The woman with the black braid burst through the common room doors. She had one arm wrapped around Art, the other gripping his hand, which was stretched across her shoulders.

"Is there a healer here? Anyone! There was a Cane Wolf attack, it already took the other one!" she shouted as all the eyes in the room fell on her.

"Don't just stand there, bring me a mage!"

The room burst into action at her demands; chairs scraped and were knocked over as people rushed to gather around, and others charged out the back to try and ward off the 'wolf'.

Milton shoved the onlookers aside and shouldered his way to where Art and the mysterious woman sat. He grabbed Art's face roughly and stared into his eyes, frowning as he did so.

"The blood isn't his," she said cautiously, watching Milton examine him.

"And how would you know? Did you see the beast attack him?"

"It went for the bigger one first. Bronn, was it? I don't know why, but it didn't seem to want this one. That's how I was able to get him away; the disgusting beast was too busy feasting on the other guy."

She peeked at Art as Milton kept examining him.

"Huh... well. The boy can consider himself the empire's luckiest man. At least for tonight." He sighed as he leant back.

"He's fine. Nothing but a couple of bruises. There's nought I can do about the shock, though."

Milton stood up and looked at the woman.

Something about her seems... off. She made such a commotion bringing him in, but there's not a shred of genuine concern in those eyes. I'll need to keep an eye on her tonight.

"What's your name, woman? I should know at least that if I'm to properly thank you for saving this weasel's life."

She stared up at him for a moment, as if contemplating whether to tell the truth. Finally, she smiled and answered.

"Morrigan."

She stuck out her hand and waited for him to shake it. Milton followed her lead, giving a cautious stare as he did so.

"Just Morrigan? No surname?"

"Just Morrigan."

"Hmph, okay. Well met, Miss Morrigan. I'm Milton."

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

The pair held eye contact for a moment amid an awkward silence. Then, Milton slapped a hand against his thigh and stood up.

"Right, I better get the boy to his room so he can rest. We have an early start tomorrow, you see. Perhaps you might encourage the rabble to be cautious this evening. No more wandering about in the dark, especially not alone."

"Indulge me for a moment longer, Sir Milton."

Morrigan gently placed a hand on Milton's chest plate as he tried to move past her. Flustered, he stopped and took a step back.

"I heard your men discussing this journey of yours. Where might you be headed that needs such an early departure?"

"That's not something I can disclose, certainly not to a stranger. If you'll excuse me, Miss Morrigan, I really must be going," Milton said as he made another attempt to push past her.

Morrigan grabbed him again, this time with surprising strength, then stared deep into his eyes.

As soon as their eyes met, Milton felt time seem to slow immeasurably. He could not pull away.

No, was it that he could not, or that he simply did not want to?

She reached up and grabbed him by the chin, her deep blue eyes never breaking contact.

"Tell me your destination."

Milton felt a wave of compulsion wash over him. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever experienced; he felt like a prisoner sequestered in some secluded, far-off corner of his own mind - forced to watch as he betrayed himself.

He tried to resist, to put up a fight against the powerful waves that rolled around the inside of his skull. Finally, he gave in.

"The Borderlands."

"Tell me why."

Milton pursed his lips, grunts of pain escaping as he tried his hardest to keep the information in. Morrigan simply refocused her gaze into his eyes; that was all it took for him to crumble again.

"Ranger Group. Those boys with me are to be sworn into service there."

"Hah! Them? That's a death sentence. Not a single one is above D tier; they won't last more than a week."

Milton stayed silent. He wanted to push her away, to shout and fight her off as she kept caressing his face and gently bringing his eyes back to hers. But he couldn't; he could not even make a sound now unless she permitted it.

"Who are you, Milton? Tell me honestly now. A man of your strength is not the typical choice for escorting meat to the slaughterhouses."

"My name truly is Milton. I am the captain of House Beaumont's ducal guard..."

Morrigan's eyes widened as he went on; she truly had not expected that answer.

"Of the House Beaumont? Go on..."

"My men and I are escorting the son of the duke. Well, he's the duke's son by blood only. The boy was disowned and ordered to the Ranger Group."

Her eyes widened with every new piece of information that spilled out of Milton's mouth. He watched from that small corner of his mind, considering just how badly he would be punished when it came out that he had disclosed their orders to a complete stranger, let alone one with unheard-of abilities.

"And where is this 'boy'?"

Milton's eyes flicked down toward where Art still lay unconscious.

"Oh? What a pleasant surprise. I can see it now, he's the spitting image of his father, still handsome even covered in dirt."

She smiled and leant down to get a closer look at Art, then spoke again.

"Leave now, Captain Milton. When you step out of this room, you will remember only that I showed great concern for your little lord."

He moved toward the door, sweat beading on his brow as he panicked at his complete lack of control. If she could simply order him to forget, what else could she get away with?

"Oh Milton, one more thing. You will wait for me tomorrow morning. In fact, you will be... ecstatic to see me, and I will ride in the wagon with, what was his name?"

She nodded down at the man laying in front of her.

"Arten."

"Yes, me and Art will need our own wagon, I think. Go on now, Milton."