Kaydence studied her for a moment longer, the firelight casting soft shadows across her face.
There was no hesitation in her gaze.
No flinch in her voice.
Only truth.
She exhibits the tenacity I would hear in stories of her mother, he thought, the ones Father used to tell me when he thought I wasn't listening.
Meisha peered into his eyes, waiting.
He gave a small smile, one that held weight.
"On my honor as the second commanding general of King Burruk's army," he said, voice steady. "You will have nothing but my honesty."
Meisha smiled in return, a flicker of relief passing through her features.
"Good."
She settled back into her chair, spooning a mouthful of stew, then biting into the bread with quiet deliberation. A sip of wine followed—deep, long, grounding.
Kaydence mirrored her movements, still watching, still waiting.
He noticed how much wine she'd already consumed.
This must have been a very eventful day for her, he thought, the weight of it settling in his chest.
Then—without warning—Meisha spoke.
"I got this injury for bruising Lord Varrick's ego."
The words landed like a stone dropped into still water.
Kaydence didn't move.
He simply listened.
Meisha's voice was calm, but beneath it ran a current of something deeper—anger and defiance.
"He summoned me to his study," Meisha said, voice steady. "He wanted to take the only day I'm permitted to leave the town to forage for herbs in the Nykon forest."
Kaydence looked up from his bowl.
"Why?"
"He informed me that the growing clash in the demon territories may spill over into human lands."
Kaydence took another spoonful of stew, finishing it, then raised his cup and drank deeply.
"And he struck you for that?"
Meisha shook her head, her expression firm.
"No," she said. "He struck me because of what I said to him."
Kaydence leaned in slightly, curiosity sharpening.
"Well… what did you say to him?"
A small smile formed on Meisha's face, not from joy—but from the memory of truth spoken without regret.
"I told him," She said slowly, "I've come to understand more and more over the years… why my mother chose my father over him."
She paused.
"And that's when he hit me."
Kaydence's eyes widened, his mouth parting in quiet shock.
The fire crackled.
The snow whispered against the window.
"Words like that," he said softly, "would cut any man of the human or demon race down."
But beneath his voice was something else.
Admiration.
Respect.
"I see that this 'Lord Varrick' has intel of our growing clash as well," Kaydence said, his tone shifting from personal to tactical.
Meisha nodded, her expression unreadable.
"Yes. He informed me that the commanding general went missing during a night raid attack."
Kaydence's brow lifted slightly.
"How did you find out that I was the commanding general?"
"I simply asked him," Meisha replied, nonchalantly spooning another bite of stew.
Kaydence blinked.
"Just like that?"
Meisha tapped her chin in mock thought, the corner of her mouth curling.
"More like… I took advantage of the situation after he hit me."
Kaydence leaned back, a slow grin forming despite himself.
"You used his guilt."
"I used his pride," Meisha corrected. "He needed to prove he still held power. So, he gave me information he thought would intimidate me."
Kaydence studied her again, this time with a deeper understanding.
She wasn't just brave.
She was strategic.
And in that moment, he realized—she wasn't someone to protect.
She was someone to stand beside.
Meisha had completed her meal along with Kaydence. She gathered the used dishes and utensils, rinsing them in the water barrel. The clink of wood, the soft splash of water—it was the sound of routine, of reclaiming calm after a storm.
Kaydence lay back on the bed, his body still, his mind turning.
"Lord Varrick… where have I heard that name before?" he murmured to himself, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling. The name tugged at something—an old report, a whispered warning, a memory just out of reach.
He sank deeper into the pillow, letting the firelight flicker across his face as his thoughts churned.
Lord Varrick…
The name pressed against his mind like a splinter beneath skin—familiar, but elusive. He could almost hear it in a briefing; see it scrawled in the margins of a report. Something about trade routes. Something about—
"Ah!" he groaned, the sound sharp and frustrated, echoing off the stone walls.
Meisha turned at once, startled.
"What's the matter!?" she called, rushing to his bedside, her bare feet light against the floor.
Kaydence blinked up at her, startled by her sudden presence, and surprised by the intensity of her worry.
Her face hovered above his, framed by firelight, eyes wide with concern. Her brows were furrowed, her breath quick.
"Are you okay? Did your wound reopen?"
Her voice was urgent, her hands already reaching for the edge of the blanket, ready to check the bandages.
"No," he said, voice low but steady. "It's not the wound."
Meisha exhaled, her shoulders relaxing just slightly.
"Then what is it?"
Kaydence rubbed his temple; frustration etched into his features.
"Just… frustration. That name—Varrick—it's clawing at something in my memory. I know I've seen it before. In a report. A warning. Something tied to the demon border."
Meisha sat on the edge of the bed, her hand resting lightly on the blanket near his arm.
"You're sure?"
"I'm not sure of anything," he admitted. "But it's there. I just can't reach it yet." Kaydence continued. "I know I've heard it before. Not just in passing… something official. Something foul."
Meisha's brow furrowed, her hand still resting on the edge of the bed.
"You groaned like you were in pain," she said softly. Kaydence gave a faint, apologetic smile.
"I suppose I am. Just not the kind you can stitch."
Meisha tilted her head, studying him.
"You think he's connected to the demon clashes?"
Kaydence nodded slowly.
"I think he's more than just a cruel noble. I think he's involved. And if he's keeping tabs on my disappearance…"
He trailed off, the weight of implication settling between them.
Meisha's hand moved slightly closer.
"Then we'll find out," she said. "Together."
Kaydence looked at her—really looked—and for a moment, the words between them felt like a vow.
Meisha studied him for a moment longer, then slowly stood, her concern softening into something quieter.
"Then try to rest," she said gently. "Let your mind settle. If it's important, it'll come."
Kaydence nodded, watching her retreat back to her corner of the room.
