“Why would that be amusing?” Laisren asks.
“I just cannot imagine it,” she replies, fidgeting slightly. “The harbingers of death… in trousers and tunics.”
“Did you think we always dressed this way?” Riordan smirks.
Reminder: Never leave them alone together.
“Well,” she says, pondering. “Yes. I did… until now.”
“We’re as normal as any other being in Celestae, Miss Cale,” Laisren says. “Even if our job titles are quite?—”
“—evil?” she interjects.
“Complicated,” he finishes.
“Regardless, our priority is your wellbeing, and to bring you to King Tiernan,” I reply. “The longer we stand out here, debating how humorous you find the idea of tunics and trousers, is another moment that someone might figure out who you are. So, I suggest we get inside.”
The lighthearted behavior from moments before dissipates. The light drains from her eyes, and I want to fix it, even though I’m the cause.
I can’t, because it is not my place.
I am the general first and foremost, above all else.
“Lead on, High General,” she replies.
We march into the inn, single-file until we reach the inn-keeper’s desk, where the male clerk is reading material strewn out before him.
“We request a meal and three rooms,” I say.
“Of course, sir,” the clerk replies. His voice is quite odd and off-putting. He lifts his head and immediately blanches at the sight of us. As he does a double-take, his gaze doesn’t stay on my cadre. Instead, they land on Maeva, who’s standing between Laisren and Riordan. My body tenses, waiting to see what the man will do.
“Maeva?” he asks.
Her head snaps up upon hearing her name. Her eyes lock with the dark-haired man that can’t pull his gaze from her. It’s like they’re lost in a moment of their own. He’s the definition of what some women might refer to as “handsome”…for a commoner. Yet, something inside me wishes to rearrange his features if he continues ogling her that way.
Maeva sniffles, tears falling down her cheeks. Her voice is so meek when she finally greets the man.
“Hello, Gawain.”
The airaround us grows thicker—almost suffocatingly so. Its origin is radiating from where the general stands, but I can’t stop looking at Cara’s beloved. His beautiful dark hair is framing his features just as perfectly as the first time I saw him sitting at the tavern with the others. The man I’m sure my sister loved and wanted to marry—the one she had dreams and aspirations with…
They were supposed to have a life together.
What’s he doing in Delerauh? I thought he lived a few villages closer to Aurelius. Is the rest of the group here as well? If so, why travel all the way to Aurelius when you live in a city like this? Perhaps he has a very reasonable explanation, but something about this doesn’t make sense.
Yet, as I look into his beautiful eyes, I see no hints of grief or betrayal, but curiosity and fear. He probably hasn’t heard whathappened in Aurelius yet. Otherwise, he would’ve known about Cara, and he wouldn’t be looking at me the way he is now.
How can I tell him what I’ve done?
Gawain glances from me to the Cadre. His brows are pinched, as if several questions are whirling around in his mind. I wipe a hand across my damp eyes, and he tracks the movement.
“Maeva?” Gawain asks. I watch as his chest physically stiffens, his piercing eyes roaming over my face.
Then, someone clears their throat, snapping us out of our weird trance.
“Are you two well-acquainted?” the High General asks.
“H-He was supposed to be my sister’s fiancé,” I say.