The square of Brun-le-Comté exuded life and harmony. The surrounding gardens burst into a symphony of colors: scarlet tulips, golden daffodils, and bright blue forget-me-nots formed a vibrant tableau. The paved walkways, lined with shrubs trimmed with near-artistic precision, guided passersby with a sense of calm. The soft song of a solitary bird drifted through the air, mingling with the murmur of conversations and the distant creak of carts on cobblestones.
At the center of the square, the white marble statue of Helric the Wise stood proudly. Towering four meters tall, it cast a protective shadow over the heart of the city. The king stood with dignity, one hand raised as if to bless or soothe, his face carved with a precision that evoked timeless authority. A sword hung at his belt, and his cape, frozen in eternal motion, added to his grandeur.
At his feet, bas-reliefs depicted his greatest achievements: walls as solid as stone, a library housing the world's knowledge, and peace accords that had spared generations from conflict. Freshly laid flowers surrounded the base of the statue, a testament that his memory still lived on in the hearts of the townsfolk.
Rouis was absentmindedly gazing at the statue, searching for a moment of calm amidst the bustle around him, when a feminine figure appeared at the edge of his vision. She moved with grace, her long red hair dancing in the soft sunlight. Each step seemed deliberate, each movement accentuated by her green satin dress, which clung to her form with an elegance that bordered on provocative. Her freckles lit up her face, but it was her eyes—piercing and inquisitive—that truly captivated.
— "Rouis?" she called, her voice clear but tinged with a hint of impatience.
He nodded silently, without responding.
— "This won’t take long," she continued, her gaze briefly flicking over him, as if evaluating his usefulness, before returning to the statue.
Rouis’s fingers instinctively tightened around his bundle, his knuckles whitening slightly. A wave of discomfort crept up his neck, spreading to his temples, while an involuntary twitch shook his shoulders. It wasn’t so much her words that grated on him, but her tone—a blend of superiority and detachment that seemed to dismiss everything in its path. He inhaled slowly, suppressing a biting remark he knew would serve no purpose.
— "My name is Ambre," she said at last, her smile faint but tinged with polite coldness, as though fulfilling an obligation.
— "Let’s go."
— "I haven’t eaten yet," she replied, her tone casual.
Rouis didn’t answer. He reached into his bundle and pulled out a piece of stale bread. The bread, hard and dusty, looked more like a relic than an offering. He handed it to her without a word, his expression impassive. Ambre wrinkled her nose slightly, her eyes settling on the item as if it were an indecipherable puzzle. Her expression wavered between thinly veiled disdain and incredulity.
— "Seriously?" she murmured, an ironic smile tugging at her lips.
Rouis shrugged indifferently. He bit into the bread, his teeth crunching against its tough surface, before stowing the remainder back in his bundle. It wasn’t the first time he’d encountered such a reaction, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. Why bother explaining? He retreated into stoic silence, letting unnecessary words die on the edge of his lips.
Ambre averted her gaze, her irritated pout betraying a hint of disapproval she seemed unwilling to voice.
The sun continued to bathe the square, its rays gently tracing the perfect contours of Helric’s statue.
She spun around abruptly and walked briskly, forcing Rouis to quicken his pace to avoid falling behind. The streets, wide and impeccably paved with smooth stones, were flanked by imposing buildings. Their facades boasted wrought-iron balconies and shutters painted in soft pastel hues. Shops lined both sides of the street, proudly displaying their wares behind gleaming windows. Delicate hanging pots and overflowing flower boxes added a lively touch, releasing subtle hints of jasmine and lavender into the air.
They passed through the doors of a spacious tea salon, where an atmosphere of refined elegance immediately enveloped them. The interior, spread across two levels, exuded understated sophistication. On the ground floor, small polished wooden tables were carefully arranged around a central basin. Iridescent lotus flowers floated serenely on the water, their reflections dancing on the calm surface under the soft glow of hanging lamps.
