Nedues was the name of the mountain range that surrounded Bevij. They would have to traverse over the terrain in order to get to Dofev. Lior explained during a meal break that they were already in Dofev, the nation, and that its capital, also named Dofev, was their destination.

Getting over the mountains was tiresome to say the least. Rest stops were self-serve. That meant there were no friendly innkeepers, no hot food, and no warm fires waiting to greet them in the damp and cold cabins scattered along the mountainside.

This is where the young squire made real progress in reading, as there were no major towns calling her to explore, and Lior would leave in the mornings with Prince Valkom to hunt and catch their company’s lunch and dinner. In the few times she went along, Canelle didn’t see the appeal in hunting, but Lior assured her that she found it enjoyable. 

Her relationship with Valkom is what interested Canelle. He seemed to be aware of Lior’s true character, even poked fun at her in the same way Lior would joke about his taste in women. It was peculiar that they bonded over their ‘appreciation’ of women, considering Lior was breaking Bevij law and Valkom was the pending future leader of their country. Even if he didn’t share the same beliefs as his father, to enforce the prosecution of others for their sexuality, and look the other way when it came to his friends was…

Their relationship was complicated, and it wasn't Canelle’s place to question it. 

Instead, she focused on the task at hand, studying in her employer’s cabin with her books and dictionaries. Lior finally let her read fiction instead of non-fiction, and had actually picked out a couple of novels with compelling stories. 

One in particular that she enjoyed was about a girl magician and her two best friends. That one was harder than the others, so she hadn’t gotten through the first chapter. She copied down any words she ran across and didn’t recognize. 

Lior was late, but given that the winter was tapering off and the overdue spring was steadily approaching, the days were lengthening again. They would have time to study if the setting sun allowed them an extra half hour. They also weren’t leaving early in the morning because their guide wanted to wait out the unexpected snow. 

But when the last of the natural light disappeared, she relented, and as she lit a candle the door to the cabin opened. The bitter air slapped Canelle in the face, but her hands were quick to save the candle from blowing out. 

Liorit’s expressions were difficult to decipher, and over the course of their voyage—maybe even a little before—Canelle had learned to pick up a few additional colors and their respective moods. 

It was safe to say that the day had been a rough hunting day and not a fun hunting day. Lior unceremoniously tossed the layers of her outer clothing on the table, taking a seat to undo the laces of her boots. The cool air radiated from her belongings. 

Outside the wind let out a long, deep, whistle. There was snow on the ground, and snowfall this far up the mountain was common for the time of year. The mountains that surrounded were hardly ever without their streaks of white, regardless of the warmer months.  Still, this was their first time seeing the snow fall during their trip. 

“I apologize, I don’t have the energy to tutor you tonight,” her employer admitted warily. 

The young woman nodded, glancing at her notes before shutting them. She gathered her materials and set them aside. Then she took Lior’s coats from the table and hung them up on one of the hooks by the door of the small cabin. Sorting as she went along, what she would have to wash later and what was fine for another wear.

“Would you like me to bring you dinner?” the young woman offered, although she expected the woman to decline. 

Exhaustion came in a variety of different colors to Lior (according to Canelle’s own observations and nothing else). The first color she called blue. Lior would sleep for thirteen hours straight to recover, often after an evening of hard partying. The second she pictured as a bright magenta. After a day of fun hunting, running, or any strenuous exercise, Lior would restore her energy by eating an entire feast on her own. 

There was another color she imagined as orange. Not any orange though, the color of her hair explicitly. Like the orange poppies that seemed to grow only in Canelle’s hometown of Banesur, or the colors of the clouds during a summer sunset. 

She deliberated if it was fair to classify it as exhaustion when it could be written off as stress or irritability. She would be tired, invite a pretty girl over, and suddenly be filled with energy. 

Today that color was orange, and there were no pretty girls around in the middle of nowhere. Tough.

“You’re walking down to the main cabin in that?” Lior asked, walking over and flopping onto her bed. “Did you even bring a coat?”

As if to further prove her point, the window rattled with the wind this time. Canelle went over to the window, and drew the curtains shut. They were slightly dampened by the condensation on the window. Peeking out, the snowfall was slow. Yes, it was coming down in thicker flakes, but she could still run over to the main cabin and back.

That didn’t mean she wanted to, though. She’d much rather run to her own room. 

“I wasn’t expecting it to snow.”

“I’m not hungry,” Lior spoke into the covers of her bed. “But if you’d like, you can take one of my coats to your room.”

Canelle eyed the soaked coat on the hook. “I’m probably better off running really fast.”

“There’s a dry one in the closet.” 

“Thank you.” 

When she didn’t respond, she assumed the woman had fallen asleep. 

Even though the cloaks Canelle had purchased last were nicer than any she had owned previously, they couldn’t compare to Lior’s. Touching the coat felt wrong, it felt expensive, even as nondescript as it was. 

