Melina didn't think much of it. She and Lucian were only bound by an accord, after all.
Pluck.
A few strands of hair came loose between her fingers.
Paths diverged… and fates lay apart. He walks his destined course, as she pursue the calling that was laid upon her. They are bound by purpose, yet bound to separate ways.
Pluck.
Another few strands.
Yes, what he did had nothing to do with her—and yet, it was mildly irritating. Her seat was gone, and now she had to float over here on her own.
Pluck.
He'd said he would protect her… but exactly who was he protecting?
Another tuft came away.
Torrent finally couldn't take it anymore. The spectral steed rubbed his head pitifully against Melina's face, eyes brimming with watery complaint.
"Hm? Torrent… what is this bald patch? Have you... been harmed?"
The road was short, and before long they arrived at a site of grace.
After setting Irina down, Lucian prepared to sleep. He'd been busy all day, and even though the grace kept his body brimming with vitality, he still wanted to maintain the habit of resting.
He was just about to lie down when a thought struck him—he didn't mind sleeping on grass, but Irina was the treasured daughter of a castle commander, raised with servants attending her every need. She might not be used to such conditions.
Earlier, when she'd leaned against him, her clothes had gotten a little dirty, but at least she'd been spared mud on her face and hair.
"Irina," he said, turning toward her. "Are you fine sleeping directly on the ground? If not… you can lean on me again."
In truth, Irina wanted to accept. But she couldn't keep burdening him, so she held on to her dignity as a 'princess.'
"It is fine. I am not some pampered noble lady," she replied. "Even if I can not see, I have loved running around since I was small. I have fallen plenty of times and gotten filthy—it is nothing new."
"Besides, I slept the whole way here. You don't need to worry about me—please, get some rest."
Seeing she truly didn't mind, Lucian nodded. He was tired enough not to press the matter.
"You are going to sleep now?" she asked.
"Mm. It's been a long day. Tomorrow morning I'll take you back to Castle Morne—don't worry."
He assumed she was simply eager to return home, but Irina quickly shook her head.
"No, you have misunderstood. That is not what I meant. I was wondering… would you like to rest your head on my lap? Like a pillow."
Lucian blinked. "What?"
"One of my maids once told me it makes people happy and relaxed. I tried it before—it is very soothing. You have cared for me so much along the way. I could not fight, I would only slow you down in battle… but at least now, please allow me do something for you."
He almost teared up. Whoever that maid was, she had his eternal gratitude.
Thank you, nameless maid. If you're alive, I'll call you my sister. If you're dead, I'll slaughter every Misbegotten in your name.
"Really?"
"Of course—if you do not mind."
He could hardly contain his excitement. Never in his life had he imagined being offered a lap pillow by a beautiful girl. It felt like a dream.
"Uh… what do I do?"
Irina shifted into a kneeling position and patted her thighs.
"Just lie down, as if it were a pillow."
He removed his helmet and, stiff as a board, lowered himself into place. This was the closest he'd ever been to a girl, and a vague sense of guilt gnawed at him, as if he were taking advantage of her innocence.
But the instant his head touched her lap, the guilt vanished. The world had never felt so good.
Looking up, he saw Irina's pretty face framed from a strange new angle, her robe hinting at a graceful, shapely figure—
He quickly turned his head away, heart hammering. Yet his eyes betrayed him, stealing glances at her smile, so pure and genuine it made his guilt return tenfold.
She's just a kindhearted girl. She doesn't know better. But I do. I need to be the adult here.
I shouldn't have agreed. I'm nearly thirty in my old life, and she's just a young girl…
With a deep breath, he closed his eyes. Soon, lulled by the warmth and softness, he drifted into sleep—completely missing Torrent's quiet, resentful snorts.
Irina stayed still for a long time, even as her legs began to ache, unwilling to disturb him.
The traveling merchant, having finished picking through the battlefield, returned to the campfire with his skinny mule.
"Oh, little miss, aren't you cold?"
Irina had heard his voice earlier during the fight, so she knew he was friendly.
"No, the night is not too bad… and there is a fire," she answered softly, not wanting to wake Lucian.
"Wearing something that thin? Bah. People who hate troubling others always act stubborn."
Years on the road had made the merchant perceptive—fire only warmed the front; the wind chilled the back.
Catching her in the lie, he sighed. Then something warm settled around her shoulders.
"It's a wolfskin shawl. Keeps the cold out."
She ran her hands over the soft fur—it was indeed warm.
"Thank you… how much in runes?"
"No charge," he said, then remembered she couldn't see and added, "I made a killing tonight thanks to you two. Consider it a gift."
"But—"
"Ah, and this is why I hate you polite types. Just take it. Out here, mutual aid's the norm."
Unable to refuse further, she accepted with quiet gratitude.
"Could you… describe him for me?" she asked suddenly.
The merchant raised a brow. "You don't know what he looks like? But you're traveling together."
She nodded. "He is my savior. He agreed to my shameless request. Like my father, he makes me feel safe, always looking out for me. And yet… I do not even know his face. That is no way to treat one's benefactor."
The merchant chuckled and indulged her.
"That young man on your lap is a handsome Tarnished, and young too. Fights like a demon, hacking limbs left and right. But for a spot by the fire, he'll pay runes. And for you, he'll face an entire horde without hesitation.
"I'd say he's a good man—noble, even. Someone who wields a sword to protect."
Irina listened in silence, her soft, pale fingers tracing the lines of Lucian's sleeping face, as if etching them into her memory.