She said she'd felt the other side of a dagger. Not metaphorically. Not in some sparring match. No, really felt it, like someone else had pressed steel into her skin. He visibly frowned, the expression cutting into the sharp angles of his face. His jaw twitched, and he looked away from her before the question could form on his tongue. He wasn’t sure she meant to say that aloud. It had slipped out like a memory she hadn’t meant to share, so he said nothing; he turned away and moved toward the horses.

Marruk flicked his tail when Aram passed, snorting softly as if sensing the shift in mood. Aram didn’t stop, reaching over to retrieve the bow he had tied to the saddle, along with a small bundle of arrows. The wood was worn smooth from years of use, the string freshly waxed. He grabbed it with care, almost reverence, then strode back to where she waited.

The detachment he’d forced on himself was beginning to crack, hairline fractures forming in the armor he thought was solid. He offered the bow out to her, nodding toward her hands. “Start by just getting a feel for the draw. Don’t try to shoot anything yet. Just see how it pulls.”

As she took it, he knelt to set the arrows on a flat rock between them, selecting one to use for demonstration. “This,” he said, tapping the feathered end, “is the fletching. It keeps the arrow flying straight. These are made from goose feathers. Some use hawk, but goose is more accessible.” He pointed to the shaft, his fingers brushing along the wood. “This is the shaft. Light but strong. Usually ash or birch. And here-" he indicated the very end, opposite the feathers, “-is the arrowhead. I've got steel. Barbed, in this case. If it goes in, it’s not coming out clean.”

He passed the arrow to her, letting her examine it while he settled back on his heels. His tone stayed even, quiet, more like a teacher now than a fighter. “Women often make excellent fletchers. Better precision. Better patience. It's an honorable art, if you choose to make it yours.”

It was half a suggestion, half a veiled compliment. And part of him hated how much he wanted to give her comfort just then, hated the softness trying to claw its way past his carefully constructed walls.

His eyes lingered on her hands as she adjusted her grip, seemingly tentative at first, then more sure, like she was starting to remember who she was. He exhaled slowly, running a hand over his jaw. “Archery’s a cleaner weapon, and you have more control over the variables from afar. You don’t have to feel breath on your neck or blood on your hands. For someone like you, that distance could make all the difference.”

He paused, flicking his gaze up to meet hers. Her golden-amber eyes were still fixed on him, and for a breathless moment, he forgot why he was trying so hard to keep his distance. The way she looked at him made the cold edges of his self-control slip a little further. But he caught himself, letting the weight of his logic drag him back down. Four bags of gold, he reminded himself. Get her to Ravaryn. That’s it.

“Now,” he said, rising to his feet again with a quiet groan as his ribs reminded him he was still healing. “Stand like this -- feet apart, shoulder-width. Bow in your left hand, arrow nocked with the right.”

He moved slowly, mimicking the stance beside her. “You’ll want your shoulders relaxed, but your core tight. Let your chest expand when you pull, not only your arms. Like breathing through the bow.”

He drew the string back halfway to demonstrate, wincing and grumbling a few choice curses, then let it ease forward again.

“Try it.”

As she stepped into position, he watched carefully, hands on his hips, but his eyes sharp. There was pride in his expression, though he masked it with a neutral expression, trying not to let it show. She looked awkward, yes, but not incapable. Her stance seemed more at ease with the bow than the dagger, and he'd be damned if that wasn’t more important than raw talent.

“You don’t have to be good at this today,” he told her. “You just have to want to be better. Wanting is half the battle.”

Alone. Within a week, Ana would be alone. Before Aram she had been prepared for that, had prayed for it even, but now? Now she couldn't bear the thought of being without his calming presence. They had made a deal, and truth be told, she wasn't sure that she ever wanted that deal to be completed. She wanted to be selfish and to draw out the trip, but that was so dangerous and deceitful. Aram wasn't one to be fooled, either. He'd get her to Ravaryn, and then he'd leave. He'd go back to wherever he pleased and then she'd wander on her own, deciding whether or not she'd truly make a new home there in her life of solitary.

Content that Aram was resting- and yes she had watched to ensure he wasn't straining himself- Ana continued to work on her draw. She wanted to rid herself of the tremble in her muscles and familiarize herself with the grasp of the wood. She couldn't just stop simply because he sat. Aside from that, she needed a distraction to prevent herself from settling at his side. She wanted to be near so desperately, to feel the heat of his presence next to her. She wanted to watch him without thoughts of what she'd do after they parted ways. She wanted to ask him if he was okay, but she couldn't because nothing was right and she knew that.