The door of the closet had a full length mirror on the inside of its door. The servants quarters were lacking in mirrors, and since she primarily worked in the kitchen, she hadn’t seen a mirror in a long while. She had grown taller than the previous time she had seen herself. Paler somehow? Older. She counted back to her last birthday, questioning if she was 21 or 22. The light was flattering, or she had grown into a less awkward version of herself.

Canelle was a pretty girl in the middle of nowhere.  

On the bed, Lior made no noise or indication that she was awake or even aware of the girl’s presence. 

She left the coat as it was and shut the door. The wind outside taunted her for what she was about to do. 

The young woman made a face at her own audacity, as she trudged over to the bed and took a seat on its edge. At the bed’s movement, Liorit lifted her face from the covers. She didn’t question it aloud, but the need for clarification was written on her face. 

An ill-timed sigh escaped Canelle, as she mentally practiced her proposal. She was anxious, not reluctant, and in an effort to prove it, she didn’t shy away from Lior’s gaze. 

“I know I’m not conventionally attractive, or your ‘type’, but we both have similar needs, and this would be convenient.” She was being rather cheeky in her phrasing, and her preposition was already making her want to physically recoil and book it for her room. 

Liorit could have made fun of her for it, and to her credit she didn’t. Granted, she was visibly stunned by the suggestion, as if the thought had never crossed her mind. Canelle’s self-esteem would mull that over later. 

But for now, she found frustration in the silence. “If you’re worried about an emotional attachment on my part, don’t be. You’re not exactly my type, either.”

The noble showed an interest in that particular comment, entertained by Canelle’s impudency. She shifted into a sitting position, putting distance between them. 

“And you’ve done this before?” she asked finally. “I’m not your first, you know—”

“I don’t care. I’m not a sentimental person.” She wasn’t convincing her with such an offhanded tone and half-assed answer. She tried to sound sincere as she went on, “Yes, I’ve done this before.” A half-lie and half-truth. 

Seven silent seconds passed and Lior continued to call her bluff with her doubt. 

Canelle relented, “Fine, never with a woman, but I was engaged once. I know sex before marriage is—whatever. When you’re a teenager, you—”

She stopped herself from rambling, and tried to read if Liorit’s amusement at the revelation was a good or a bad thing. Either she thought the younger woman was a moron or completely out of line. 

The noblewoman leaned closer to her, watching her, knowing well that it was up to her whether or not they moved forward. The silence drew on, and Canelle began to yearn for rejection. Anything would be better than the uncertainty.
“How exactly am I ‘not your type’?” she finally asked dryly.

“Truthfully? You’re far too prurient and self-serving.”

In the lighting, from her angle, it was hard to say if Lior liked that answer. 

“Prurient, that’s a big word.” 

The corner of her mouth twitched as if she was fighting a smile. She was definitely entertained by Canelle’s brazenness, and as long as that continued to work, Canelle wouldn’t deviate from it. “Thanks, I learned it today.”

There was a crack in whatever dumb face Liorit was trying to pass off as coolheadedness. She smiled at the comment, which drew Canelle’s attention to her mouth.

Naturally, being with a man and being with a woman had its differences, but kissing was the same. She reached and pulled the woman into a kiss. Lior did not protest, kissing her in return and closing the space between them.

Canelle, alarmed at the invasion of her space, nearly withdrew in reflex. A stupid reaction, considering she initiated the event, but it was the coldness of Lior’s skin that was throwing her off. She had been outside in the freezing wind through the morning and afternoon. 

She wanted to take the woman’s hand in her own and hold it till it was a reasonable body temperature. She hesitated, unwilling to risk the interruption. 

Lior had the touch of a ghost, and she could fade away like a ghost. 

She felt the woman’s fingers brush her hair back. Her lips on her skin began a trail of kisses down her neck and towards the collar of her tunic. The closeness was pleasant. Lior felt smaller than her character. 

And unlike Canelle who was having a weird internal deliberation, she remained fixated on one thing: pulling at the strings from her collar that kept her from her objective. With the strings undone, she pulled the collar down and pressed her lips against the softness. 

The fire that had burned inside her the day she walked past Lior’s window returned, only stronger. And with that memory, she recalled the laughter, both that of Lior’s and that of her company’s. This experience didn’t have to be serious by any means, it could be fun, Canelle could be playful. It would be ok to fumble the things she didn’t know.

She pushed the woman off, threw her leg around her, and snatched both of her hands into her own. 

“Your hands are cold,” she said, grinning. 

A short chuckle escaped Liorit. “Carry on then.” 

Canelle released Lior’s right hand and brought the other to her mouth. She pressed her lips to it and then nuzzled her cheek into her palm. Her brows furrowed together.

“What?” Liorit asked, reaching up and brushing some strands of hair out of the young woman’s face with her free hand. 

“Nothing. I didn’t expect you to be so complaisant,” she confessed.

“Did you expect me to fight you? I can if you want me to.” Liorit said jocosely, insinuating that she was open to experimenting. 

The young woman smiled at the joke, letting her concern slip through to the back of her mind. Letting the lurking live there for the evening. 

I’m not your equal. 

But… there was no one else around, so by default, Canelle was someone. If only for that night. She had best make the most out of it