But even as he closed his eyes, the name echoed in his thoughts.
"Varrick."
And the feeling that something was deeply wrong refused to let him go.
A few moments past and the room had fallen eerily quiet, the kind that made Kaydence's thoughts feel louder than they were.
He blinked, pulling himself from the spiral of memory and suspicion, and with meticulous care slowly sat forward—just enough to glance across the room.
And froze.
There, Meisha stood in full view, wrapped in nothing but a towel, her back to him as she stepped behind the curtain of her built-in latrine and shower. The soft hiss of water followed, steam beginning to curl into the air.
Kaydence's eyes widened, and he immediately dropped back onto the bed, face flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the fire.
But even as he lay there, staring up at the ceiling once more, he couldn't help the flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"The daughter of Alyra Emberwyn is quite something."
The water hissed to life behind the curtain, steam already curling into the air.
"Has she gone mad?" he muttered, barely above a whisper, hoping the sound of the water masked his voice.
Unable to hold her enjoyment, behind the curtain came a soft laugh—light, amused, unmistakably intentional.
"You talk to yourself often, General?" Meisha called over the rush of water.
Kaydence groaned inwardly, covering his face with one arm.
"Only when I'm trying to survive the battlefield," he replied, voice muffled.
"And which battlefield is this?" she teased.
"The battlefield of the flesh." He retorted back.
Another hearty laugh escaped Meisha's lungs again, rich and unrestrained, echoing briefly against the stone walls before dissolving into steam.
"You're bold for a wounded demon," she called over the rush of water, amusement dancing in her voice.
Kaydence smirked, still shielding his eyes with one arm.
"Boldness is all I have left when armor's off and dignity's hanging by a thread."
"Then let's hope your thread holds," she teased, the sound of water shifting as she turned off the shower.
He heard the soft patter of her feet against the floor, the rustle of fabric as she moved through the room, gathering fresh clothes and toweling off. The fire crackled gently, casting golden light across the space, and Kaydence kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling, determined to respect the moment—even as curiosity tugged at the edges of his thoughts.
"You're safe to look now, General," Meisha said, her voice teasing but kind.
She was dressed again—simple, soft thick layers that clung to her shape with warmth. Her hair was damp, curling slightly at the ends, and her skin held the glow of comfort.
"You're dangerous," he said, half-joking, half-serious.
Meisha raised an eyebrow.
"To whom?"
Kaydence met her gaze.
"To men who think they've mastered restraint and discipline."
She smiled, not coy, but knowing.
"Then it's a good thing I don't ask for mastery. Only honesty."
The words hung between them, gentle and firm.
Kaydence nodded, the blush fading into something steadier.
"That," he said, "I can give."
Meisha crossed the room, placing another fresh log on the fire, then settled into her cot with a sigh. She laid facing Kaydence, just in case he may need her throughout the night.
But before settling comfortably in her cot and letting sleep take over a though came across her mind. Her voice floated gently across the room.
"General?"
Kaydence turned his head toward her, the firelight casting soft shadows across his face.
"Even though you now know of my identity," he said, voice low, "I'm fine if you call me Kaydence."
"What concerns do you have on your mind?" Kaydence asked, his voice low, steady.
She hesitated—not out of fear, but out of the weight of choosing which truth to share.
Then she spoke.
"Well, Kaydence. I've just realized your armor is off."
Kaydence blinked, surprised by the simplicity of the observation.
"How did you manage to get it off with you being severely injured?" she asked, her tone gentle, curious.
He gave a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.
"The mighty urge to take a leak superseded the pain I was in."
Meisha laughed quietly, the sound like warm rain against stone.
"My apologies for not being here to assist you," she said, still smiling. "I'm glad you were able to find the latrine."
Kaydence nodded, a faint grin tugging at his lips.
"I figured you had one, given the surroundings. Everything here feels… intentional and I had seen the note you left for me."
Meisha's gaze softened at his reply, her smile fading into something at peace. She didn't speak the thought aloud—it was too raw, too sacred—but it pulsed beneath her skin all the same.
Having someone here… it helps.
Not because she needed saving.
But because presence—real, steady presence—was rare.
And on the days when the silence pressed too tightly against her ribs, when the weight of memory and solitude threatened to pull her under, it was the sound of another breath in the room that reminded her: You're still here. You're still choosing.
She glanced at Kaydence, his breathing slow, his body finally surrendering to rest.
He didn't know it, but his presence had steadied more than just the air.
It had steadied her.
Meisha pulled the blanket higher over her shoulder, letting her eyes drift closed.
Tomorrow would bring questions.
But tonight, there was warmth.
And that was enough.
The fire dimmed to embers, casting long shadows across the stone floor.
Hours had past and Kaydence suddenly awoke in the middle of the night, laying still, eyes open, staring at the ceiling as if it might offer answers.
"Varrick."
The name pulsed in his thoughts like a bruise beneath the skin.
He turned slightly, just enough to glimpse Meisha's silhouette across the room—her back to him, shoulders relaxed, breath steady.
She had spoken her truth.
And now, without asking, she had offered him space to find his own.
Kaydence closed his eyes.
But sleep did not come easily.
Instead, memory stirred.
A briefing in the war tent—years ago.
A name mentioned in passing.
"Lord Varrick of Emberwyn. Keep an eye on him. His trade routes run too close to the demon border. And his loyalties…"
The voice had been his father's.
Low. Cautious. Certain.
Kaydence's eyes snapped open.
That's it.
He sat up slightly, heart quickening.
Across the room, Meisha stirred.
"Kaydence?" she whispered, voice thick with sleep.
He hesitated.
Then laid back down.
"It's nothing," he said softly. "Go back to sleep."
But his mind was awake now.
And the pieces were beginning to shift.