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Aiden walks over to me, bending down to bind the woman. I hold both her hands together while he ties the rope around and in between her wrists. She continues to stare, silently watching me as Aiden binds her hands. Something about her blank face feels more fearsome than if she was openly enraged.
I check that my legs are still firmly over her own so she can’t knee me between the legs or somehow get them up around my neck again. I’m still impressed by that last move she pulled. It’s hard not to be.
I’ve seen it a couple times during training exercises in the northeast, but I’ve never seen another recruit master that level of flexibility before. Did she train in Jadeya at some point? She looks Felshanian, but with as little as I know about her, I’m not taking it off the table just yet.
My curiosity is fully piqued. Her skin burns under my touch, and I realize I’m smothering her as I try to keep her contained. I lean back, giving her ample space to breath, free from what must have felt much like a stone atop her chest.
Aiden finishes tying the rope, and I slowly release her hands and lift my legs off her own one at a time. We each take a side, a hand under each arm, lifting her from the ground. She’s sturdier than she looks. I much expected her weight to mimic that of a lone feather. There must be more muscle forged in her frame than her clothes expose. Color rises to my cheeks at the thought, the inappropriateness of what her clothes do and don’t expose.
I inhale deeply, allowing composure and logic to return. “We are simply looking for a thief who stole from Sir Reynauld at the market. After we’ve questioned you and cleared your name, you’re free to go,” I tell her.
“And if I am the thief in question?” she asks.
I give a sideways glance in her direction. Is she admitting to it? I gesture toward her horse, and we begin walking the short distance.
“If you are the thief, you will be commissioned to return what was stolen to Reynauld plus ten percent, and maybe a few nights in Turin’s jail. If you can’t return what was stolen, you spend more time locked up, based on how much was taken, plus some kind of recompense for the person you stole from. Some kind of work and labor toward the bereft, left to the discretion of the Court.”
“What if what was taken wasn’t Reynaulds to begin with?” she asks. Everytime she speaks I wish she’d say more, her mystery quickly becoming something I want to unravel. I look at Aiden who raises an eyebrow and gives the slightest shrug.
“Can you prove that it wasn’t?” I respond.
“Can you prove it was?” She stops and looks up at me as we reach the horse. She’s smart. Most would give any information they could to a guard. But she seems more determined to fight me than anything, whether with fists or with words. I tense at our close proximity, trying hard to shut down my undesired delight.
I’m betrothed to the princess. It’s Lena my heart belongs to.
But even as I think the words, the lie sinks low in my gut. There’s no romantic love between us. I’ve tried to unwind her own feelings, and as far as I can tell, the platonic feeling is mutual. It has been easy up to this point to keep myself focused on my job and my future, to keep women and love at a distance— but my body wants to get closer to the girl next to me. I find myself wanting to know more about her, to ask questions and uncover the riddle that encompasses this thief.
“Why would you defend Sir Reynauld? He embodies all the things that are wrong with this world. Why help such a man?” There’s real pain beneath her words, allowing me, I decide, a rare glimpse beneath her cloak of indifference and her impenetrable exterior.
The torment I feel that she believes me capable of condoning this vile man’s actions, someone who would try and thwart those who would fight against his cruelty, feels deeply unsettling. There’s more to it, I want to tell her. No honorable person would side with Reynauld, least of all me. My debt to the kingdom, to the king and queen, is the only thing that moves any cooperation forward with that man.
I help him because his family brings in half the wealth of the country, and without it this land would crumble. I do his bidding at the request of the queen, because she’s on shaky ground after breaking the betrothal between Lena and Lady Davenport’s son. Amiable ties with the Kotarans are a necessity if Felshan is to have any sort of future.
The words fall flat against my throat before I can even open my mouth to speak them. I know it’s not enough, the explanation seeming like mere ramblings of a rich boy who wants to continue hoarding his gold. I want to make her see my side, to see how my hands are tied. But my lack of response sets her lips firmly together, the fortress of her mind shut tight once again.
I turn to Aiden. “I will stay here with Miss…” I trail off, waiting for her to fill in the blank. She looks forward, her expression blank once again. Ok— not going to get her name tonight. I try not to feel a little disappointed. “I will stay here with the prisoner. You go grab our horses, and we’ll tie this one up,” I nod to her horse, “behind Red. The girl can ride back to the palace barracks with me,” I say, looking towards the thief.
“Yes,” Aiden says, nodding once before running back into the trees. The girl and I are alone together once again.
“If you give me more information while we wait, I might be able to help you once we return to the palace. If you cooperate, I could convince the jailer to spring for a nicer cell as we sort all of this out.” It’s meant as a joke, but her blank expression shows just how far it missed the mark.
A defeated smile appears to cross her lips, completely devoid of humor. “You are all the same.”
“Who is all the same?”
“Guards. Royalty. Anyone with power to control the life of another. To make the rules.”
“And what, exactly, is the same?”
Her gaze moves to meet mine, a fire rising beneath the emptiness. “You want what you want, detached from the truth. As long as your pockets and egos remain full. You don’t care about the people you trample to get high up on your pedestal. You just want to get it done and over with so you can move on to your cushioned seats, expensive wines, and beautiful women at your every beck-and-call.”
“If someone is guilty, don’t they deserve to be punished?” I ask, trying to remain calm. Part of me understands her frustration and distrust, the other part of me is loyal to the job and title bestowed upon me.
“But the process of finding guilt is biased. It’s always guilty until proven innocent. You don’t have any idea if I took whatever it is this moron says I took. But I’m guilty nonetheless.” She motions with her restrained hands, unable to sweep her arms out in her frustration.
“Did you take what I think you took?”
She stops and looks at me. “Maybe.”
