she hated that part of her didn't move fast enough away from him.
That part of her stayed too aware of him.
Too tuned in.
Like her body had decided before her mind did that he mattered in the space she occupied.
That thought made her chest tighten sharply.
Not fear alone anymore.
Something messier.
Something she couldn't name without feeling like she was losing ground inside herself.
"…Turn back," Soren said again.
Freya's voice came quieter now, though she didn't mean it to.
"…Or what?"
Soren's gaze held hers.
Steady. Certain.
"…Or I stop giving you space to decide wrong."
That should have been simple.
But Freya felt it land differently.
Too personally.
Her breath caught—and for a brief, irrational moment, she realized something that made no sense at all.
He's the only one who has been looking at me like I exist here.
That realization unsettled her more than the cliff beneath her feet.
Away from that thought.
And the ground betrayed her.
Her heel slipped.
Just a fraction.
The world tilted.
Freya's breath snapped in her throat as her body went with it—
The impact didn't come alone.
A hand caught her wrist.
Immediately.
Soren.
For a split second, everything stopped.
Her body hung between ground and air.
And his grip was the only thing holding her in place.
"…Freya."
His voice wasn't sharp now.
It was controlled.
But the ground beneath him gave at the same time.
Loose stone. Unstable edge.
His weight shifted forward instinctively—
and he didn't release her.
That decision cost them both.
The cliff took them.
Stone, wind, branches snapping against skin and fabric as gravity claimed them both.
Freya's breath came in shallow, uneven pulls.
Awareness came first.
Pain came second.
She was alive.
That was the first thing she understood.
The second—
was that Soren was still holding her.
His grip hadn't fully released her wrist yet, as if he hadn't quite decided whether she might slip again.
"…Don't move," he said.
Freya swallowed, her voice rough.
"…You followed me off a cliff."
There was a brief pause.
Soren exhaled slowly.
"…You're welcome," he replied.
Freya blinked at him.
"…That's not what I meant."
His gaze flicked over her briefly, assessing—quick, precise—before returning to her face.
"No," he said calmly.
"But it's still accurate."
Freya stared at him.
"…You're unbelievable."
That almost earned a reaction.
Soren's lips curved just slightly.
"And yet," he said,
"you're the one who decided a cliff was the better option."
Freya let out a strained breath that was dangerously close to a laugh.
"I didn't decide to fall."
"No," Soren agreed mildly.
Because of the way he said it.
Like falling off a cliff with her hadn't unsettled him at all.
Soren shifted slightly, finally releasing her wrist—but only after making sure she was stable.
Then his gaze moved over her again, more carefully this time.
"You're hurt," he said.
"I'm fine," she replied automatically.
Soren's brow lifted slightly.
"Of course you are," he said dryly.
Freya narrowed her eyes at him.
"…I am."
She tried to shift.
Pain flared immediately across her side.
Her breath caught.
Soren didn't miss it.
Freya looked away, annoyed—more at herself than him.
"…I'm not fragile."
Soren leaned back slightly, watching her with that same unreadable focus.
"I didn't say you were," he replied.
A pause.
"Just reckless."
Freya huffed out a quiet breath.
Freya's gaze flicked back to him.
For a second—
neither of them looked away.
And something in that space shifted again.
Uncomfortable.
Freya broke it first, looking off to the side.
"…You're insufferable," she muttered.
Soren's expression didn't change much.
But there was the faintest hint of something there.
Above them—
the voices grew clearer.
Closer.
Boots against loose stone.
Armor shifting.
"Your Majesty!"
The call echoed down the ridge.
Freya's body tensed immediately.
Soren didn't move at first.
For a brief second longer—
his gaze stayed on her.
Then—
the moment ended.
He stood.
The shift was immediate.
"Down here," Soren called, his voice carrying easily upward.
Movement above intensified.
Freya pushed herself up slightly, ignoring the sharp protest of her body.
Her gaze followed him.
"…That was fast," she muttered.
Soren didn't look back at her.
"They were already close," he said.
A pause.
Then—
"…You didn't get as far as you thought."
Freya's jaw tightened.
Of course he would say that now.
Boots hit the ridge below moments later.
Knights descended quickly, controlled but urgent.
They stopped short when they saw them.
Not because of Soren.
Because of her.
A flicker of confusion passed through more than one of them.
A man.
Soren's gaze lingered on her a moment longer than necessary.
Then—
slowly—
it moved.
Taking in the rough men's clothes she's been wearing.
The loosened fit.
The dust.
The disguise she had worn so carefully.
And then—
her face again.
"…Though I have to admit," he said, voice low enough that the others wouldn't catch it easily,
"you did commit to the role."
Freya stiffened slightly.
"…Don't," she muttered.
Soren ignored that entirely.
"A stable boy, was it?" he continued, almost thoughtful now.
