"You live here?" Raymun asked, blinking at the cramped single room. Mud walls, a clay pot, a low straw mattress pushed neatly into the corner. Smaller than her bathing chambers at the palace—far smaller. And yet, there was warmth to the space, a sense of being lived-in… almost safe.
"I do," he said simply, moving through the shadows as though the walls bent to his presence.
Then, with a quick, teasing glance over his shoulder:
"Make yourself comfortable, Princess."
Princess.
The word twisted in her stomach, tightening her pulse. He knew who she was. Knew her name. Knew her place in the palace hierarchy. And yet… he brought her here. To hide her. To protect her? Or trap her?
"Umm… why are we here?" she whispered, eyes flitting to the lone mattress, the single wooden stool, the narrow window letting in slivers of dawn light. Everything was simple, impossibly tidy. Not a speck of dust, nothing out of place.
He disappeared behind a low curtain. For a moment, terrifyingly, she thought he had abandoned her. But he returned, carrying a wooden mug of milk and a small piece of bread.
She accepted the mug, warmth seeping into her fingers, but gently pushed the bread aside. It looked as though it could chip a tooth.
His lips curved—something close to a smile. "Believe it or not, I'm in hiding," he said lightly.
For the first time, his voice didn't cut like a blade. Inside these walls, his edges softened. Handsome. Tired. Human—almost. But there was still an aura about him, subtle and unshakable, like the whisper of death riding just behind him.
"So that makes two of us," she murmured, sipping the honey-sweet milk. Warmth spread across her tongue… and deeper, into her chest.
He lowered himself to sit cross-legged at the small table, tapping the empty spot beside him. She hesitated, then followed, landing on the hard floor. No cushions. No comfort. Of course.
"Thank you," she said quietly, setting the mug down. Her pulse was still erratic, adrenaline not fully spent.
He studied her, golden eyes calm, unblinking, yet piercing. The faintest shadow of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"So…" she began, struggling to find authority in her voice. "Why did you bring me here? Are you going to turn me in? Or… am I supposed to trust you?"
He leaned forward, head resting on his hand, a single dark brow raised. "If I wanted to betray you, Princess, I would have waved the soldiers over instead of dragging you through half the river."
His voice rolled from him, deep and dark as the Nile at midnight, yet softened with something almost… human.
She swallowed, heart hammering. "…Good point," she muttered, trying to emulate the generals she had seen at the palace. Her voice came out weaker than she'd hoped.
"Then why are we here?" she pressed, unable to peel her gaze away from his. His golden eyes never wavered—unrelenting. It was infuriating. And disarming.
He straightened. The softness was gone. "Because we can strike a deal."
"A deal?" Her pulse jumped.
"I can protect you," he said slowly, deliberately. "And you can help me, Raymun."
Her name on his tongue startled her—smooth, familiar, almost intimate.
"So you know who I am." she breathed. "And you know my name"
"I know many things," he said, running a hand through his long black hair. "Your name is the least interesting among them."
Something flickered between them—offense? Curiosity? She couldn't tell.
"Then why would you protect me? What do you want in return?" Her eyes flicked toward the small mattress in the corner, heart skipping a beat. No. Surely not.
He laughed—low, warm, carrying a dangerous undertone. "Relax. It's nothing like the thoughts racing through that wild head of yours."
She flushed, unaccustomed to feeling so off balance.
"Alright…" she murmured. Still, she didn't know his name. She glared. He only leaned back, unbothered, impossibly confident.
"How can I help you?" she asked finally, chin lifted, trying to reclaim her own authority.
"You've already helped," he said softly, almost reverently. "You just don't realize it yet."
His tone shifted then—firm, scolding, almost like a general commanding a soldier. "Jumping into the river wasn't clever, by the way. Not for me. Not for you."
She bristled, ready to argue—but he was right. She had survived by instinct. And yet…
"I planned to survive," she said, chin high. "And I did."
A genuine smile tugged at his mouth, fleeting but real. "Yes. You did."
Then his voice dropped, a whisper that cut through the warmth of the room. "You planned to survive… and I plan to make you the last Nile Bride."
The words fell like a stone into deep water. Her chest tightened. Heart hammering.
He never blinked. He was deadly serious. And terrifyingly certain.
Raymun realized, for the first time, that survival might not just be about escaping the palace—it might be about understanding him, the power he carried, and the dangerous path he now offered.