Over and over, she drew the string, holding for a few beats as she imagined aiming an arrow, accounting for the distance that she'd be shooting before lowering the weapon once more. She had to get better, if not for her own sake than for Aram's. She kept telling herself that, using him as motivation to work harder. She didnt openly seek or want his praise, she only wanted him to have the comfort that when he did have to leave her she'd be fine. Perhaps not happy, but fine.

Her gaze turned upon Aram once again when she heard his voice, the idea of getting back on the road pulling violently at her heart. “Half an hour then,” she nodded, her voice soft and breaking just a tad. Only a half hour and then they'd grow closer and closer to separation. A half hour before time became a thief and loneliness began causing more grief. God, how she wished it wasn't so!

It wasn't even that Anastasia was afraid of being alone— She wasn't, but something about Aram made her crave him near. It was not lust nor desire for her either, but something softer and sweeter. Perhaps it was the way they had found it all too easy to open up to one another, or maybe the way his blue eyes had shined with softness and pride when he thought she wasn't looking. She didn't understand why she was feeling as she did, she only knew that her feeling were genuine, and that she didn't wish to see him go so soon. A week was not enough. Anastasia wasn't even certain that a month would be. Could any expanse of time ever be enough for a heart and mind that ached so dearly?

As he spoke again she had found herself still watching him, the bow string between her fingers but undrawn. So gentle and willing to teach... Whoever would have thought? She had chosen Aram for how brutal and skilled he had been that night, but he had managed to show her an entirely new person. She could not say she was displeased even in the slightest. Aram the brave. The kind. The caring. Attentive and sweet. Bold and strong. She admired him for how he carried himself so calm and cool, and for how he had seemed to know when to back off or give her a push. The list could go on and on, and she very much doubted she'd have anything bad to say, even as he made her soul ache so painfully for what she couldn't have.

“I don't mind a bit of mess and working with my hands never fails to keep me entertained,” she began, her gaze softening again as she watched the light reflecting off his face. The scars gave him so much character, and she would dare even say added to his attractiveness, in her own opinion. She'd never get tired of looking and wondering about the stories behind them. “I want it. I'm sure of it.”

His next words struck her harder than they should have. The way he said it made her wonder, wonder what he'd do or say if she no longer chose Ravaryn. He wasn't asking her to make a choice or begging her not to go, he only put the decision upon her. But what did she do when it was a decision that relied upon the wishes of two people? Anastasia took a deep breath, her head tilting slightly back as she looked up at the sky above, her brows furrowed gently together. Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't—

“But what do I do if I'm no longer sure that Ravaryn has what I want? What do I do then, Aram?”

His pulse beat loud and strong in his ears, drowning out everything else. She’s not sure Ravaryn has what she wants. His chest tightened, ribs pulling in as if bracing against a blow, and something low in his gut surged upward -- hope, traitorous and alive. He tried to ignore it and bury it beneath the weight of logic and caution, beneath the years he’d spent building walls against this very thing. He didn’t want to hope. Hope was dangerous. Hope got people killed. Hope opened wounds he didn’t know how to close.

But damn it if her voice didn’t slip right past all of it. He sat up slowly, his back straightening, hand bracing behind him in the grass as his eyes searched hers. Her face was lit by the soft afternoon sun, those golden-amber eyes cast skyward with a thousand thoughts behind them. She looked like someone wrestling with the world and herself at the same time, and not quite winning.

“What do you want, Princess?” he asked, the words slow and steady, each one weighted. “The whole world is in your hands. You just need to decide what you want… and then take it.”

He paused, watching her closely, the silence between them thick with things neither of them had dared to say, and perhaps they would remain unsaid forever. Aram couldn't be sure he wasn't hallucinating all this, after all.

“You may not be in line to rule anymore, but you can still reign,” he said, voice softer now. “It’s your life. Not your father’s or your ancestors’.”

Aram didn’t know what answer he wanted from her. He didn’t even know what kind of answer he could live with. But something in him needed to know what it was she truly sought now that she wasn’t just surviving. He leaned forward a little, elbows on his knees, brow drawn low over his eyes. “Tell me.”

In the ensuing silence, Aram battled with the part of him that had always seen life as black and white, task and goal, sword and payment. Emotions complicated everything. Letting himself want complicated everything. But Ana complicated everything in the best and worst ways, and he didn’t know how to shut it out anymore. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t get attached; heavens knew it seemed too soon to just fall for someone. He told himself that he’d do his job, get her where she needed to be, and vanish like he always did. But now the idea of vanishing -- of leaving her -- felt like something cruel.

In the few days he'd known her, Anastasia had crept under his skin in the quietest ways: the way she wrinkled her nose when trying to focus, the way she studied his every motion with hungry eyes as if trying to earn the knowledge he gave her, the way she fought so hard not to flinch at kindness. It broke something in him every time. And still, he said nothing.