Waiters in black silk tunics embroidered with delicate patterns moved gracefully between the tables, their steps choreographed with precision. They carried trays bearing steaming teapots set on fine porcelain adorned with intricate floral designs. A majestic living wall, stretching from floor to ceiling, drew the eye—a vibrant mosaic of exotic plants with radiant foliage. Silver ferns shimmered under the light, while purple ivy intertwined with pearly white orchids, exhaling a subtle, soothing fragrance.
Upstairs, a dark wooden balcony overlooked the scene, offering a panoramic view of a lush hanging garden. Plush armchairs, upholstered in deep red velvet, were arranged along the railings, inviting visitors to relax. Through large bay windows, the cobblestone alleys of the old town could be seen winding below, bathed in a gentle golden light.
A group of about ten women sat near the basin, their laughter ringing out as they shared delicately decorated porcelain plates of cakes. Ambre chose a secluded table and settled herself with elegance, crossing her legs and resting her hands on the polished edge.
Rouis paused for a moment, his eyes sweeping the room. He scanned every corner, his shoulders slightly tense, assessing each face and gesture, as if searching for the faintest hint of a hidden threat.
Soon, a pale-skinned man dressed in an elegant black suit approached with a measured gait.
— "Have you decided, madam?" he asked, his tone neutral yet marked by a distant politeness.
— "A platter of pastries and a violet infusion," Ambre replied with cold confidence, her gaze already elsewhere.
A few minutes later, he returned with a plate overflowing with delicately arranged sweets and a teapot emitting a fine wisp of steam. Without hesitation, Rouis pulled out a chair and sat down across from Ambre, the slight creak of the chair echoing faintly in the hushed room. She slowly lifted her eyes to meet his, her features unmoving, except for a single arched eyebrow betraying her irritation.
— "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice cold but low, as though to avoid drawing attention.
— "I’m sitting," he replied simply.
— "Stand. You’re supposed to protect me," she insisted, her tone weighted with impatience that seemed more directed at herself than him.
Rouis gritted his teeth, his fingers briefly brushing the edge of the chair before reluctantly rising to his feet. He stepped back a few paces, positioning himself behind her with his arms crossed. His eyes swept the room. Conversations continued, but here and there, he caught furtive glances and muffled snickers. Nothing seemed to suggest any real threat.
Unbothered, Ambre selected a pastry, bringing it to her lips with an almost affected slowness. Rouis averted his gaze, focusing on a distant point to avoid meeting her eyes.
— "Ambre! What a joy to see you!"
A voice broke through the subdued murmur of the room, and a short, round woman stepped forward, her bracelets jingling with every movement. Her blonde hair framed an animated face, her bright blue eyes sparkling with excitement.
— "Imelda!" Ambre exclaimed, rising fluidly to greet her with an embrace.
Their hug was brief but sincere, marked by a shared smile. Imelda grasped Ambre’s hands, holding them gently before taking a seat beside her.
— "When are you leaving?" she asked, her fingers absently toying with a shimmering bracelet on her wrist.
— "Today," Ambre replied, adjusting the fold of her dress, her tone as light as a breath.
Imelda sighed softly, her cheeks flushing faintly.
— "I wish I could come with you to the capital," she said, a glimmer of envy in her eyes.
— "So do I. But I’ll bring you back something," Ambre promised, her smile warming her features.
Imelda chuckled softly, tilting her head slightly.
"Blue silk from the north, perhaps?" Imelda asked, a playful note in her voice.
— "Of course," Ambre replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Imelda leaned forward slightly to pick an assortment of candied fruits, her movements measured yet delicate. The two women exchanged a knowing glance.
— "We need to leave," Rouis interjected calmly but firmly, breaking their exchange.
Both women turned to him, their smiles fading slightly. Imelda raised an eyebrow, amusement gleaming in her eyes.
— "Is he your escort?" she asked, her tone laced with mischief. "He’s tall but scrawny."
