The horse knew its way back to Morakar without guidance, which allowed Fiama time to focus on exactly what had happened and how she was going to come back from it. She balanced in the saddle as she undid her jacket and reached beneath her shirt to loosen her bindings, all while contemplating the disaster that was about to ensue upon Ziedas' arrival.

And it had nothing to do with her botched rescue attempt of the Emissary from Ithoya.

The cabin in the distance brought her attention back to the road, and Fiama smiled at the familiar sight. Jeraf had been her best friend and closest companion ever since she was a child, and his position as the kingdom's head stablehand made hiding her favorite horse at his cabin and not within the castle's own stables for her nighttime escapades all the more convenient.

Like clockwork, his front door opened as soon as she crested the hilltop as if he was watching and waiting for her return the moment she said her goodbyes. His silhouette almost blocked out the light from within and after years of hard work and manual labor he carried himself much older than a young man of twenty years.

No words were exchanged as she approached, no well-wishes or greetings as she dismounted and handed him her horse's reins, no inquiries about her evening as he took the horse away to the stable at the side of the cabin while she made her way inside.

The cabin was a small yet comfortable structure with its main room partitioned off into a cooking area, a table and chairs for dining, and the main sitting area that surrounded an already-ignited fireplace. Its only bedroom was down a small hallway, with a bathing room located across from it.

Fiama wasted no time trudging her way through the cabin, moving towards the bedroom where a stash of her own wardrobe awaited her. She felt it foolish, keeping her clothing and toiletries in Jeraf's private sleeping quarters, but he insisted she do so if she was going to continue to use his home as her safe house.

"No one will ask questions if you're coming and going in your normal attire, and looking no worse than you did when you left," he explained to her after her first attempt at vigilantism left her shirt torn from a close encounter with a blade and her face dusty from a scuffle in the dirt. She had washed and borrowed one of his older shirts, but considered the advice and brought a satchel with her own garments the next evening she decided to set out again.

She gathered up a clean shirt of her own and soft leggings to wear underneath before disappearing into the bathing room. The moment she saw the bathtub it was as though her muscles all at once decided to give out and she could barely move to turn on the tap. It had been months since she began this endeavor, and she insisted to Jeraf, despite his protests about her well-being, that she'd eventually get used to the stress on her body— the late nights, the overexertion, the flirtations with death...

Sitting on the porcelain edge of the tub as she waited for the bath to fill, she closed her eyes only for a moment. Her kingdom needed her, she reminded herself against the pounding in her skull. No one else was going to protect their roads or their people, so it was up to her to make sure their corruption was seen for what it truly was.

Selfishness. Entitlement. Greed.

How many lives had she saved night after night? It was a thankless task, but one she welcomed. Rarely did she interact with her rescuees, the victims often too scared to linger when their lives had already been saved and not willing to test their luck twice. Never was there gratitude, and so long as her people survived, that was all that mattered.

At least, that was all that had mattered.

Until that night...

Her eyes flung open and she let out a curse as the feeling of bathwater caressed her thigh and, in a panic, she shut off the flow before the tub overflowed.

She quickly stripped and bathed, trying her best to give as little thought as possible to the evening's events and refocus on what it would potentially mean for her in the morning.

There would be an official welcome of the Emissary, with the elaborate fanfare of a kingdom who couldn't afford it but would tax its people to make up for the debt. There would be a ball held in their honor, to further exploit the kingdom in a futile attempt to prove to Ithoya that Morakar was a more-than-worthy ally. Fiama wouldn't have put it past her parents to offer her hand in marriage to the Emissary himself if he happened to have been unmarried. She would even put gold on a bet that her parents would have attempted to offer her to him regardless.

A lazy smile graced her lips as she sunk lower in the lavender-scented water. How disappointed they would be when they discovered it wasn't the Emissary visiting them at all, but his spoiled brat of a daughter with blonde hair like silk and blue eyes like hydrangeas and a cynical laugh that made Fiama's skin dance and her body tense...

No, she reprimanded her overactive inner dialogue. There will be none of that.

With a groan she sat up and pulled the plug, watching the water as it began to disappear down the drain. If only leaving her kingdom and her responsibilities behind her were as easy as slinking down a draining pipe. It would help her avoid her parents, and circumvent another encounter with Ziedas of Ithoya.

Drying off with one of Jeraf's borrowed towels, she quickly dressed and emerged from the bathing room, toweling her hair dry as she padded back into the cabin's main room. Jeraf had returned from the stable and was standing in the kitchen at the stovetop, plating something that smelled like a stew. He kept his black hair long and tied back into a tail at the base of his neck, and his shirt was rolled up his strong arms to his elbows. Even the muscles in his back seemed to ripple with the simple task of food preparation.

"You didn't need to cook for me," she murmured as she slouched into the closest chair at the dining table.

"Get over yourself," he mused as he turned with a bowl and a basket of bread in his hands. "I made this for myself, and you get the leftovers."

