Kai’s POV
The waterfall’s roar faded behind them, replaced by the familiar chorus of the forest, but the silence between Kai and the girl felt different. It was no longer just empty; it was charged, humming with the unspoken understanding they’d forged at the cliff’s edge.
He’d shown her a sliver of decency. A tactical move, he told himself. A stable asset is a compliant asset. But the lie rang hollow even to him. He’d seen the raw, animal terror on her face as the sound consumed her, and a part of him—a part he’d thought long buried—had reacted not as a mercenary, but as a man.
The memory was interrupted by the scent of woodsmoke and roasting meat. A trading post, little more than a widened spot in the road with a stable and a stout wooden building, came into view. It was a necessary risk. They needed proper supplies. Hardtack and jerky wouldn’t last forever.
He reined Bastion to a halt a reasonable distance from the post, the commotion of the place just a dull roar in his damaged hearing. Swinging down from the saddle, he landed softly on the balls of his feet before turning to Zara.
His expression was grim, all traces of understanding at the waterfall locked away behind the mask of the mercenary. Wordlessly, he reached into a saddlebag and pulled out a long, dark woolen scarf.
He held it up, his flinty eyes locking with her wide, wary ones. It was not a question. It was a necessity.
“Arms up,” he commanded, his voice low.
When she hesitated, he didn’t wait. He looped the scarf around her neck himself, his movements swift and efficient. He was careful—his movements brisk but not rough—as he wound the fabric, ensuring it sat high and snug, completely obscuring the brutal metal collar and its tell-tale gems from view. He arranged the ends so it looked like a traveler’s protection against the chill, a flimsy but vital disguise.
Once it was secure, he didn’t step back. He held her gaze, his face inches from hers.
“Listen to me,” he said, his voice a gravelly whisper that brooked no argument. “The story is this: you are my mute wife, and we are seeking healing for you in the capital. Not a sound. Not a whimper. You look at no one. You keep your eyes on the ground. You understand?”
He searched her face for the comprehension he needed, for the assurance that she wouldn’t panic and shatter the fragile narrative he was building. Their safety, now, depended on this lie.
She held his gaze for a moment, then gave a single, sharp nod. The trust in that small gesture felt like a physical weight in his chest.
The post was crowded, filled with the low hum of traders, travelers, and off-duty soldiers. Kai kept Zara close, his hand firm on her elbow, guiding her through the press of bodies. He could feel her trembling beneath his touch. Every shout from a merchant, every burst of laughter from a corner table, made her flinch.
He bought bread, cheese, and dried apples. His body acted as a shield between her and the crowd. He was turning to leave, the package tucked under his arm, when he heard it.
The word, spoken by a mud-spattered courier leaning against the bar, clanged in his ears like an alarm bell.121Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6ouhqZwFYA
“—witch.”
Kai froze. This was the second time he’d heard that word.
“Aye,” the courier said to the bartender, taking a swig of ale. “King’s got every informant from here to the coast listening for word. Says she’s dangerous. Stole the sound from a whole town, I heard. Reward’s enough to buy a lordship.”
The bartender scoffed, wiping a tankard. “Fairy tales.”
“Coin’s real enough,” the courier countered. “All you gotta do is point in the right direction. They’ll send the King’s own guard to collect her.”
Kai’s blood ran cold. Point in the right direction. He hadn't made the connection before—the men in the woods talking about a 'witch'—but now? 'Dangerous.' 'Stole the sound from a whole town.' It could only be Zara. They weren’t just looking for her; they were turning every greedy peasant and ambitious soldier into a bounty hunter. His mission had just become a thousand times more dangerous.
His grip on Zara’s elbow tightened unconsciously. She looked up at him, her stormy eyes filled with a question he couldn’t answer. He had to get her out. Now.
But it was too late.
A hulking man, his face scarred and his knuckles bloody, stepped into their path. He’d been listening. His eyes, small and piggish, scanned Zara with crude interest, lingering on the scarf at her throat.
“Mute wife, eh?” the man grunted, his voice slurred with drink. He took a step closer, the stink of cheap ale on his breath. “Funny. Heard there’s a price for a quiet witch. Why don’t you let her…speak for herself?”
The man reached out a grimy hand, not for Kai, but for Zara’s scarf.
Time seemed to slow. Kai saw the panic flash in Zara’s eyes. He saw the brute’s intent to expose her, to claim his fortune. He saw the entire trading post, a den of potential enemies.
In that split second, the equation he’d lived by—a job for coin, a threat for a blade—solved itself.
Before the man’s fingers could touch the wool, Kai moved.
It wasn’t a thought; it was pure instinct. His hand shot out, catching the brute’s wrist in a bone-crushing grip. The man’s eyes widened in surprise and pain.
“She’s spoken for,” Kai growled, his voice dropping to a tone of lethal quiet that cut through the tavern’s noise. “Touch my wife, and you’ll be drawing back a stump.”
The air crackled with tension. The man yanked his hand back, cradling his wrist, his face flushing with anger and humiliation. Patrons turned to watch. The courier at the bar fell silent.
Kai didn’t wait. He shoved the man back, creating space, and pulled Zara firmly behind him, putting his body between her and the entire room.
“We’re leaving,” he said, the words meant for her, but his steel eyes dared anyone else to try and stop them.
He didn’t run. He walked, a deliberate show of force, Zara shielded in his shadow until they were outside, back on Bastion, and riding hard away from the post.
The king’s coin was no longer just heavy. It felt like a death sentence. And the woman clinging to him in fear was no longer an asset.
She had become a secret he would kill to protect.
He wasn’t sure when his consensus had changed. Maybe it had been the moment in the garden, seeing her not as a weapon but a victim. Or perhaps it was every moment since, seeing every fear and pain written so plainly on her face.
ns216.73.216.86da2
and then Add to home screen.