Ambre let out a soft laugh, shaking her head gently.
— "And yet, he came highly recommended," she replied with a playful wink.
The two women burst into laughter, their crystalline tones contrasting sharply with Rouis’s stoic expression. Without a word, he approached the table, grabbed a pastry, and bit into it. Silence fell immediately around them.
— "How rude!" Imelda exclaimed, her lips pressing together as her gaze oscillated between disdain and amusement.
Ambre blushed faintly, averting her eyes while smoothing an imaginary crease on her dress.
— "Let’s go," Rouis said, his voice low but resolute.
He grabbed Ambre’s arm to prompt her to stand, his gesture lacking finesse. Before she could move, Imelda sprang to her feet, her bracelets jangling loudly.
— "You have no right!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the subdued ambiance of the salon.
In a swift motion, her hand flew up and struck Rouis’s face with a sharp slap that echoed to the far corners of the room. The murmurs around them ceased instantly. A nearby patron carefully placed her teacup down, her gaze fixed on the scene.
Rouis didn’t flinch. His face remained expressionless, but a glacial glint flashed in his eyes, like a shard of glass catching cold light. His posture was rigid, his shoulders slightly tense, and his fists clenched. Two servers appeared quickly, stopping a few steps away.
Instinctively, Rouis’s hand drifted toward the hilt of the dagger concealed beneath his belt. The familiar feel of leather against his fingers offered a fleeting sense of control, but he stopped just short of drawing it, his gaze locked on Imelda.
She met his eyes, and for a moment, a shadow of doubt crossed her face. Her previously quick, indignant breaths slowed slightly, as though she hesitated. Her cheeks, still flushed with emotion, betrayed an uncomfortable mix of determination and uncertainty.
The tension between them was almost palpable, like a taut rope ready to snap.
Three more servers suddenly emerged from the shadows, their steps perfectly synchronized. Their straight, black silhouettes formed a silent yet imposing line in front of Rouis, creating a human barrier that seemed to silently declare: Not a step further.
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— "Stop!" Ambre shouted, her voice slicing through the silence like a shard of shattered glass.
She rushed toward Rouis, her face marked by an urgency she struggled to conceal. Her fingers gripped his arm, digging into his skin with an almost desperate strength. Through the fabric of his shirt, her nails left red marks.
— "I..." he began.
— "Be quiet," Ambre murmured through clenched teeth.
Rouis’s shoulders stiffened at her response, but she didn’t release his arm. Instead, she gave it a small tug.
— "Are you all right, madam?" one of the servers asked. His pale face and respectful tone were weighed down by a distrust he made no effort to hide.
Ambre nodded slowly, holding back a sigh. Her lips formed a forced smile, but her briefly averted gaze betrayed her unease.
— "Yes, everything is fine," she replied, her tone firmer than she intended, as if she were trying to convince both the man and herself.
The servers exchanged a quick glance before stepping back in perfect unison. Their eyes, however, remained fixed on Rouis, their stares heavy like an invisible shadow.
Rouis, still motionless, finally released his grip on the hilt of his dagger. His arm fell slowly to his side, though his fist remained slightly clenched. A thin trickle of blood dripped from a shallow cut on his forearm, landing on the white marble floor with a striking crimson splash, like a flaw on an otherwise perfect painting.
Taking a deep breath, Rouis guided Ambre toward the exit with measured, almost mechanical movements. Though controlled, his actions radiated a quiet tension, like a coiled spring ready to snap.
Cool air enveloped them as they stepped outside, but the atmosphere between them remained strangely heavy.
— "I’m sorry," he murmured at last, his voice rough and low.
Ambre turned her head slightly toward him, her face still locked in an inscrutable expression. Her lips trembled for a moment, but no words came. She eventually gave him a brief nod.
