Hilda, wrapped in a sheet, watched Paul as he got dressed, admiring the efficient, fluid way he fastened the leather straps of his light armor.
"So…" she began, her voice still hoarse with sleep. "What's the plan, adventurer? Are we going to keep running from inn to inn until I run out of money from my jewels, or until my fiancé's men find us?"
Paul turned, a confident smile on his face. He walked over and gave her a quick kiss.
"Plan A: get our own money. Plan B: I teach you how to use a sword so next time, you're not the one who needs protecting. Plan C: all of the above, plus breakfast. We'll start with C."
His logic was simple and direct, and Hilda loved it. For the first time in her life, her future wasn't a straight, paved road, but a blank map, and the man holding the pen was the most charming scoundrel she had ever met.
The walk from the inn to the Adventurers' Guild was a revelation for Hilda. Accustomed to carriages and the pristine streets of the capital, she now had to tread carefully over mud and uneven stones, her elegant traveling dress completely out of place. Paul walked beside her, moving with a natural ease.
"That's Gorn the butcher's stall," he pointed out with an amused smile. "His wild boar sausage is legendary. And over there is Old Elara's shop. They say her potions can cure anything, except stupidity."
"Fascinating," Hilda replied, dodging a puddle. "Is your whole life like this? Dodging puddles and looking for sausages?"
"Sometimes. Other times, I'm dodging griffin claws and looking for treasure," he said, guiding her around a corner. "It's an honest life."
The inside of the Adventurers' Guild hit her with a cacophony of smells: metal, leather, and spilled ale. A chorus of coarse voices and booming laughter filled the air. Hilda felt incredibly exposed, but she walked beside Paul with her head held high, her noble bearing acting as an invisible shield.
While Paul examined the quest board, a pair of adventurers at a nearby table laid their eyes on Hilda.
"Well, well…" said one, a burly man with a scar on his cheek. "Look what the cat dragged in. You lost, doll?"
Hilda ignored them with regal coldness, but Paul tensed. His hand, which had been about to pull a request from the board, clenched into a fist.
His woman. The thought was possessive, instinctual. My woman.
He turned slowly, a dangerously calm smile on his lips.
"Is there a problem, gentlemen?"
"Nothing that can't be solved if you share your new acquisition," replied the other, a thinner man with beady eyes.
Paul was a second away from drawing his sword, but a delicate hand landed on his arm.
"Paul," Hilda's voice was a low murmur. "They're not worth it."
He looked at her. He saw the calm in her eyes, the complete absence of fear. She was asking him to maintain his own dignity. For the first time in a long while, reason won out over his temper. He let out a sigh.
"You're right. No time for trash."
The scarred man stood up, offended.
"Who are you calling trash, pretty boy?"
Before the situation could explode, a deep voice echoed from the bar.
"That's enough, Borin. Or do I need to remind your wife about your 'hunting trip' last month? Sit down and shut your mouth."
The Guild Master, a burly man with a braided beard that fell across his chest, watched them with his arms crossed. Borin went pale and sat down abruptly.
"Greyrat," the master continued, his voice restrained thunder. "My office. And bring your... companion."
Paul gave a single, tense nod. He took Hilda's hand and led her through the boisterous hall to an oak door at the back. The Guild Master followed them, closing the door behind him and plunging the room into a silence broken only by the crackling of a fireplace.
"This is no place for her, Paul. You know that," the man said, walking around a desk covered in maps and contracts. His name was Kaelen.
"She decides where her place is, Kaelen," Paul replied, his tone firm.
Kaelen snorted, studying Hilda with sharp eyes that missed no detail, from her silk dress to the determination in her posture.
"She's a noble. This world will eat her alive."
"Not if I can help it," Paul answered.
Then, Hilda stepped forward, her voice clear and firm, with no trace of the doubt she felt inside.
"With all due respect, Guild Master, my place is where I choose it to be. I didn't come here to hide behind anyone. I came to learn. I will not be a burden."
Silence filled the room. Kaelen watched her, and a slow smile spread across his bearded face. He looked at Paul.
"You've got more guts than I gave you credit for, boy. Both of you. Alright. If she wants to learn, let her learn the hard way. There's a pack of wolves stalking the eastern route. It's a simple job, good for testing a rookie's mettle. Go. And you," he said, pointing at Hilda, "try not to die. It'd be a hell of a lot of paperwork."
When they left the office and returned to the main hall, it was Hilda who spoke first, her new resolve forged in the fire of that confrontation.
"I want to learn to fight. Now. If I'm going to live in your world, I won't be an ornament."
Paul looked at her and saw the flame that Kaelen had seen. He smiled, a genuine grin full of pride. He dragged her down the street to the blacksmith's shop, a noisy place that smelled of coal and hot metal.
"Gunther, you old bastard!" Paul shouted over the sound of hammers. "I need a sword for a beginner! Good, nice-looking, and above all, cheap!"
The blacksmith, a muscular, bald dwarf, wiped the sweat from his brow.
"Cheap? Since when does a Greyrat care about the price? I thought your family bathed in gold."
"That family isn't mine," Paul replied coldly. "And the money I have is what I've earned with the sweat of my brow. So show me what you've got that doesn't require selling a kidney."
The haggling was a spectacle. Paul inspected every blade, tested every balance, and pointed out every imperfection, arguing over the price of every copper coin with a tenacity that made Hilda laugh. Finally, he chose a shortsword. It wasn't a work of art, but a simple, practical, and perfectly balanced blade.
"Here," he said, handing it to her.
She took it, surprised by the weight.
"I'll pay you back…"
"No," he interrupted. "It's a gift. During today's hunt, you'll use a sword I gave you. I'm going to teach you how to fight."
The battle in the forest was chaos. Hilda's first lunge was a disaster—the swing was too wide and made her lose her balance. In a moment of panic, a wolf lunged at her. Paul moved like lightning, his sword intercepting the wolf at the last second.
He had to save her several times, but between the moments of panic, something new was born in Hilda. The adrenaline, the danger, the feeling of the steel in her hand… and the sight of Paul fighting. It was a lethal and beautiful dance. After a couple of mistakes, she started to follow his shouts.
"Hilda, guard up! Keep the sword high!"
"Don't stab, slice! Use the blade's weight!"
At one point, a wolf flanked her. She remembered his words, spun on her heels, and with a clumsy but lucky slash, managed to wound the wolf in its leg. The animal yelped and retreated. A wild, euphoric smile spread across Hilda's face.
She was having fun. She was having a lot of fun.
When the last wolf fell, they were both exhausted, covered in sweat, dirt, and some blood. They collapsed at the foot of a large tree. Paul wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
"You did well for your first time. You got scared, you fell, but you got back up. And you didn't run. That takes more courage than anything else."
The compliment, so simple and sincere, thrilled her in a way no courtly word ever had. A beautiful, tired smile lit up her face. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Why are you doing all this for me?" she whispered.
Paul was silent for a moment. Then, he looked into her eyes.
"Because I've already decided."
"Decided what?"
"That you're going to be my wife."
Hilda choked. She looked at him, expecting to see a joke, but found only absolute seriousness. And then, she burst out laughing.
"You're insane."
"Probably."
She shook her head, her laughter turning into a playful smile.
"I'll give you a chance, Paul Greyrat. But you'll have to win my heart first. If you don't… I'll run away from you just like I did from Philip."
He looked at her, his expression turning comically serious.
"Deal. Prepare to be won over, Hilda. You won't stand a chance."
She laughed again. He took her challenge as a joke, but deep down, they both knew that something real and powerful had begun under the shade of that tree, in the middle of a forest full of dead wolves.