Althea’s eyes fluttered open, her senses coming alive to the feeling of warmth and steady motion. It took her a moment to realize she was on Catria’s stallion, nestled securely in front of her, the knight’s arm wrapped protectively around her waist. The realization sent a thrill through her, a feeling both comforting and startling in its intimacy.

She shifted slightly, leaning back against Catria, testing the boundary, wondering if the knight would pull away, but she didn’t. The knight’s grip around her waist was firm, protective, and strangely comforting. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had held her with such care, and the sensation unsettled her, awakening an unfamiliar longing.

Was it simply her own vulnerability in this strange new world of danger that made her want to know Catria more deeply? Or was it something else—a fascination with this woman who wielded her strength with such restraint?

They rode in silence, the forest quiet around them, with only the soft rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds to punctuate the stillness. Althea could feel Catria’s calm, steady breathing against her side, each breath mirroring the quiet control the knight embodied. But there was something more to this silence—a depth, a gentleness that she hadn’t expected from the woman who had so ruthlessly cut down a band of attackers the day before.

Althea’s hand shifted, resting lightly on Catria’s arm as if anchoring herself to the moment. “I didn’t think gentle was something you knew of.” she said softly, her voice barely more than a murmur.

Catria’s gaze didn’t shift, but her hold around Althea’s waist tightened subtly. “You’re under my protection,” she replied, her voice low and steady, but there was a warmth there, a softness that surprised Althea.

“Is that all?” Althea’s tone was teasing, but there was a genuine curiosity beneath it, a need to understand this complex figure who kept her guarded yet held her with such care.

For a moment, Catria didn’t respond. Althea could feel the tension in her posture, the careful deliberation in the silence that followed. And then, just as Althea thought the knight might ignore her question, she felt Catria’s breath close to her ear.

“Duty binds us, but...”The words were barely above a whisper, almost as if Catria hadn’t meant to let them slip. Althea felt a flicker of something deep and unspoken pass between them, something she couldn’t quite name but was drawn to all the same.

The quietness lingered, a delicate thing they shared, vulnerable and charged, as the day broke around them. Althea settled back, letting herself savor the feeling of Catria’s arm around her, of the strength and warmth that grounded her in a way she hadn’t realized she craved.

They rode on in silence, but it was no longer an emptiness. It was a promise, something fragile yet enduring, like the first light of dawn pushing through the shadows.

That evening, as they made camp, the intimacy of the day’s earlier moments lingered in Althea’s mind, casting a soft glow over the shadows that gathered around them. The fire crackled between them, its light dancing across Catria’s face as she sat sharpening her sword, each movement deliberate, steady. Althea watched her from across the fire, her thoughts tangled in the quiet warmth she had felt while riding together, a closeness that lingered unspoken between them.

As she watched Catria sharpen her sword, Althea couldn’t help but think of the battle, the ruthless efficiency with which Catria had cut down those men. There had been no hesitation, only deadly precision. It was as though Catria had become someone else entirely in those moments—a part of herself Althea couldn’t yet see but was driven to understand.

Why did Catria guard that side of herself so closely? Was it a mask, or a wall?

As the firelight flickered, Althea found herself unwilling to let the silence take hold. She leaned forward, her gaze steady on Catria’s, a spark of curiosity in her eyes. “You didn’t have to carry me all day, you know,” she said, letting her voice carry a hint of the teasing warmth she felt, unwilling to let their connection slip into formality.

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Catria’s hand paused briefly, the blade catching the firelight as she glanced up, her expression guarded but attentive. “You needed the rest,” she replied, her voice even. “It was practical.”

Althea’s lips curved into a faint smile, refusing to let Catria’s cool tone push her away. “Practical. Of course. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Sir Knight?” She watched as Catria resumed her work, her shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly at the remark.

“Surprises aren’t exactly encouraged in my line of work,” Catria replied, her gaze still focused on the blade. But her tone softened just slightly, as if she was willing, perhaps even eager, to allow the conversation to linger.

Althea’s smile widened, refusing to let the moment slip into formality. “You’re as stubborn as you are strong,” she murmured, not quite sure if she meant it as a compliment or a challenge.

