. “Not really, sorry. I can work as a mercenary, but that is not the safe living environment you have in mind.”

“We can just split up after we get far enough.”

I shake my head. “No. They will find you. No matter how well you hide, they will find you and capture you and bring you to some cheap whorehouse. The only way you stop that is with martial might.”

She stares at me.

“Why would you do that for me? You already have a plan, you have the means. You do not need anyone else. The chances of you getting wounded while executing this idea are so minuscule you do not need a helper.”

“I don’t want a helper. I want you to be my partner.” My Bonnie.

She blinks, and her expression changes several times. “You want me to marry you?”

I nod, surprised my face isn’t red. “I will be king, you will be queen, and together we will conquer this country. That is the dream.” Our dream.

“You are a child, you are ten years younger than me.” She pauses and her eyes go wide. “You want me so you can start a rebellion. You want legitimacy.”

It’s the other way round, I will start a rebellion because of you, but basically yes.

“I want to start a rebellion, to overthrow the king and his whole dynasty, and I want to sit on the throne by your side. I want you to have your revenge.” I look her in the eye for a long hard moment, and images of our first escape flash through my mind. “Tell me you don’t want something similar. Tell me I’m so revolting you won’t share a stinking chair with me.”

She gulps, and her hand moves towards her chest.

“You are just a boy,” she says weakly.

“Tell me you don’t want it.” I repeat, and I think I understand what charisma’s job is for the first time. I can feel myself bigger than life, squashing her mental resistance. I’m a mountain pressing down against her with all my weight.

Her breathing grows ragged.

“I want it.”

“Do you agree to my terms?” I ask, withdrawing the terrifying persuasive force I’m suddenly aware of.

“I agree.” She pauses. “If you can start a rebellion and wage war with the bastards ruling this country, I will follow you to the grave.”

I hold back from kissing her and shake my head.

“You will do no such thing. You will promise me right now that whatever happens to me, you will live.”

Her chin quivers, and a tear slides out of her eye before she wipes it away ruthlessly. She moves to open her mouth, but then gives me a single nod as heavy as the mountain of my presence.

I guess I shouldn’t have said the exact same thing her father told her.

“Do you want us to escape now, or tomorrow morning? Do you need rest?” I ask, and half an hour later, we have locked the room, blocking the doors with the bed and the thick leather straps I brought with me last night.

I follow her out the window. She’s dressed like a tall, handsome man, her trimmed hair reaching her shoulders, and a third of our sacks hanging off her belt. She reeks of roses and brandy, as do I. We cross three roofs in silence and slide down to a side street to get out of the open view.

We put on our boots, and she doesn’t comment on their quality as we make our way to the main street. We move without saying a word, listening to hawkers selling their wares, and pressing against the mass of moving humanity.

I slap a kid’s hand as he moves to rob me of my sack, and he scampers off, searching for easier marks.

I can’t believe things turned out as well as they did. My mood is so good, I even let go of the horrible evening I had the night before.

People are happy, and soon I find out why. Viscount Hassel has declared the day a holiday in honor of the brave errant knight, who rescued his daughter from the bandits and brought her home safely.

I guess he still doesn’t know.

Guitar music enters my ears and after turning left and right, I find the source of the sound. Three men in yellow and black are playing some handheld string instruments, something between lutes and guitars.

The tune is simple and they repeat it over and over again until you grow sick of it, and I realize it reminds me of a fantasy game soundtrack having a baby with elevator music. Or if someone trimmed a normal game theme so short and repetitive, you actually get sick of the game itself.

The festive atmosphere is nice, though, and I hear people talk about a free play in the main square in the evening. Then it hits me. I’m responsible for this. Lea is alive. Her father is happy she’s alive. The citizens are happy with free stuff their ruler is throwing their way, even though he’s paying for it with their own tax money. And finally, the gate guards are tired and tipsy, allowing us to leave Amplegord undisturbed.

I smile, maybe the festive mood got me, maybe it’s the easy getaway. Whatever it is, I know one thing.

I hope I never return to this stinking place ever again.