Rouis slowed his pace slightly, glancing back now and then to ensure she was following. There was no urgency to their walk, yet the silence between them seemed to stretch time itself. Neither of them made any effort to fill the void that hung heavily over their shoulders. Still, a faint sigh escaped Ambre’s lips, so soft it might have gone unnoticed. That fragile sound, almost a whisper, revealed the faintest crack in the tension.
Rouis pushed open the creaking door of a small stable on the outskirts of town, holding it for Ambre before stepping inside. The space smelled of fresh hay and tanned leather, a scent Ambre greeted with a visible grimace. Her meticulously polished boots sank slightly into the earthy floor, and she instinctively lifted the hem of her dress to keep it from brushing the dust.
— "Surely we could have found something better," she muttered, her gaze sweeping over the modest stalls where a few horses stirred gently.
Rouis didn’t respond, focusing instead on evaluating the animals. His attention settled on a sturdy brown stallion, its coat faintly glistening under the flickering light filtering through the gaps in the wooden walls. A white star marked its forehead, and its well-defined muscles spoke of quiet strength.
The stable hand, an old man with a face weathered by time, approached with a slight limp.
— "Strong, steady, and built for long journeys," he said, patting the horse’s neck.
— "It’ll do," Rouis replied, handing over the agreed-upon payment.
Standing a few steps away, Ambre crossed her arms, her gaze shifting between the horse and Rouis.
— "You’re kidding, right? That horse is huge. How am I supposed to get on it?"
Rouis glanced at her, a barely perceptible smile tugging at his lips.
— "With a bit of effort," he replied, taking the reins.
He led the animal out of the stable, where the fading daylight brought out the warm tones of its coat. Once outside, Rouis mounted in one smooth motion before extending a hand to Ambre. She looked at him as though he were asking her to scale a mountain.
— "Seriously? You couldn’t have picked a carriage or, I don’t know, something more comfortable?"
— "Not an option," Rouis replied calmly but firmly. "Now get on."
Ambre groaned but eventually took his hand, hauling herself up with an awkwardness that earned an amused sigh from Rouis. Once seated behind him, her hands gripped his waist with noticeable stiffness.
— "You could warn me before you start moving!" she snapped as the horse began to trot leisurely down the path.
— "And you could stop complaining," he replied without looking back.
Their progress was punctuated by the rhythmic sound of hooves on packed earth, a steady beat that seemed to soothe everything except Ambre’s persistent irritation.
— "This saddle is uncomfortable. My legs hurt," she continued, her voice cutting through the calm of the twilight.
— "You can always walk," Rouis suggested, the smile in his voice betraying his sarcasm.
Ambre fell silent for a moment before mumbling something unintelligible. The road stretched ahead of them, bordered by tall grasses and bushes, while the first shadows of the forest loomed on the horizon. The sun, sinking slowly, cast golden hues over the trees, and the air carried a refreshing coolness.
Ambre shifted uncomfortably in the saddle.
— "If we fall, it’ll be your fault," she added eventually.
— "Then hold on tight," Rouis retorted, shrugging slightly.
He guided the horse with confidence, his eyes fixed on the winding path that gradually disappeared into the shadow of the woods. The silence, occasionally broken by Ambre’s sighs and remarks, wasn’t oppressive.
As the day wore on, the forest enveloped them with a presence that felt almost alive. The towering, twisted trees stood like ancient sentinels, their gnarled branches intertwining into an oppressive canopy that filtered the sunlight. What light remained fell in scattered beams, casting shifting patterns of shadow on the forest floor, blanketed with dead leaves and withered ferns. The air was thick with the scent of moss and damp earth—heavy, yet strangely comforting. At each step, the rustling of blackthorn bushes added an undercurrent of tension, like a whispered warning from the forest itself.
By dusk, the sky blazed with hues of purple and gold, and the shadows of the trees stretched long across the path. Rouis slowed the horse and stopped near a small clearing. He dismounted effortlessly, his boots sinking slightly into the soft earth.
Turning to Ambre, he extended his hand.
