I feigned shock, letting my gaze drop to the ground, then raising it back to look at him.

“Is it truly chivalrous to charge a prisoner for a morsel of food, Sir?” I asked.

He seemed to think on it for a moment, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Well, you are a noblewoman,” he finally said, though his tone wavered with uncertainty, as if he were reassuring himself.

“A noblewoman without means,” I countered.

"Then I am not sure I am-"

“But my father," I interrupted casually. "He is a man of great wealth and influence. He would surely reward the man who showed kindness to his daughter in time of need.”

... In both of our dreams. That man would write a gold mine in Blert's name if only he knew.

But Truman, who didn't know that, his eyes gleamed at the mention of wealth. He crossed his arms over his chest, considering this new angle.

“And what would this great man of great wealth think if I were to offer assistance… at a price?” He insisted, making me want to roll my eyes.

I leaned in conspiratorially.

“It is universally known, Sir, that Marquis Ashdown values loyalty above all else. A favor to his daughter could secure you a friend in high places—perhaps even a handsome reward.”

Truman shifted his weight, clearly tempted, but he hesitated. He looked up, as though searching the skies for an answer.

The fact that this is about a piece of chicken is killing me...

“No gold on you now?” Truman asked, his tone chillingly suggestive and his golden eyes coldly searching mine.

A realization dawned on me: Truman possesses some developed hearing capabilities... how likely is it that he heard my whisper from all that way earlier?

The jewels adorning my body felt suffocating as a chill rolled down my spine.

He might have heard them clanking whenever I moved.

“No,” I said, meeting his gaze with firm insistence. “But my father—”

“You said that already,” he interrupted, though not unkindly. He was more like a child trying to piece together a puzzle.

"What I mean to say is this, Sir Truman..." I sighed. "You might be the kind knight in question. Imagine your name spoken with gratitude in the halls of my father… such a gesture could be most rewarding. Any kindness you extend to me will be repaid, sooner or later, either by myself or by the Marquis Ashdown himself."

A flicker of excitement crossed his face, disappearing soon as it appeared. Then, as his suspicions dissolved, they left place for a kind smile to appear.

“Well…” he began, but his words trailed off as he noticed Fars approaching from behind him, several meters away.

I hadn't even seen him coming yet.

“I suppose I could be of service,” he whispered with a nod, suppressing his smile.

“What are you doing, Truman?”

Fars’s voice was as unpleasant as his aura—rusty, grating, and altogether uninviting. “Why speak to the wench?”

“She is… uh…” Truman looked at me, his eyes asking for assistance, as though the simple task of lying was beyond him.

“There was a large spider,” I offered. “Sir Truman was kind enough to help me dispatch it.”

Truman nodded, his expression blank but agreeable.

It was becoming clear that Truman lacked quick thinking. That or he was a terrible liar. Neither was a promising trait.

“Is that so?” Fars said, throwing me a mocking look..

"Yes, sir." Truman nodded.

"Yes, Sir," Fars repeated in a low tone, mocking. “Years among us, and you still can’t string words together properly, tsk... Back to your post," He ordered, shooing the golden-eyed man with his hand.

Fars's eyes flickered to the boulder behind which Alice was hidden, a sly grin creeping across his face.

Truman remained unfazed, his hands resting lightly on his belt as he gave Fars a respectful nod, snuck one to me, and proceeded to leave.

“Were you mocking Sir Truman's accent?” I asked, only now realizing that Truman's speech did sound ever so slightly different from the rest of the Yildrenien men.

“Accent?” Fars barked a laugh. “Ya deaf, woman? Even an illiterate deaf person could hear that obnoxious drawl of his,” He said, eyes fixated on the boulder still.

The only obnoxious thing here is you.

Clearing his throat, Fars straightened his collar.

“Stay seated. If you see something that frightens you, call for me. That freak is useless in a real crisis,” he declared loudly, though his words seemed more for Alice’s benefit than mine.

I complied.

Fars, meanwhile, sauntered over to Alice’s rock, his greasy grin widening as he adjusted his collar yet again.

The campsite was a modest affair, something Commander Blert was never too keen on admitting.

With scattered canvas tents, a few flickering oil lamps casting a warm glow over the otherwise dim surroundings, and the occasional sound of a guard shifting in his sleep. The air was crisp, carrying the earthy scent of damp ground and grass mixed with the lingering smoke from earlier cooking fires.

But there was another scent, one that stood out against the backdrop of the campsite. The unmistakable lavender fragrance that only a noblewoman could maintain, no matter where she slept or how unkempt her hair had become.