"Or something slightly more ambitious?"
Freya shot him a sharp look.
"It worked," she said.
Soren's expression shifted—just slightly.
Not quite a smile.
"For a time," he agreed.
A pause.
Then, quieter—
"I was wondering when I'd find you hiding in plain sight."
Freya's pulse spiked.
"…You didn't know," she said.
Soren tilted his head just slightly.
"Not immediately," he admitted.
That alone was irritating.
Soren's gaze sharpened faintly.
"You chose everything well," he said.
Then, softer—
"You ran well," he said.
Freya blinked slightly at the shift.
"…That doesn't sound like you."
Soren's gaze held hers.
"It isn't," he said.
"Neither is letting you keep this much distance."
Freya's breath caught slightly.
Because that—
felt less like teasing.
And more like a warning.
Behind them, the knights remained still.
Waiting.
Watching.
Unaware of what was actually being said between them.
And Soren—
had made sure of it.
***
They didn't leave immediately.
Not until Soren had given the order.
The knights moved quickly, efficient and silent.
Freya stayed where she was.
Soren turned back to her.
"You'll need help standing," he said.
"I don't," she replied immediately.
Soren didn't argue.
He simply stepped closer—
and lifted her anyway.
Freya inhaled sharply, her hands instinctively bracing against him.
"…I said I could walk."
"Yes," Soren replied calmly.
"You also said you were fine."
Freya frowned.
"…I am."
Soren glanced down at her briefly.
"Mm," he hummed.
"I'm sure the fall was entirely cooperative."
Freya looked away, annoyed—
but didn't fight him.
That alone didn't go unnoticed.
He carried her toward the horses without slowing.
The knights parted immediately, creating space.
Soren set her down only long enough to mount first—
then pulled her up in front of him in one smooth motion.
Freya stiffened slightly at the proximity.
"…This isn't necessary," she said.
"It is," Soren replied.
A pause.
"Unless you'd prefer to explain your condition to them," he added quietly.
Freya's jaw tightened.
"…No."
"Then sit still."
The horse shifted beneath them as the others mounted.
And then—
they moved.
The rhythm of the ride settled quickly.
Freya focused forward at first.
Not speaking.
Not turning.
But she was too aware.
Of the way his arm rested lightly—but firmly—around her.
Of the way his presence didn't press—
but didn't leave space either.
"…You're quiet," Soren said after a while.
Freya didn't look back.
"…You talk enough for both of us."
That earned a faint reaction behind her.
"Usually," he agreed.
A pause.
"But you tend to argue more."
Freya huffed softly.
"…I'm injured."
"Ah," Soren said lightly.
"That explains it."
Freya frowned slightly.
"…Explains what?"
"That you've stopped pretending this was going to end differently."
That made her still.
"…I didn't pretend anything."
"Didn't you?" he murmured.
The horse slowed slightly as the terrain shifted.
Soren's voice lowered.
Closer now.
"You ran toward an open road," he said.
"No plan beyond distance."
A pause.
"That's not strategy."
Freya's fingers curled slightly against the saddle.
"…I would have figured it out."
Soren's arm tightened—just slightly—as the horse adjusted beneath them.
"I know," he said.
That surprised her.
Freya glanced back at him before she could stop herself.
"…You do?"
Soren met her gaze easily.
"You always do," he said.
"Eventually."
Freya held his gaze a moment too long.
Then turned forward again.
"…That doesn't mean you get to stop me."
Soren's expression shifted faintly.
"I didn't stop you," he said.
A pause.
"I followed you."
Freya let out a quiet breath.
"…You always say that like it's different."
"It is," Soren replied.
"Stopping you would have been easier."
Freya didn't respond immediately.
Because that—
felt like the truth.
The road stretched ahead, the castle still distant but inevitable.
Soren's gaze dropped briefly.
To her.
To the way the disguise still held.
The loose clothes.
The hidden hair.
"…You were convincing," he said after a moment.
Freya tensed slightly.
"…You already said that."
"Yes," Soren replied.
A pause.
"I'm deciding whether that bothers me or not."
Freya frowned faintly.
"…Why would it?"
Soren's voice lowered slightly.
"Because," he said,
"you were seen by people who didn't know what they were looking at."
That landed differently.
Freya's chest tightened slightly.
"…That was the point."
"I'm aware," he said.
A pause.
"That doesn't mean I have to like it."
Freya glanced back at him again.
"…You don't get to like or dislike it."
Soren's gaze held hers.
"No," he agreed.
"But I will anyway."
Freya turned forward again, quieter now.
"…You're impossible."
Soren's voice came softer this time.
"And you're still here."
The horse continued forward, steady beneath them.
The knights surrounding them at a respectful distance.
But between them—
the space hadn't widened.
If anything—
it had only become more difficult to ignore.