What if he stayed? What if he actually did? She’d never asked him to. But… what if? The quiet dragged out, and he didn’t try to fill it. He just watched her, waited for her to piece together whatever war she was fighting inside that beautiful, stubborn head of hers. His eyes softened a fraction, the harsh lines of his face relaxing, not quite a smile, but something adjacent to one.

“You’re not bound to any one place,” he added finally, voice lower now. “If Ravaryn doesn’t feel right… then it’s not right. Maybe you find a village that needs a fletcher. Or maybe you travel. See the world before you tie yourself to any one place. You don’t owe anyone a decision but yourself.”

Unless it’s me, he didn’t say. Unless you want me to stay. The thought echoed through him unbidden, making his mouth go dry. He clenched his jaw and looked away again, picking at a blade of grass between his fingers. If she asked him, if she really asked him to stay, could he walk away from her? Did he even want to anymore?

Hell, he didn’t know. But the ache in his chest told him the answer might already be there, whispering truths he wasn’t ready to face. She wanted something. Maybe not Ravaryn. Maybe not solitude. Could he bare the thought of her wanting to remain by him? Was it even possible? The hope came back fighting, clawing its way out from beneath the weight of logic.

“I won’t pretend to know what’s best for you, Ana,” he said finally, lifting his gaze to hers again. “But I’ll help you figure it out. If that’s what you want.”

It was the closest he’d come to admitting that he didn’t want to leave, that he wasn't ready to up and walk away. He rose to his feet slowly, brushing dirt and grass from his trousers before holding out a hand to her, his expression unreadable but not cold “We’ve got a few hours of daylight left. Let’s get you closer to somewhere safe, Ravaryn or not.”

“What do you want, Princess?”

Why did such a question have to be so hard to answer when the answer was obvious, sitting right there in front of her? How could she tell him what she wanted when she wasn't even sure if he was willing to want her all the same? To make herself so vulnerable by admitting her deepest desire was terrifying. He could reject her, laugh in her face, and even leave her if he decided she was being too much. She wanted to say that she knew he wouldn't do any of those things, but what if she was wrong? What if she'd been reading him wrong or... what if she wasn't enough?

Reigning had never been something that Anastasia truly wanted. Her father's crown was full of problems she didn't know if she could fix, nor if she'd have the power to do so. He'd have likely married her to some prince who could control the throne the way that he wanted it to be controlled, leaving her in the dark when it came to the state of her kingdom. Being in control of her life was something she never thought would happen, and now that she did have control... What was she to do? There were endless possibilities, even though she only wanted one outcome.

This attachment was going to be the death of her. Ana had spent years emotionally detached, never growing close to any man in a romantic sense, or even platonically. It had never been a problem for her, even when she had the opportunity to discover infatuation and.. and love for heavens sake, for herself. She couldn't quite say that love was what she had for Aram. It had only been a few days, far too soon for such strong words, but the want, the attachment was there like woven steel keeping her heart tethered to him. Her little world had began revolving around a man she should have never met, but she didn't want things differently. When asked what she wanted, Ana knew. She just did not know how to answer without his face being in the bigger picture. Without him, there was the equivalent of nothing.

“I wish it were so simple, I really do,” she told him, a sigh softening the features of her face as she finally lowered her gaze to rest upon him. “I cannot say for certain that it is the place that I am unsure of. In fact, I'm not quite certain of much at the moment... Things have been constantly changing ever since I left the castle and I did not account for all the possible variables that would alter my mind and my heart,” she shook her head, speaking things in thinly veiled riddles. She knew she shouldn't, but if she didn't let all of those overwhelming emotions trickle out even a little, she knew that she'd burst at the seams.

Fear kept her from speaking the rest. There was nothing saying that even with the fondness that she knew he felt that Aram would stay with her. She did not know if he wanted the trouble of a woman constantly at his side. She didn't know if he'd want to settle in life, to be more to her than a simple mercenary. She didn't know, and Ana was so afraid of being hurt that she wasn't sure she wanted to find out.

“I won’t pretend to know what’s best for you, Ana,” he said finally, lifting his gaze to hers again. “But I’ll help you figure it out. If that’s what you want.”

Her heart slammed against her ribcage, nearly winding her as she looked him in the eyes. He doesn't want to leave you.. He doesn't. Anastasia bit her lips to keep them from trembling. She nodded to say that was what she wanted, too afraid to speak out of fear of the words that would come from her mouth. There was still much about her he needed to know before deciding if he was to stay, before she said aloud the things she felt for him. Perhaps soon she'd be ready to tell him why she was even there. Perhaps soon decisions could be made and her mind could be at peace.

