Oathran and Arkai stood before the tent, two of the most formidable beings on the continent, looking at each other with the shared awkwardness of schoolboys who had just been tossed out of the library by a very strict, very small librarian.
Ah… mutual defeat. Only Cecilia Araceli could shoo them away like they were a scolded puppy and a sunning lizard.
Arkai cleared his throat, the 'formal lord' in him reasserting itself over 'the eavesdropper'. He placed a hand over his chest and bowed. "Your Majesty… again, thank you for saving me."
Oathran waved a hand, his smile kind. "As you know now, I would've died if not for her too. So, all that gratitude should solely be for her."
Arkai nodded, accepting the truth of it, but still thankful to him nonetheless. Then, his brow furrowed as he remembered a specific memory. "Could it be… at that time…?"
Oathran raised his eyebrows. He gave a solemn nod. "Yes. At that time."
