Dahlia was exhausted. Her day is not turning out the way she expected it to be. She sat on a horse being pulled by a random man. She was right beside Timothée as he rode on his horse. The rest of the group of men rode behind. Dahlia was full of rage. This was the man who is leading a revolution against her father, against her. She started to think of ways she could escape, all of them involved violence. Dahlia instinctively slapped her wrists.

A lady should not think of such violent ideas. Dahlia could remember every single punishment she got from Lady Halloway. Whenever she did something that was not ladylike, she would receive a punishment. Typically a slap on the wrist by some sharp object.

Timothée turned and gave a questioning glance to her, wondering why she randomly slapped herself. Dahlia turned away from his questioning gaze. She mustered up the courage to speak.

"If I am your prisoner," she chose her words carefully, "why aren't I tied up? And why do I get a horse and Henry has to walk?" Dahlia turned to see Henry trailing a few feet behind. He continued to walk in the hot sun with thick metal armour and tight rope around his wrists.

"Because he's dangerous and can hurt one of my men," Timothée responded. Dahlia pretended she didn't notice his constant glances on their long ride. Now, his green eyes stayed locked on her face, Dahlia not making eye contact. His response seemed to anger her more.

"Who says I'm not dangerous? Is it because I'm a girl?" Dahlia slapped her wrist again. She shouldn't lash out. The bandage that was put over the cut on her hand started to loosen. Timothée's eyebrows creased at the sight of her hitting herself. 

"Not because you're a girl. If you could fight, you would've fought Adrian." Timothée motions behind them to the same blonde boy that dragged Dahlia out of her carriage. She made a mental note to remember his name. She didn't know what to say and had trouble trying to form words.

"Where are we going?" Dahlia questioned. They've been riding for well over an hour in the woods. Dahlia hoped for it to turn dark soon.

"Back to my camp. Where my people are." Timothée replied while turning to look ahead. His people? This was her father's Kingdom, her father's land, and her father's people. Not his.

"Once they realize I'm not where I'm supposed to be, they'll send search parties. My father is going to be angry. He'll-"

"Your father is nothing more than a drunk with anger issues and a thirst for others pain." Timothée gripped the reins on his horse. His jaw moved slightly. A small vein appeared on the side of his neck.

"How dare you-" Dahlia interrupted herself this time. She slapped her wrist repeatedly for each foul word she was about the use. "A lady cannot." She mimicked the words of Lady Holloway under her breath.

"A lady cannot what?" He seemed to calm down and now looked at her with what could be possibly described as guilt. Dahlia huffed and looked down, her hair cascading in front of her. "My lady, just answer the question." She looked up and saw a large camp full of hundreds of tents. There must have been at least 2,000 people camping there.

"It seems we've made it to your camp." The horses stopped and the rest of the men that were once following them dispersed. Two of them dragged Henry away and Dahlia resisted the urge to chase after them. Timothée got off his horse and let another person lead it away. He turned and walked towards Dahlia and held out both of his hands.

"I can get off a horse just fine myself." She shot towards him before sliding off. Once she was on the ground she turned and noticed that her body was close to Timothée. She looked up at him and he smirked.

"Follow me." He ordered before wandering off. Dahlia followed behind him. They twisted and maneuvered their way through tents before coming up to a large one. It was bigger than the other tents and Dahlia knew it belonged to him. They walked in and she saw a large gathering area with a table full of maps and random tools. The chairs around were placed in random order. The room was fairly messy.

There was a curtain on the right side of the tent that was slightly open and Dahlia could see what looked to be a bedroom of sorts. A few feet across from that and to the left was another curtain leading to another room.

"Sit," Timothée ordered her. Dahlia sat in one of the chairs. He entered the right side of the tent and came back out with a glass pitcher and two goblets. He sat across from her and placed the items on the table. Pouring wine in both of the glasses, Timothée leaned back in his chair, taking a large gulp. Dahlia stared at the drink with her hands placed delicately in her lap. Her back was straight and her posture was perfect. Just like her lessons.

"It's not poisoned if that's what you think." Timothée smiled and let out an airy laugh.

"A lady cannot drink. Only for celebrations." Dahlia didn't even sound like herself anymore. She started to sound a lot like Lady Halloway and it almost scared her.

"This is a celebration. I've freed you from your father."

"You kidnapped me!" Dahlia shouted. She shrunk back into her chair and slapped her wrist again.

"Tell me, Princess Dahlia, wherever  you were going, did you want to go there?" Timothée's head tilted and the two made eye contact.

"No, but-"

"Has your father ever done anything for you? Something that you want?"

