They left for Dofec early in the spring, and doing so left them vulnerable to the brutal weather of the great mountains of Nedues. They had to traverse through the great mountain range in order to reach Nikase’s home. Twice during their journey, they were forced to stop and wait out the storm in the damp, cold cabins available along the trail. 

Dofev was a desert climate, and her travels had introduced her to other environments. She had purchased a coat or two in preparation for the new temperatures, but nothing that would withstand the icy, burning, wind in the Nedues. 

And so that morning she made plans to find a thicker, warmer, coat on their arrival at the first true town on the mountain. Typically, Valkom would go hunting with Lior during their stops. Because she had plans elsewhere today, he offered to come along with Nikase instead. Assuming he knew the town better than she, she took him up on the offer and let him navigate. An assumption that she would regret a few hours later. 

“How are we lost? This town has a total of four roads,” she asked, scouring the area for another soul.

The town was lively for the size, and they had passed plenty of people on the onset of their adventure. Regrettably, they hadn’t asked any of them for directions, and now they had ventured into a remote residential area.

“We should’ve turned left at the bakery then,” Valkom’s breath was visible in the cool blue air.  “But I’m positive this street loops back in an arc.”

Nikase slipped her gloved hands into the sleeves of her fur coat. “Are you sure? We've been walking north for a long while.”

“Have we? I thought we were going south,” he teased, pulling his own fur cap down over his ears.

The air picked up around them, unlike Valkom, it wasn’t fooling around. It was bitter and sharp on the skin. 

She wouldn’t focus on it. Instead, she wondered aloud in regard to something that had been bothering her since the beginning of their acquaintanceship.  

“Isn’t it dangerous for you to be lost?” 

In her home country, even without monarchs, people of the higher aristocracy would not dare leave their homes without a private guard. Traveling across borders especially, required supervision. Her brother had never left her side on their way to Bevij, and he’d even stayed to watch over her during the first month of her stay.  When he returned to Dofev, it took all her powers of persuasion to convince him not to saddle her with a private babysitter, and she was pretty sure that despite it all, he managed to bribe one of the maids at Resort Black to send word to Dofev should she do anything outrageous. Like embark on a three-week journey with the rouge heir of the kingdom and a woman Nikome has outwardly expressed his dislike for. 

Valkom didn’t have a babysitter, and in truth, he ought to. Being the sole son of his Highness King Artmit, one would imagine he would force him to travel with an entire army. Alas their party consisted of Liorit, her secretary, one guardsman, a squire, and three drivers. 

“Not more dangerous than you being lost I’d imagine,” he said to her concern. 

“But you’re—”

He turned back to look at her and quietly touched his index finger to the tip of his nose. 

“Outside Gaidos and Zapide, people are unfamiliar with my likeness.” He explained, falling back and matching her pace. 

Zapide was the capital of Bevij, although few were under the impression Gaidos was the capital.

 “Also, in my travels I’ve discovered that I have a rather forgettable face.”

Nikase wouldn’t call it forgettable. He was by definition attractive, according to their societal standards anyway. He was right in that none of his features were remarkable enough to set him apart from other generally attractive people, though. During their voyage, in his travel appropriate attire, he looked much like the common man. 

“I suppose you enjoy that because it makes travel easier for you?” she asked, having once dreamed of that level of anonymity. 

“I can’t lie to you, Nikase,” he grinned. “I very much enjoy it.”

She changed the topic. “We should ask someone how to get back to the inn.”

He squinted at the sudden shift in subject, electing to withhold his commentary.  “Very right you are to suggest that, I will ask the next living being we see.”

Eight buildings down, they found a tall, thin, gray-bearded man clearing snow from his walkway. He greeted them before Nikase and Valkom reached the end of his walkway. 

“Good afternoon, sir,” said Valkom. “I apologize, but could we bother you for directions to the Josen Inn?” 

The man on the other side of the fence stabbed his shovel into the snow and shifted half his weight onto it. “It’s not a bother at all, my good man. If you head back the way you came, and turn right on Elk Road, then left at the bank building, it’ll be right across from you.”

“Thank you, kind sir.” Valkom turned to Nikase, then, with a tilt of his head, thought of something else to ask the man. “Did you want help with that?” he offered, pointing at the shovel. 

The man didn’t look frail by any means, nor had he been struggling before the two strangers walked up to him. There was an exhaustion in his eyes that Nikase noted, and it flickered like a candle coming to light at the heir’s preposition. 

“Sure!” he guffawed. “If you caught me on any other Tuesday, I would have given you a hard time for calling me old, but seeing as I took a slip earlier and messed up my back, I’m keen on accepting the assistance of a youthful and able soul.”

“I’ve heard all I need to hear, let me borrow this old man.” Valkom joked, taking the shovel and digging into the snow. 

 “Do you have a second shovel?” Nikase inquired brightly. “Two of us can get this done faster than one.”

“I couldn’t let such a pretty woman like you show me up. Please, I’d rather you warm up inside.” He motioned behind him and at the door to his abode. “Do you drink coffee? There’s some on the stove, help yourself. I can keep your husband company.”

Valkom was mid-shovel looking down at the snow, and from that angle Nikase got a good glimpse of his dumb grin.  Nikase squinted at him, waiting for him to correct the record, but he sensed her efforts at making eye contact, skillfully ignoring her. 