Truman followed the scent to a black tent, feeling slightly proud of himself as he discreetly marched towards the prisoners' quarters. As in, a flimsy tent, guarded by two knights cozied up on either side of the entrance, their snores merging with the night’s sounds.

In his palms, Truman held his treasure: Two chickens.

Each one was meticulously wrapped in a dozen pieces of cloth, just to be safe. Truman figured that if anyone happened to interrupt his secret mission, he could always claim they were rocks.

Not the most convincing cover story, but he hadn't exactly been caught yet.

"So no need to worry," he murmured to himself as he circled to the back of the tent.

Once there, he could make out two shadows inside, cast by the glow of an oil lamp that the ever-practical maid, Alice, seemed to carry with her everywhere at night.

"My lady," Truman whispered, just loud enough to make the two shadows flinch.

Silence followed, with one shadow still and lying down, seemingly trying to sleep, while the other hovered over something. A piece of parchment, perhaps?

“You were awake?” The one with the parchment hissed at her companion, hastily shoving it into her chest as if it were the most natural hiding spot in the world.

Truman swiftly looked away, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Must I announce my state of consciousness at all times, my lady?" The emotionlessness of Alice's character was surprising given her aggressive tone. "If you so wish, though it may be a challenge, I shall endeavor to declare it from now on,” Lady Alice's voice dripped with dry humor.

“... Smawtass.” Penelope simply mumbled, stepping closer to the tent wall where Truman stood, her shadow looming larger.

Truman's senses were sharp, to an excruciating degree. And so he could hear it; the clattering, ever so faint, of jewels on Lady Penelope's body. He knew about it from the moment they met.

At first, he thought she might have stolen them from other maids. An assumption initially confirmed by the manner the Commander had acted once he had caught her. But later dissolved by a lack of mention of such a thing within any of the caravan's corners.

Her response earlier meant she did not want to share.

And as desperate for gold as he was, Truman was no thief. He would earn his wealth in a manner suiting the principles he was raised upon. That was his promise to himself.

“I’ve brought it,” Truman whispered, holding up the bundled chickens as if they were the crown jewels.

“Ekthellent,” Penelope’s voice barely contained her childlike glee.

Truman's head tilted a little. He expected more of an evil sneer, truth be told...

Though Truman was not typically observant of such subtleties, the knights had drilled it into his ears during their gossip sessions that this woman contained nothing but evil, and that she had targeted the world's most pure soul, and on and on...

But now, that same woman, whose presence to him always felt like a dry, cold, and tired surviving soul, sounded gleeful at the sound of a meal, and her heart beat so loudly at the simple thought of food.

Truman smiled, feeling a warm swell of pride at having completed his task.

“Wait, how do I get 'em in?” Penelope’s question sparked a new hiccup.

~

In a world of thought... A blonde, skinny lad ran through an expanse of flower-strewn fields, where the colors seemed to bleed into one another as the sun set with a surreal, accelerated grace. The sky was a canvas of shifting hues, the golden light turning to deep oranges and purples as if time itself was slipping away.

The lad's breath came in ragged gasps, each strained with the weight of his unspoken feelings.

The wind played with his hair, and his large green eyes scanned the horizon.

He saw her. Distant and ethereal.

She was clad in a flowing deep violet dress. The fabric billowed gracefully in the breeze, its rich color a striking contrast against the verdant fields.

The scent of lavender seemed to follow her, wrapping around him in a comforting embrace.

Driven by an overwhelming yearning, he quickened his pace. Two powerful steps, and he was upon her, pulling her into his arms with a fervent longing.

In those precious moments, he buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, letting the familiar scent fill his senses. But as he clung to her, she slowly turned to face him.

His heart froze at the sight. Her eyes were hollow, void of the warmth and life he remembered. Only tears stained her precious face.

"You..." Her voice softly brushed against his ear. "Killed me."

Thus, Penelope turned into dust in Trevor's embrace.

The world around him fractured, the vibrant fields dissolving into a nightmarish blur.

Trevor woke with a jolt, his chest heaving as if he had been fighting for breath. His surroundings were now those of his opulent bedroom, yet the comfort of the luxury did nothing to soothe his racing heart.

He looked down at his hand, where the ring—symbol of his eternal, unspoken love—glinted mockingly.

Trevor’s dark circles and gaunt features were a testament to his unrest.

"I..." He heaved.

Trevor, only son of Count Vielle, had made up his mind.

"I will save her."