The forest grew denser as they traveled, ancient trees blocking out most of the sunlight and creating a perpetual twilight. Princess Reloua—though the man didn't know her title—struggled to keep pace with her silent companion.
He moved through the wilderness like he'd been born to it, his footsteps barely making a sound while hers seemed to crash through every pile of leaves and snap every twig. More than once she opened her mouth to ask him to slow down, but the memory of his cold eyes and flat refusal to learn her name kept her silent.
Hours passed. The sun climbed higher, though they could barely see it through the canopy. Her legs burned. Her throat was parched. The adrenaline that had kept her moving after the fight had long since faded, leaving only exhaustion and the dull throb of fear.
Still, he didn't stop.
Finally, when Reloua was certain she would collapse, the man raised his hand.
"We'll rest here," he said, the first words he'd spoken in hours. "Five minutes. Drink water if you have it. We move again soon."
Reloua sank against a tree trunk gratefully, her legs trembling. She had no water—she'd lost her supplies when the ambush happened. Her companion noticed her empty hands and, after a moment's hesitation, tossed her a water skin.
"Small sips," he instructed. "Make it last."
She obeyed, the warm water tasting better than any wine she'd ever had at court. When she tried to hand it back, he shook his head.
"Keep it. I have another."
"Thank you," she said softly.
He didn't acknowledge the gratitude, already scanning their surroundings with those alert, suspicious eyes. Always watching. Always calculating.
"Those men," Reloua ventured after a moment. "You fought them like... like you've done it before. Many times."
"I have."
"Are you a soldier?"
"No."
"A mercenary?"
"No."
Reloua bit her lip, frustrated by the wall he'd built around himself. "Then what are you?"
For the first time, he looked directly at her, and she saw something flicker in his eyes—not quite anger, but close.
"Someone who wants to stay alive. That's all you need to know." He stood abruptly. "Rest is over. We move."
They walked in silence for another two hours before he finally stopped again, this time at a small clearing where a stream cut through the forest.
"We'll make camp here for the night," he announced. "Stay close to the water. I'm going to hunt for food."
"Wait," Reloua called as he turned to leave. "What if those mercenaries come while you're gone?"
He paused, considering. Then he drew one of his daggers and held it out to her, handle first.
"If anyone comes who isn't me, run. Don't try to fight." His eyes were serious. "And if I don't come back by nightfall, follow the stream south. It'll lead you toward Gold Land eventually."
Reloua took the dagger with shaking hands, the weight of it unfamiliar and terrifying.
He disappeared into the forest without another word, moving so quietly she lost sight of him within seconds.
Alone, Reloua sank down by the stream and finally allowed herself to fully process everything that had happened. Dakare's sacrifice. The terror of hiding in the tree. The brutal efficiency with which this stranger had killed three men to save her.
No—not to save her. To save himself from complications.
She should be offended by his coldness, by his refusal to show even basic courtesy to someone of her station. But instead, she found herself grudgingly grateful. He hadn't abandoned her. He could have, easily, but he hadn't.
The sound of footsteps made her jump, but it was only him returning, two large rabbits dangling from his hand.
"You're still here," he observed, almost surprised.
"Where else would I go?"
"Some people panic when left alone. Do something stupid." He knelt by the stream to clean the rabbits. "You have more sense than I expected."
It wasn't quite a compliment, but coming from him, it felt like one.
As the sun began to set, he built a small fire with practiced efficiency, positioning it so the smoke would dissipate through the canopy rather than rise in a visible column. The rabbits roasted slowly, the smell making Reloua's stomach growl audibly.
"Finally, good food," she said when he handed her a portion.
"Right. All we lack is beverage and entertainment," he replied with the ghost of a smile—the first one she'd seen from him.
They ate in companionable silence for a while before he spoke again.
"You said you were from Gold Land?"
Reloua hesitated. He'd said no names, but surely her kingdom wasn't too much information? "I'm from the Gold Land. I was... traveling through Ankh when we were attacked."
"Traveling alone?" His tone suggested he knew that wasn't the full truth.
"No. I had an escort. They're..." Her voice caught. "They're dead. Except maybe Dakare. Maybe."
He nodded slowly, chewing his food. "And now you need to get home."
"Yes."
"That's where I'm headed," he said after a moment. "At dawn, we'll exit the forest of Botankeu and cross the border to the Gold Kingdom."
Relief flooded through her. "Thank you. I know you said you're not a hero, but—"
"I'm not." His voice was firm. "We both need each other right now. You need protection. I need..." He paused. "Information. About Gold Land. That's all this is."
"Straight to the point," Reloua said, echoing his earlier words. She took another bite of rabbit, grease running down her chin. Court manners seemed ridiculous out here in the wilderness. "Since we both need each other for now, let's journey together."
He watched her across the fire, and for a moment something like approval flickered in his eyes.
"Get some sleep," he said finally. "I'll keep watch."
"What about you? You need rest too."
"I'll sleep later. Someone needs to make sure we're not ambushed in our sleep."
Reloua wanted to argue, but exhaustion was pulling at her like a physical weight. She curled up near the fire, the dagger he'd given her clutched to her chest, and within minutes she was asleep.
In the darkness, Teleu kept his vigil, his thoughts troubled. The girl—whoever she really was—had gotten under his skin somehow. Her stubbornness. Her refusal to break even when terrified. The way she'd thanked him even though he'd made it clear he wasn't doing this for her.
Three days ago, he would have left her to her fate without a second thought.
Now, watching her sleep peacefully despite everything she'd been through, he felt the unfamiliar weight of something that might have been responsibility.
He shook his head, pushing the feeling away. Attachments got you killed. Caring about people got you killed. His mother had cared about her people, about justice, about doing what was right—and she'd died for it.
Teleu wouldn't make the same mistake.
When Gold Land's borders came into view, they would part ways. She would return to whoever was waiting for her, and he would disappear into the crowds of a kingdom large enough to hide in.
That was the plan.
The only plan that made sense.