“Might as well go inside, Nika,” he said, his voice muffled by his scarf. “It’ll only get colder as we lose the sun.”

“Very well,” she said, walking around him to enter the house. 

The smell of a delicious, well-spiced dish hit her in a wave of warmth. Only then did she realize her hunger. They had been lost for a while, and they hadn’t stopped at any point to eat. The corner kitchen opened into the sitting room, with a sole square table separating the two areas. The cozy loft was admirable. 

The few lithographs of the man’s immediate and extended family implied they all lived nearby, or at the very least gathered frequently. Paraphernalia displayed on the wall indicated that they were fond of ice fishing. 

On her approach, the smell of warm coffee overpowered the scent of whatever the man had in the oven. She took a clean cup from the shelf and poured the equivalent of a couple of sips into it. Enough to warm up, but not enough to keep her up late. Mostly she used the warmth of the cup to warm her hands, and took a seat on the couch. 

Minutes later, the doorknob creaked, and the door swung open. 

Valkom entered first. “Nika, darling, Georgie here invited us to join him for dinner. He says he makes the best barcota in town, and I must admit I am quite famished.” 

Georgie, the old man, followed behind him, removing his gloves and scarf. “Please! I made too much!”

She gave Val a knowing look. He couldn’t continue playing the character of the doting husband with a straight face, he didn’t have it in him. But there he was – standing, unshaken – willing to continue the charade, likely in an effort to get a response from her. 

Nevertheless, he had no idea what he was walking into. Nikase Ojeda had been a student of the arts. The members of her family were all huge patrons of the theater, and were well known for their half-inappropriate theatrics in the courtroom. 

She clasped her hands together and smiled. “Very well, anything for you, Chuchu.”

Both Val and George blinked twice at the improvised nickname.

“Chuchu?” The latter asked, and looked at Valkom. “I thought you said your name was Artie?”

The heir lagged briefly, snapping into a convincing enough expression of humility. “It is, that’s just a term of endearment.”

“Is it?” Nikase feigned her candidness. “Your best friend calls you that. Should I be worried, Chuchu?”

The corner of his lip twitched, suppressing a grin. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t think of anything to say quickly enough. 

George spared him unknowingly, none the wiser about their charade.  “Right, no need to be embarrassed ‘bout a name, Chuchu.” He waddled out of his boots and into the kitchen, “I’ll go check on the barcota. Please take a seat. ” 

She pulled a chair out for Valkom who was distracted, mentally cooking up a way to get her back. He nearly sat down when he realized what she was doing and switched spots with her.  They had a silent war of hand gestures before Nikase relented and took the seat. 

“I’ve never heard of barcota,” she said to George in the kitchen. “It smells delightful.” 

The old man chuckled, shuffling through his cupboards. “I made so much because I’m used to cooking for my wife and my son.” Setting down a stack of plates on the table, he elaborated. “He got married months ago and dear Carla is over at his place helping his wife with their newborn. The first few weeks can be tough on a mother.” 

“Do they live far?” 

It was Valkom who asked, having collected himself.

“Haha no, they’re a ways down the road. I’ll bring them some leftovers in the morning. I’d do it tonight, but the wind stings out there.” He took the glass bakeware out of the oven and set it on the prepped knitted pad on the table.

Nikase leaned into the radiating heat, and away from the wet, cold, air surrounding the curtained window behind her. The spices of the dish smelt earthy and were reminiscent of the dishes she tried in Torelen once. 

 “Anyway,” The man said, cutting into the tender, steamed meat of the dish, and placing it on an empty plate. “Your husband was telling me you’re from Dofev? You really haven’t tried barcota? It’s popular in Banesur and that borders you out there.” 

He spooned some of the rice from the bottom of the dish over the meat and passed the first plate to the young woman.

She thanked him. “I’m from the capital, so a bit far from the border.”

“Ooh the capital?” He repeated the gesture for Valkom, “Fancy that! How did you two meet?”

Val met her eyes from across the table, awaiting her answer. Her responses at times surprised him, and a part of her enjoyed that. She thought of something ridiculous, “I was at a fair and Chuchu was wrestling a pig.”

George grinned an amused smile and looked expectantly at Val, who wasn’t as quick at coming up with stories as Nikase.

 “For sport,” the heir tacked on.

“You claimed it stole your sandwich.” Nikase took an inconspicuous bite of the roast. The flavor melted into her mouth like a song. 

“It did, but I wasn’t planning on taking it back!” said Val, becoming the character of Chuchu. “I wrestled the pig out of principle.”

“Ah, so who won?” asked their host. 

“The pig,” Nikase interjected before Valkom could answer. 

She wondered how much of the story George was buying, if any at all. He had no reason to doubt them and while their banter was innocent, a part of her feared their ruse unraveling and it coming off as their mocking him.  

Valkom was knee-deep in it now, haven gotten the hang of it. “I may have lost the respect of my peers of that day, but something about my mud-covered ineptitude drew my darling Nika to me.” He winked at her,  “What was it about that scene that attracted you to me again?”

“It was the commitment to the cause.” She turned to George with a straight face. “He wrestled the pig before many attractive women without giving them a second glance. I figured a man like that would not be let astray, or tempted by another woman. Now, if we ever encounter another sandwich-thieving pig, then I shall worry.”

Valkom coughed into his napkin, hiding his laughter. Nikase took it down a notch after that, through the rest of the exchange and their meal.