Catria glanced up, her eyes meeting Althea’s across the fire. There was something in her gaze—something almost vulnerable, a flicker of emotion that Althea couldn’t place but felt drawn to all the same. “Stubbornness keeps people alive. I think you know that.” Catria replied, a faint, almost imperceptible smile ghosting across her lips before vanishing.

Encouraged, Althea leaned closer, emboldened by the knight’s openness, rare and fragile as it was. “So what made you so good at killing?” Her words were blunt, but her tone was gentle, more curious than accusatory. She wanted to understand this side of Catria, the side that had emerged so ruthlessly in the fight.

Catria’s shoulders tensed, her hand tightening around the hilt of her sword. She didn’t look up, her expression unreadable. For a moment, Althea thought she might ignore the question entirely, but then she spoke, her voice low and steady. “You don’t survive in this world without making sacrifices,” she said, a hint of something bitter in her tone, though she kept her gaze fixed on her blade.

“So… do you have anyone waiting for you back at the castle?” she asked, the question slipping out before she could second-guess herself. She wanted to know if Catria had ties, if there were people who knew the person beneath that armor.

A pang of jealousy shot through her—hot and unwelcome. She pushed it down with all her might.

Maybe if she understood more, she’d feel less unsettled by the growing, inexplicable pull between them. It felt almost selfish, this need to draw Catria out of her shell, but it also felt like the only way to make sense of what was happening to her heart.

Catria’s gaze hardened, but for a fleeting moment, Althea thought she saw a hint of something more—a shadow of regret, quickly buried beneath her stoic mask. Her response was swift and clipped, almost defensive. “No.” Her gaze lifted, meeting Althea’s across the fire, the intensity in her eyes a warning as much as an answer. “It’s not a life that leaves room for… attachment.”

The words hung heavy between them, but Althea wasn’t deterred. She offered a small, wry smile, tilting her head as she regarded the knight. “And here I thought you were supposed to be the perfect knight. Isn’t that what all those oaths are about?”

Catria’s eyes narrowed slightly, though her expression was still carefully controlled. “Oaths bind us to duty,” she replied, a note of finality in her tone. “Duty doesn’t care for personal wants.”

Althea sensed the knight’s desire to shut down the conversation, but she refused to let the moment slip back into silence. “You don’t scare me, you know,” she said softly, her smile widening, her eyes shining with defiance. “All this talk of duty and sacrifice—it just makes me more curious.”

Catria’s gaze darkened, a glint of something unreadable flickering in her eyes. “Then you’re a fool,” she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper, though there was a hint of something softer there—something that belied the coldness of her words.

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension, and for a moment, Althea thought she saw something vulnerable in the knight’s expression, a flicker of loneliness or regret hidden beneath her composed facade. It was fleeting, gone as quickly as it appeared, but it was enough to intrigue Althea, to draw her in deeper.

Despite Catria’s coldness, Althea sensed a crack in her armor, a fragile point of connection she couldn’t ignore. She held Catria’s gaze, a quiet determination settling over her. “You can try to keep pushing me away, but I’ll figure you out,” she murmured, her tone playful yet laced with sincerity. “One way or another.” Catria’s lips curved into a faint, almost reluctant smile, but she didn’t reply, her gaze shifting back to her sword.

They sat together in that fragile silence, a quiet promise lingering between them. Althea resolved that this conversation was far from over—that she would continue to prod, to question, until she understood the woman behind the armor, the woman who both protected and held her captive.

She kept her gaze on Catria, a quiet resolve blooming within her. She wasn’t sure if it was stubbornness or curiosity, but she knew one thing.

She couldn’t simply run away from this woman who made her feel so much, so fiercely, and so unexpectedly.

One way or another, she would find a way to slip past the armor Catria wore around her heart. The need to understand Catria wasn’t just curiosity—it was as if something in her own heart depended on it, a feeling she couldn’t yet name but couldn’t ignore.

As the fire crackled low, casting their shadows long and twisted across the ground, they both felt it. The growing bond that tethered them felt both delicate and dangerous, like a blade held between them, its edge sharp and alluring.

And it was a risk she felt compelled to take.