"Well no, but that's not the point." Dahlia tried to argue back.

"Where were you going?" Timothée questioned. At this point he leaned forward, showing his interest.

"That's information you don't need to know." She refuted.

"Answer the question." His hands were flat on the table.

"I was being brought to the next Kingdom. I am to marry Prince Charlie." Dahlia's voice wavered. She did not want to marry him. She saw Charlie on rare occasions at gatherings. Each time they talked he was nothing but crude and touchy. This was her duty though. Her job to protect her family name.

"Well damn, I did save you. That Prince is a douche." Timothée started to laugh, "Why would you marry that?" Even though it was a joke, Dahlia chose to answer.

"For his army. My father intends to crush you and the rebellion." She felt a sense of pride. She hoped it may intimidate him.

"That is funny." He responds after calming down.

"I'm serious. Both my father's men and Prince Charlie's men will be looking for me. You have nowhere to run." Dahlia's words must have struck a chord in him and he stood up abruptly. He pointed to the left side of the tent.

"There is an extra bed in there along with a few books. You are not permitted to leave this tent. Understand?" Timothée didn't wait for her response and stormed out of the tent, calling two men to stay on watch outside and make sure Dahlia didn't leave. She sighed and left the drinks on the table.

Wandering over and moving the fabric out of the way, she walked into the small room. There was a small cot, a tiny chest, a small table with a chair and a pile of books stacked on top. Her fingers traced the spine of them before coming across one. The Fleeting Swan. It was a tragic love story. One of Dahlia's favourites. She smiled and picked it up, sitting down on the bed and opening it up.

____________________

Dahlia sat at the table once again silently eating dinner. The sun just set and the room was alight with small candles. They cast a soft glow around everything, wrapping it up in a sense of warmth.  Timothée sat across from her, eating while staring at papers. They haven't had any conversation since earlier on in the day. Dahlia couldn't take the silence when others are around, yet she stayed silent too.

"Why do you keep slapping your wrists?" Timothée's question came out of nowhere and Dahlia almost choked on her food.

"I'm sorry?" She questioned him.

"Your wrists," he stated before chewing another piece of meat, "why do you hit them?"

"Punishment. When a lady says something inappropriate or out of line she must be punished." Dahlia answered. She was used to it and saw no wrong.

"Well, that's stupid," Timothée responded. He finished his food and gently moved the plate to the side. Dahlia learned that he was a very blunt person that spoke his mind. "It doesn't matter if you're a lady or not, you should have the right to speak your mind."

"Growing up, I was never allowed that kind of freedom. I never wanted it. Tell me, why should I long for something I've never experienced?" The words slipped out of her mouth before she could control them. Knowing that she acted out of line, Dahlia raised her hand to slap one of her wrists. Before her hand made contact with it, Timothée held hers up.

"Stop. You're in my camp now, under my rules. You get to choose for yourself." He told her. His green eyes pierced her blue ones.

"So I can leave?" Dahlia challenged. He sighed and let go of her hand, looking down at the table and running a hand through his hair.

"You know I can't do that." The conversation felt like it ended until Timothée looked back up at her, "Is your hand alright?" Dahlia almost forgot about the cloth wrapped around the cut on her hand. He moved his chair so he was on her side.

The candlelight cast glows of warmth across his face. The darkness of his features seemed more cut. His hands wrapped around her hurt one and Dahlia just now realized how bigger he was compared to her. She would normally feel small and inferior like most of the time living in the large castle, but here she felt something different. It was a feeling she couldn't pinpoint.

He gently unwrapped the cloth and saw that her wound was still a little dirty and very bloody. Timothée told her to wait and he left the tent, coming back a few minutes later with a small wooden bowl of water and a few bits of new cloth.

He sat down in front of her and dipped one of the cloths in water before holding her hand with one hand and holding the wet cloth with another. He gently cleaned her wound. Dahlia flinched and he lightly squeezed her hand, trying to comfort her. After he was done, he wrapped it all up.

They stayed there for a while, listening to people talking outside. Timothée used his index finger to lift up her chin. His face showed confliction and it looked like he wanted to say something. A loud crash outside followed with drunk laughter stirred them out of their haze. They simultaneously moved back in their chairs.

"I think it's best you go to sleep. We have things to do tomorrow." Timothée coughed out, awkwardly standing up and moving to his side of the tent. He pushed aside the fabric and almost walked in before Dahlia called out.

"The Fleeting Swan," he turned around to look at her, "It was in the pile of books. It's one of my favourites. Have you read it?"

"Yes, it's one of my favourites, too." Timothée gave her a light smile before retreating to his room.