It was warm. Not the itchy, fever kind of warm, but the kind that came with sunlight grazing your cheeks while a soft wind hummed through your hair.
Except… wait.
Something was in my hair. Or rather… someone.
Still in that strange, dreamy space between consciousness and sleep, I didn't open my eyes.
But I could feel the gentle brush of fingers combing through my hair, slow and rhythmic, like whoever it was had done this before, perhaps many times, and thought I wouldn't notice.
Bold assumption.
The warmth on my face increased, and I realized Sun is slapping my cheeks, rough and golden through the lids of my eyes. I shifted slightly, and just as my eyelids fluttered open—
Gone.
The fingers vanished like a guilty thief, retreating as if they'd never been there. Smooth.
I blinked up at the wooden ceiling of… something. The ceiling was swaying gently...no, the whole world was. The faint clattering rhythm confirmed it: I was on a moving carriage.
And seated right beside me was the picture of stoicism herself, Clara.
Except her expression was almost stern. Like she'd practiced it in front of a mirror but was interrupted halfway. Her brows were tight, her lips pursed, but too hastily, too forced.
For someone who could turn assassins into confetti without blinking, it was… weirdly adorable.
I shifted again, confirming that I was lying atop a wooden box, long and covered in fabric soft enough to pass as a makeshift bed.
The carriage creaked along, wheels humming over what must've been an old road.
"Where are we?" I asked, voice still drowsy.
Clara straightened like a soldier being addressed by royalty. The second she registered that I was fully awake, her half-baked expression locked into the perfect mask of professionalism.
"We are en route to the viscounty of Orion Leon," she said, voice measured and robotic in that classic Clara-is-about-to-scold-you way. "We departed the valley last night under General Sarek's advisement. You were unconscious for fourteen hours. The physician diagnosed you with battle fatigue. The terrain was deemed unsafe, so a mobile withdrawal was decided upon. We are due to reach the border town in approximately four to five hours."
I blinked.
"…You memorized tha—"
"No, I didn't."
Right.
I slowly pushed myself upright, muscles groaning like they'd been on strike. My spine popped in about seven different places, which was definitely not a sign of youthful vitality.
"What about Varkis?" I asked, rotating a stiff shoulder.
Clara's posture eased, just a fraction. Her tone, though still formal, carried the faintest thread of something else. Relief? Maybe.
"He was alive up until three hours ago. Barely. But unconscious. The bleeding and poison took their toll. He passed shortly after."
That long? Seriously? with all that poison and blood...?
I raised a brow. "Please tell me you checked that yourself"
"I did." She nodded. "After the physician pronounced him dead, I confirmed it."
"I see…" I mumbled, letting my head fall back onto the cushion.
I shifted slightly, staring at the wooden ceiling of the carriage as it bumped along the road.
"How many casualties on our side?" I asked, not really sure I wanted the answer.
Clara's voice came quietly, but without hesitation. "Three dead. Seven injured, most of them stable now."
I exhaled slowly. My brows furrowed just a little, and a faint frown tugged at my lips.
"Hmm… Seems like even their pretend captain was a bit beyond my expectations," I mumbled, more to myself than her.
There was a beat of silence before Clara's tone gently shifted, laced with something softer beneath the formality.
"My lord, this is the first time I have witnessed such low casualties when someone like Varkis is involved."
She kept her eyes forward, but her voice carried a conviction that warmed the air between us.
"It is… far from ordinary. In fact, the commander Vernin has already begun drafting letters, compensations will be delivered to the families personally."
I glanced at her, catching the subtle effort behind her words, trying to lift the weight off my shoulders without making it obvious.
A small smirk crept up the corner of my lips.
"In that case, I'll be sleeping a bit longer, thanks."
I turned to the side dramatically, pulling the most pitiful groan I could muster. Maybe if I was convincing enough, she'd let me nap in peace.
Wrong.
A shadow loomed.
Before I could get comfortable again, firm hands grabbed my shoulder and rolled me back with all the gentleness of a drill sergeant inspecting a cadet.
I found Clara leaning over me, eyes locked with mine like a tiger staring down a limping deer. No hint of mercy. Only judgment.
"You have rested for fourteen hours, twenty-three minutes, and thirty-eight seconds, my lord," she said, voice cutting through the air like polished steel. "Any more is unnecessary. We have… discussions to do."
I winced.
"You say that like you're planning an interrogation."
She didn't smile.
"That depends on your answers."
Oh gods.
I sat up fully this time, raising both palms in a surrender.
