When that someone's head ended up pillowed against her chest, Leone—stiff as a board—couldn't help but shudder. She kept telling herself, It's just going to hurt once, but… the other person suddenly didn't seem to move at all?
Trembling, she cracked her eyes open and saw the man with both arms around her waist, his head buried against her chest…
Had he fallen asleep?
She tried to shift, only to catch Lancer—she had no idea when—opening his eyes and looking at her. Instantly, she forced a smile uglier than crying. Only when she saw him close his eyes again did she finally let out a breath.
How was she supposed to describe this? Her emotions were a complete mess.
First came the relief of surviving—for now. Second was sheer incomprehension at what he was doing. And most importantly…
Her chest itched. His hair was tickling her. It was driving her crazy.
Since she'd chosen the road of scams and swindling, Leone had never been naive about her "future." Maybe one day she'd die on some nameless back road. Maybe she'd end up hanging at an execution ground. But being turned into someone's slave had never been in her calculations—or rather, she'd deliberately refused to look at that possibility.
She just hadn't expected the future she'd been dodging to arrive so fast. So abruptly.
Nervous, torn up, at a loss—and lying in bed with no way to tell how time was passing—she didn't know if the minutes were crawling or racing. Under all that pressure, she finally lost to sleep and obediently closed her eyes…
What she didn't know was that the person resting against her chest opened his eyes the moment she did. He looked at her, puzzled at first; then his expression twisted with struggle. In the end, he could only sigh, nudge his head against her once, and close his eyes again.
...
A soft bed… and a soft blanket?
Leone rolled over and still didn't want to get up. In her mind, she clearly hadn't slept enough—her "home" only had a hard plank bed, after all.
But something quickly felt off. Normally, once people realized they were dreaming, shouldn't they wake up?
Shh… shh…
The odd sound made her go on alert. She snapped her eyes open and saw a tall figure's back facing her.
Reflexively, she sprang up and reached for the short knife she always kept hidden close. A woman living in the slums who didn't prepare for the worst would've been picked clean a long time ago. But the moment her hand moved, she froze—because she noticed what was "wrong."
This wasn't her slum "home." She wasn't on that familiar plank bed. And the strange sensation at her neck told her that yesterday hadn't been a nightmare at all.
It had really happened.
"You're awake? Good. I was wondering whether I should wake you later. I'm about to head to the palace—stay in the inn and wait for me for now…"
That voice—unfamiliar, but destined to become familiar—made Leone's pupils tighten.
Growing up in the slums, the uniform she knew best was the Imperial Police's. But as a resident of the Capital, she wasn't unfamiliar with the Imperial Guard's uniform either. And what Lancer was wearing now was exactly the kind of uniform only an officer in the Imperial Guard would wear.
At last, she understood why the Imperial Police had "broken the rules" yesterday and sold her straight to this man—and why she hadn't been able to beat him.
The Imperial Guard: the Empire's most elite force, commanded by its strongest warrior, Great General Budo. Rumor said every member was handpicked from the best of the best. Leone even went to watch them at the annual festival—though it wasn't because she liked it. There were simply more people then, and that made it easier to get her hands on someone's purse.
But after going so many times, she'd memorized the Imperial Guard uniform down to the smallest detail.
It wasn't until the door shut that she jolted back to herself.
Bang~!
Leone flopped onto the bed, clutching the blanket and curling into a tight ball.
When she was little—right after her parents died—she'd been "innocent" enough to daydream. She'd imagined that maybe one day she could marry a noble, or some officer, and never have to risk her life stealing again. But as she grew older, she understood those thoughts were nothing but fantasy.
A girl from the slums didn't just get ignored by "noble lords." Even people from ordinary civilian districts wouldn't look at her properly. Once, a noble who'd come into the slums for who-knew-what brushed past her, then flew into a ridiculously dramatic rage. That was when she truly understood: they lived in completely different worlds.
If she weren't with him as a slave today…
Even without any title or standing, maybe she wouldn't feel this hollow…
Click~!
The door suddenly opened. Leone, who'd been sprawled on the bed, shot upright.
But when she saw a woman in a maid outfit, she finally let out her breath—only to immediately feel painfully awkward.
She'd just woken up, and her yukata was loose. The way it hung made it look like she'd only just climbed out of bed…
Which, to be fair, she had.
The maid didn't comment. She gave Leone a small bow, tidied the room with quick efficiency, left again, and then returned carrying breakfast.
Staring at the meal set on the table, Leone felt deeply strange. In seventeen years of living, aside from when she was little, no one had ever waited on her. And trying to eat with someone standing right there made her want to sink into the floor.
The room's silence turned suffocating. Leone had no choice but to speak.
"Um… Miss Maid… do you need something?"
"I'll collect the dishes once you've finished, miss."
"…."
"…."
The silence returned, even heavier.
Miss?
No one had ever addressed her with respect in her entire life.
"There's really no need for that. I'm just—"
Leone's words died in her throat. What she wanted to say was the truth, but saying it out loud—that she was a slave—was too cruel.
The maid, seeing her reaction, quietly relaxed.
Yes, Leone was a "slave," but that didn't automatically mean she ranked beneath the maid. Even slaves depended on who their owner was. A slave favored by their master wasn't necessarily looked down on. And she'd watched with her own eyes as Lancer left the inn in military uniform.
Even Leone knew what that uniform meant. The maid knew it even better—people who made a living in inns and taverns, where crowds came and went, survived on their ability to read others.
She didn't want to invite trouble. And Leone's reaction told her Leone probably wasn't the kind of person she'd feared. Seeing Leone's obvious gloom, she couldn't help trying to comfort her.
"Miss, you don't need to be so down. That gentleman seems… very good to you, you know. Some people treat their slaves like… like…"
The girl—about Leone's age—turned red as she forced the words out.
"…like perverts."
Leone wasn't ignorant of how "slaves" usually lived. In fact, she'd been shocked she hadn't been taken last night. She'd never heard of a male master letting a female slave go. If anything, being "spared" could be worse—because what normal man would pass up a pretty slave unless he couldn't?
And men who couldn't… tended to be twisted in the head.
Leone didn't believe for a second that he couldn't. Last night, when he held her while they slept, she'd felt that heavy male heat rolling off him—and the burning proof of it in a certain place.
Sitting at the table now, Leone felt like her thoughts had been churned into slurry.
Her reason told her she should do everything she could to please him. He held her life and death in his hands.
But the fantasy she'd buried for years… began to stir again, brought back to life by a single sentence from a maid her age.
After Leone finished eating, the maid called to her softly a few times. When she got no response, she gathered the dishes and left the room, leaving Leone alone at the table, lost in thoughts she couldn't name…
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T/N: Lancer I never odubted you!