— "Get down," he said simply.
Ambre raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.
— "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice teetering between annoyance and a faint trace of worry she tried to mask.
— "We’re going to eat and rest," he replied, unfastening the pack secured to the saddle. "Now, get down."
Ambre stared at him skeptically, then cast an incredulous glance around.
— "Here?" she repeated, disbelief dripping from her voice as she gestured vaguely at the forest surrounding them.
— "Yes, here," he replied calmly, though an ironic glint danced in his eyes.
She pressed her lips together.
— "You couldn’t find somewhere more… civilized?"
— "Get down," he insisted, this time more firmly.
With an exasperated sigh, Ambre grabbed his hand. Rouis guided her down gently, but she wobbled slightly as her feet hit the ground.
— "It’s uneven," she grumbled, adjusting her dress. "And dirty."
Rouis allowed himself an amused smile.
— "Welcome to the forest."
She shot him a furious look, but he was already unloading the horse, seemingly unfazed by her growing irritation.
— "Go gather some firewood," he added simply, without giving her any further attention.
— "Excuse me?" she asked, her gaze defiant.
— "Branches," he repeated. "For the fire. Unless you’d prefer to sleep in the dark."
Ambre crossed her arms, her clenched fists betraying her rising frustration.
— "Fine," she muttered at last.
She glared at him for a moment, her brows knitted, before turning on her heel with an exaggerated sigh. Her heavy steps crunched through the dead leaves underfoot, her straight back radiating a pride she was determined to maintain. Her figure quickly vanished into the trees, swallowed by the growing darkness.
As she walked off, Rouis tied the horse securely to a sturdy trunk, knotting the reins with care. He gathered a few stones and arranged them into a circle for the fire, then lit it with practiced ease. Flames burst to life, casting flickering light across the trunks and pushing back the shadows that had begun to gather around them.
Ambre returned shortly after, her arms laden with branches that she dropped noisily beside the fire. Strands of hair clung to her sweat-dampened forehead, and she avoided meeting Rouis’s gaze.
— "Here," she said curtly.
Unfazed, Rouis handed her a bowl containing a simple mixture of meat and grains that he had been cooking over the fire. A light steam rose from it, carrying the aromas of roasted meat and toasted grains.
— "Here," he said, a sly smile playing at his lips.
Ambre stared at the contents of the bowl, a look of disgust etched across her face.
— "I’m not eating that," she declared curtly.
— "That?" Rouis replied, raising an eyebrow, his tone feigning innocent confusion.
— "That… thing," she clarified, waving her hand in the air as if trying to dispel an unbearable odor.
Rouis shrugged, visibly unaffected by her disdain.
— "Suit yourself," he said simply.
He took back the bowl and sat by the fire. Each bite was a comforting blend of warmth and simplicity, and he made no effort to hide his enjoyment, savoring the meal with exaggerated slowness. Ambre sat at a distance, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the flickering flames. She seemed lost in thought, and for once, she said nothing.
Once he was done, Rouis stood, pulled a worn sleeping bag from his pack, and held it out to Ambre.
— "Here," he said plainly.
Ambre looked up at him, hesitating for a moment. She brushed the fabric lightly with her fingers before taking it, her movements cautious and filled with suspicion.
— "And you?" she asked, her tone softening slightly.
— "I don’t need it," he replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
She stared at him, incredulous.
— "You’re going to hurt yourself," she murmured, her voice wavering between concern and sarcasm.
Rouis shrugged, a hint of amusement in his gaze.
— "You’ve never slept on fresh grass under the stars?" he teased with a soft laugh.
Ambre flushed slightly and averted her eyes. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, she turned her head and said brusquely:
— "Turn around."
Rouis complied, turning slowly, the corner of his mouth still curved in a sly smile. But just before fully looking away, he cast a quick glance over his shoulder. The sleeping bag struck his back with a dull thud.
— "I told you not to look!" she shouted, her voice trembling between anger and embarrassment.
