Nathan exhaled a long, measured breath before sliding his dagger back into its sheath. The metallic scrape echoed faintly through the stillness of the night, signaling a tentative truce. He lowered himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged by the fire as his sharp gaze lingered on her. His posture softened slightly, though his wariness remained like a shadow clinging to him.

"You should sit," he said at last, his tone even. "Let's... ease the tension. I've heard your side of things."

The woman hesitated, her eyes flitting between him and the dagger now hidden from view but not forgotten. Slowly, she lowered herself to the ground, keeping the fire between them as if it were a fragile barrier of trust.

Nathan leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, but he stopped short of speaking further. A thought clawed at the back of his mind, unbidden and insistent—What if she betrays me? What if this is all a ploy, and she robs me the moment my guard slips?

He wrestled with the notion, his silence stretching uncomfortably between them. Yet before he could decide on his next words, she broke the quiet herself.

"I'll leave at first light," she murmured, almost to herself. "I'll head back to my hometown... not that I have much to show for my trouble." She let out a dry, humorless laugh, pulling at the straps of her stolen armor. Piece by piece, the imperial insignia fell away: the bracers, the chest plate, the tarnished pauldrons. She stripped herself of the facade, revealing the worn, patched garments beneath—a stark reminder of the life she claimed to lead.

Her fingers fumbled with the last strap, and as she worked, she continued, her voice faltering but relentless. "What am I supposed to tell them? My mother, my little brother and sister? That I failed? That I couldn't even bring back enough coin to buy a loaf of bread?"

Her words spilled out in a torrent, part frustration, part despair. She didn't seem to care whether Nathan was listening, and perhaps that made her confession all the more genuine.

Nathan watched her, silent and pensive. Her armor clattered to the ground, a hollow sound against the earth, and for a fleeting moment, he saw her not as a thief or a pretender but as a person—a threadbare soul frayed at the edges. He considered her earlier words, her story of struggle and survival, and the harsh truths they carried.

Still, suspicion lingered. A performance? he thought. A ploy to worm her way into my trust, to wait for the right moment and take everything I have. But then again, if that were her intent, why strip herself of the protection the stolen armor provided? Why confess so openly, so vulnerably, when deceit would serve her far better?

At last, Nathan spoke, his voice steady but laced with cautious resolve. "Fine... travel with me."

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide with surprise. "What?"

"You heard me," he said, leaning back slightly and folding his arms. "You can travel with me. At least as far as to your hometown."

Her gaze narrowed, suspicion flickering across her face. "Why? What do you gain from that?"

Nathan allowed himself a faint, wry smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Perhaps I'm just a fool with too much sympathy. Or perhaps I see some value in having a second set of eyes on the road. Either way, the offer stands."

She studied him for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. Before she could respond, he extended his hand, a gesture of uneasy camaraderie.

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"Nathanael Greinthsion," he said, his tone formal yet understated. "Second son of the Duke of Greinthsion."

The revelation hung in the air between them like a thunderclap. Her jaw slackened slightly, and she blinked, momentarily stunned. "A duke's son?" she repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief.

"Yes," he replied, his lips twitching with the faintest hint of irony. "And yet here I am, camping in the wilderness, conversing with someone who held a blade to my throat not an hour ago. Life is strange that way."

She huffed a laugh, though it sounded more incredulous than amused. Shaking her head, she extended her own hand, dirt-streaked and calloused. "Well, Nathanael Greinthsion, I'm not sure what you're thinking, but I suppose I'll take you up on that offer. For now, anyway."

He clasped her hand briefly before releasing it, his expression inscrutable. "Good. Then let's see if you're as resourceful as you claim to be. The road south isn't forgiving."

She tilted her head, a flicker of something—respect, curiosity, perhaps amusement—crossing her features. "You're an odd one, Nathanael."

"So I've been told," he said dryly.

As the tension between them dissolved into something more tentative and companionable, the woman began to relax. She stretched her legs out before her, leaning back on her hands, her expression lighter now, her earlier sharpness dulled by exhaustion and the faint warmth of trust.

"So," she said, a wry smile curving her lips, "should I be calling you 'Your Highness' now? Or perhaps 'Your Grace'?"

Nathan arched a brow at her but allowed a faint smirk to tug at the corner of his mouth. "Neither, thank you," he replied evenly. "For now, just Nathan will suffice."

"For now?" she echoed, a teasing lilt in her voice.

He sighed, brushing a stray ember from his sleeve. "I'll likely have to adopt a pseudonym soon enough. Traveling under my real name tends to invite the wrong sort of attention."

"Ah," she said, her smile lingering as she gave a mockingly solemn nod. "A nobleman hiding in plain sight. How mysterious."

Nathan chose not to respond, instead poking at the fire with a stick, his expression unreadable. The flames danced in the reflection of his eyes, their light casting flickering shadows over the sharp planes of his face.

As the night deepened, the quiet between them stretched, the earlier edge of wariness replaced by an awkward yet companionable silence. Neither of them knew quite what to say; the fragility of their newfound truce was like thin ice beneath their feet.

Eventually, Nathan cleared his throat, his voice low but firm. "You should get some rest. It's been a long day."

She glanced at him, her brow quirking as though weighing his suggestion. Then, with an impish glint in her eye, she leaned forward. "And what if you try something while I'm asleep? Take advantage of a poor, defenseless woman in the dead of night?"

Did she just mock a nobleman like me? Nathan's jaw tightened, and he fixed her with an exasperated look. "I'm not that sort of man," he said, his tone clipped, though his cheeks warmed faintly beneath the firelight.

She chuckled softly, leaning back once more. "Relax, Nathan. I'm just teasing."

"I noticed," he muttered, his tone dry.

Despite her jest, she seemed satisfied with his response. With a casual shrug, she stood and began arranging her cloak near the fire, her movements unhurried. She cast him one last glance, her smile softer now. "All right, then. I suppose I'll trust you... for tonight."

Nathan inclined his head, watching as she settled down, her form curling slightly beneath the worn fabric. The flickering light of the campfire played across her face, softening her features as her breathing grew steady.

He remained where he was, his posture stiff and alert. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sheathed dagger, not out of suspicion toward her but out of habit, a lifetime of training ingrained in every fiber of his being. His gaze drifted beyond the fire, scanning the forest's shadowy edge, the murmur of the river filling the gaps in the silence.

Though the world around him was still, Nathan's mind was not. Questions churned in his thoughts—about the woman who now slept so trustingly within arm's reach, about the path that had led her to this moment, about the path he himself was on. He considered the fragility of trust, how it could be both a gift and a gamble.

What am I doing? he thought, his fingers drumming absently against his knee. Traveling with a stranger? Offering kindness to someone who could so easily use it against me?

And yet, despite his doubts, he found himself reluctant to sever this tenuous connection. There was something about her—a defiance tempered by desperation, a resilience honed by hardship—that struck a chord within him.

The fire crackled softly, its warmth a fragile buffer against the cold encroaching from the forest. Nathan leaned back slightly, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the darkness pressed close, and he resolved to keep watch until dawn.