"Ever so charitable," she chided but sat up straighter as the steaming bowl of what was indeed stew was placed in front of her. She wasted no time picking up the spoon and devouring the food, tearing chunks of bread to sop up the remaining broth when there wasn't enough left in the bowl to eat with a spoon.

Jeraf watched her with an amused smirk and a gleam in his grey eyes. She knew the exact thoughts that ran through his mind.

"Don't say it," she said around a piece of bread.

"Say what?"

"What you always say after you've let me bathe and you feed me."

"That you should just marry me and I could take care of you like this for the rest of your life?"

"No, the other thing."

"Oh, the part about you working yourself into an early grave because you think you're doing something that's going to make a difference."

"That's the one." She winked.

"And you get no recognition for it, no reward."

"I'm not looking for reward."

"But the recognition?"

"Recognition would be nice."

"Not in this kingdom. Not by your parents."

"Not yet anyway."

He arched a brow in question as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Fiama swallowed the bread before responding. "You know who was expected to arrive tonight."

He nodded. "The Emissary from Ithoya."

"Only it wasn't him in the carriage."

"He sent a decoy?"

Fiama shook her head. "He sent his daughter."

Now both of Jeraf's brows rose. "Your parents are not going to appreciate that."

"No, they are not." She couldn't keep the glee from her tone. "But Ziedas is not here to fuck around."

"Pity for you."

The immediate heat that came to her cheeks was unexpected and she tried her best to ignore it.

Jeraf, on the other hand, didn't miss a beat. "So, you've already been acquainted? Fi, you never cease to amaze me."

She glared but deigned to give in to his accusations. "She doesn't know who I am or that it was me on the road tonight, and it needs to stay that way. For her sake and for mine."

"What happened?" The concern in his voice may have melted the heart of anyone else, but Fiama and Jeraf had known each other for far too long for emotion to come between them.

She let out a slow breath. "I tried to save her. She didn't need rescuing— in fact, she was pretty adept at taking out a brigand or two herself. Neither of us left there without blood on our hands."

An impressed whistle hissed through Jaref's teeth.

"So, if she wants to protect herself, she won't bring too much attention to what happened on the road," Fiama continued, ignoring his reaction. "Besides, when she arrives tomorrow for her formal introduction, my parents are going to have a hard enough time keeping themselves in check when they try to get over the slight of Emissary Brokand not coming on his own. "

"You can't believe she's going to visit a neighboring kingdom on a diplomatic mission and not mention being attacked on the road."

"Oh, on the contrary— I know that's exactly what she's going to do."

"But you don't want her to know it's you?"

"I don't want my parents to know it's me. And I don't trust her to keep a secret, not when the rest of the world is out to prove that we're as horrible as they think we are."

"But we are horrible. Worse."

"Which is why they're going to make me show the Emissary— or rather, Ziedas— how amazing we are, and that the rest is just rumors, lies, and a few bad guards."

Jeraf snorted, knowing well the state of the kingdom's guards. Too many times they wanted him to join in on their wagers and back-alley dealings, hoping to get their hands on this livestock to further benefit their black market payroll. He refused every time, and no one challenged him knowing how close he was to the Princess.

At least that position seemed to benefit both of them, and through Jeraf she discovered the next planned attacks, making the guards none the wiser as to whom could be foiling their carefully concocted plans.

"It seems you have it all planned out," Jeraf said, breaking the short silence, "except for one thing."

She blinked, mentally calculating everything they had just discussed. The ambush on the road, avoiding revealing her true identity to Ziedas, showing the Emissary's daughter a carefully planned trip through Morakar...

"Timin will be arriving tomorrow as well."

Fiama's head hit the table.

"He's not that bad, Fiama," Jeraf insisted.

"No, he's not. And that's what makes it worse."

"Is this because he's my cousin and you're afraid of hurting my feelings?" he teased.

Fiama looked up. "It's because he's male and he deserves someone who wants to be with him."

"You two seem to enjoy one another's company well enough whenever he visits."

"And every time I decline his advances. I'm just lucky he's an intelligent gentleman, even when he's in his drink, to understand that when a lady says 'no' she means it."

"He was raised right."

"Can't say much else for the rest of the degenerates in this kingdom."

Jeraf grunted in response.

Adding Timin into the equation would complicate matters, especially if he insisted on spending time with her when she was tasked with hosting Ziedas, all while trying to distract Ziedas from the harsh realities that lay behind their kingdom's walls and avoid any questions about the rogue vigilante patrolling their roads better than their guards.

At the same time, she'd have her parents breathing down her neck to represent them better than they ever could themselves. With the heightened social attention, they'd demand she agree to marry Timin, produce an heir either before or after the wedding, better their kingdom on their behalf while they continued to indulge, and get out of their castle and become someone else's problem as soon as possible.

Gods help her.