— "I thought you were finished," he replied with a chuckle.
Ambre, red with frustration, turned her back on him. Rouis, meanwhile, stepped away slightly, his senses alert. The distant rustling of leaves and the occasional crackle of burning wood were the only sounds breaking the night’s silence. Other than their footprints, everything seemed calm.
When Rouis returned to the camp, Ambre was lying in the sleeping bag, her face partially hidden by the fabric. Her eyes, however, remained wide open, following the hypnotic flicker of the flames.
— "Aren’t you cold?" he asked, sitting near the fire, his gaze sweeping cautiously around them.
She shook her head.
— "Tell me a story," she said suddenly, her voice soft, almost hesitant.
Rouis stared at her, surprised by the request.
— "I’m not your entertainer," he replied.
Ambre turned her eyes away, but her shoulders quivered slightly. That’s when Rouis noticed the silent tears rolling down her cheeks. He let out a deep sigh, running a hand over his tired face.
— "Fine," he said at last, his voice heavy with weariness.
He let the silence stretch for a moment, staring into the flames as if searching for the words in their flickering dance. When he finally spoke, his tone was neutral, almost detached, as if recounting someone else’s story:
— "The first time I broke a jaw, I was twelve or thirteen. I was with a friend... a real brat. We’d ventured into some grimy underground tunnel to steal jewelry."
Ambre, intrigued, propped herself up slightly in the sleeping bag, resting her head on her hand. Her eyes, illuminated by the firelight, were filled with an almost childlike curiosity.
— "Do you still keep in touch with her?" she asked, her tone betraying a mix of excitement and hope.
Rouis slowly turned his head toward her, his gaze hardening, growing colder.
— "She’s dead," he said icily, each word falling with an implacable weight.
Ambre’s enthusiasm vanished instantly. She froze for a moment, her features marked by awkward shock. Her hand instinctively moved to her arm, an unconscious gesture to hide her discomfort.
— "Aren’t you sad?" she murmured.
— "No," he replied simply, his tone devoid of warmth.
Ambre furrowed her brow slightly, staring at him as if trying to decipher the meaning behind the words he wasn’t saying.
— "You have no heart," she said finally, her voice a mix of reproach and disappointment.
A bitter smile flickered briefly on Rouis’s lips.
— "Maybe not," he admitted, before turning his gaze away. "Anyway, we were in the tunnel and had just stolen the jewelry..."
— "I’m not interested anymore," Ambre interrupted sharply.
She turned onto her side, her back to him, with deliberate brusqueness.
— "Good night," she added curtly, punctuating her words with a mock snore to signal the end of the conversation.
Rouis watched her for a moment, his eyes fixed on her unmoving back. Then, he lay down on the cold grass, crossing his arms behind his head, and let his gaze drift to the stars. Sleep eluded him. The night was quiet—almost too quiet. The fire crackled softly, its flickering light casting dancing shadows on the surrounding tree trunks.
After a long while, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small amulet.
Made of copper, it was oval in shape with irregular edges, as though hastily carved. Its surface was etched with intricate spiral patterns, which seemed to capture the firelight, shifting between a deep coppery brown and a pale, almost ethereal green. Rouis turned it slowly between his fingers.
Each motion stirred a buried sensation, an echo from a time he preferred to leave behind. His features, so firm just moments earlier, softened slightly, betraying a weariness far deeper than mere physical exhaustion.
A faint rustling behind him broke Rouis from his contemplation. He turned his head slightly, his muscles instinctively tensing. In the shadows of the bushes, a bird stood motionless, its small dark feathers almost blending with the gloom. Its eyes shone like two bright specks.
Rouis remained still, his senses on alert, but the bird, after a brief hesitation, spread its wings with a sharp flutter. The light breeze from its takeoff stirred the dead leaves on the ground before it vanished into the darkness above the trees, leaving the night to reclaim its fragile stillness.