"Alright, alright… but hold on, didn't I explain the strategy to you before we even reached the valley? You knew what was coming."
Her gaze sharpened, slicing through my excuse like paper.
"Do not use wordplay with me, young master," she said coldly.
"All you told me was that I would be sufficient to handle whatever elite unit Ashen might deploy. And then...only when we were inside the carriage, moments before entering that valley, you mentioned that their captain himself might appear."
"You outlined a strategy you'd already coordinated with Lord Orion's forces... Without informing me. You avoided me entirely, my lord."
"And revealing the possibility of escalating danger for your life just before the operation began, after we were already committed, put me under more pressure than any mission I have ever undertaken."
She paused, her gaze sharp but voice trembling at the edges of restraint.
"Tell me, young master… why do you always keep me at arm's length?"
Clara's voice still lingered in the space between us.
I let out a sigh. Not the exaggerated kind. Just the tired kind. The kind that comes when you know a half-truth won't cut it anymore.
I turned to face her properly.
"This time… it wasn't to keep you out," I said quietly. "It was just… necessary."
Her brows knit together, not with anger, but with something more subtle. Confused. Hurt, maybe.
"I thought about telling you," I went on, "believe me, I did. Before I spoke to Lord Orion, I even had the words ready. But you knowing... is my father knowing."
Clara blinked, lips parting slightly, but she didn't deny it.
"And if my father knew," I continued, "Sebastian himself would've tagged along."
I leaned back slightly, staring at the moving wooden panels above us as I spoke.
"If he joined us, Ashen would've gone silent. No attacks. No movements. Nothing. Not even castle. Because Seraphina and the librarian is still there."
I let my words settle, hoping she followed.
"So they'd just wait. Lie dormant. And their plan to back Draziel would move forward without interruption. My mother stays at risk. I stay at risk. And we learn nothing."
There was a silence that followed. Not awkward. Heavy.
"The only way to get their head… was to bait them. Just like I did back at the castle. But this time, bigger. Riskier."
Clara's eyes widened just a little. I could tell she was piecing the rest together now.
"If Father knew?" I gave her a pointed look. "He'd never allow it. Would shut it down before we even packed our bags."
She said nothing. Just stared at me, unreadable now.
"So I used Sebastian's little debt to me," I added with a small shrug. "Had him submit a false report, that said we'd be taking another route, and that Ashen had more men elsewhere. Gave us a window."
A few seconds passed.
I looked at her again, softer now.
"That's why I couldn't tell you, Clara. But—" I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "It'll be the last time. I promise."
Clara's voice came softer this time, barely above a whisper, laced with something uncertain...almost like she was arguing with herself as the words left her mouth.
"Young master… just tell me not to report to Lord Everard, and I won't."
Ah. There it was.
Exactly what I wanted, Clara. A confession wrapped in loyalty and mild emotional blackmail.
With that, the main goals to accomplish during this lovely journey were officially achieved.
I would clap, but I might get strangled.
She paused, her gaze wavering for the first time.
"But… please don't bear the weight of every risk alone. I am your attendant."
"I will," I said, locking eyes with her and holding the gaze, letting her see I meant it this time.
And for once, she didn't look away.
But just as I was about to look away, her brow furrowed slightly, like a new piece of the puzzle had just clicked into place.
"Wait…" she said slowly, "the debt with Sir Sebastian…?"
I blinked.
She narrowed her eyes. "Are you talking about that time… when you planned to capture Marla?"
I gave her a quiet smile. Just a slight one. One she knew well.
Her eyes widened.
"You… you planned all this… even back then…?"
I didn't respond immediately. Just let her sit with the weight of it. Then, with a groan of dramatic exhaustion, I flopped back down and turned to the side again.
"If the interrogation's over, I'd like to sleep," I said. "Thanks."
For a moment, there was silence. Sweet silence. Peace.
Then—
of course.
A gentle tug.
A hand slid beneath my shoulder and pulled me right back to facing the ceiling again.
Clara.
But this time, she was smiling.
And it wasn't that stiff, formal mask she wore when pretending nothing bothered her. It was the real one, the one that only came out when she thought I wasn't watching.
"Like I said, young master," she said, voice smooth and annoyingly firm,
"You've had plenty of rest already. You'll be staying awake until we reach the next rest stop."
I stared at her blankly.
She stared right back.
I muttered something about betrayal and traitor maids and cursed softly into the fabric of the pillow-box thing beneath me.
She just chuckled.
Like a bored kid presented with a new toy.