“Very well then,” she finally spoke again, her voice soft, whispery almost as she reached out and took his hand. She was hesitant to even let go again, her fingers curling around his for a few touches longer than what would be normal. She looked up at him, her eyes speaking all of those unspoken words. You, I want you, they said, but all she did was give him a small smile before letting go so they could get back out onto the road. It had been such a day and there were still a few hours to go..

The forest grew denser as evening crept in, casting long shadows over Aram’s path. The light slanted gold through the canopy, catching the flutter of birds above and the trembling of leaves under the occasional squirrel. He walked in steady silence beside Marruk, taking care to stay just off the main road. More than once he veered them onto narrow deer trails -- soft, winding paths barely wide enough for a single file line -- preferring the uneven footing and brush to the openness of a well-worn road. Familiar danger beat the risk of being spotted.

There were travelers, here and there -- families heading south by the sound of their clipped, hushed voices, carts groaning under weight, a pair of tradesmen passing with worn boots and worn laughter. But no heavy footfalls. No barked orders. No metal on metal, no shouting of ranks. Nothing that hinted at soldiers.

They haven’t looked north yet, he guessed, brow furrowed slightly. Or maybe they assume she wouldn’t go that way. The late queen was southern-born, wasn’t she? They’ll expect Ana to head that way -- toward safety, familiarity, or an old ally.

He didn’t voice any of it aloud. Marruk wasn’t one for unnecessary chatter, and neither was he. The thoughts were his own to puzzle over.

By the time they stopped, dusk had claimed the sky, painting it lavender and orange behind the trees. Aram tied the horses to a low-hanging branch, checked the area for tracks or scents, then slipped away into the forest. His boots made barely a sound, and even the birds didn’t stir as he moved through underbrush, setting crude but effective snares with bent saplings and twisted cord. Rabbits, maybe. A fox if they were lucky, though he doubted it.

When he returned to the campsite, the small fire crackled softly between them. Aram had built it small on purpose, low and shielded by a fallen log to dull the glow. With the way the trail twisted, no one would see it unless they wandered right on top of it.

Rather than sit right away, he lingered in the trees just long enough to watch Anastasia. He guiltily studied the gentle curve of her neck as she leaned to the side, the flicker of firelight dancing in her hair, rich with deep browns and red-gold hues that glowed like embers. There was something about the way her brows drew together in thought, even in peace, that made his chest ache. What do you want, Princess? The words echoed in his head again, like a question he hadn’t stopped asking.

She hadn’t answered clearly, but he knew what she meant. And when she had reached out -- fingers curling around his as if the act alone could keep him there -- it had taken every ounce of restraint not to pull her close and whisper something foolish. Something dangerous. Something true.

Aram inhaled through his nose, grounding himself.

He stepped forward and crouched by the fire, tossing a few twigs in and checking the small pot of water warming beside it. He didn’t need to look at her. In fact, he shouldn’t. But the moment his eyes lifted and found her across the flames, it was too late. Embarrassment flickered through him like a flame catching dry kindling. He looked away sharply, jaw tight, shifting his weight so that his back was to the fire under the guise of checking one of his knives.

Damn it, he thought, scowling faintly to himself. You’re acting like a boy again.

He moved to sit beside the fire with deliberate calm, crossing his arms loosely over his knees, eyes fixed on the firewood as if it might offer answers. The air was cooling now, dusk stretching into early night. Crickets began to chirp, and an owl hooted in the distance.

“I set three snares,” he said finally. “With any luck, we’ll have fresh meat before morning. If not, there’s dried venison in the saddlebag.”

The mundane words steadied him, filled the space so that he didn’t have to admit what he’d nearly said instead. He glanced sideways at Ana, then back toward the trees. Marruk stamped a hoof, watching with his usual quiet presence. Aram exhaled slowly.

It would be so easy to lose himself here, by the fire, beside Anastasia, in this strange, borrowed moment of quiet. So easy to imagine what it might be like to stay. But mercenaries didn’t stay. They fulfilled contracts and then moved on. Still, the image of her hand in his hadn’t left his mind, and he could still feel the softness of her fingers. He didn’t know what would happen in the days ahead, what she would choose, or if he would have the strength to leave when she did. He would figure out how to keep her safe in the meantime.

What do you want? Anastasia kept asking herself that as well, but she wondered whether or not it was the one in need of answering. Life wasn't about wants, it was about needs and survival, rarely much more. Was Aram what she needed? Could he even survive with her? If the knavs caught up, would he be spared if she denied his involvement? Did she want to risk his life by asking him to stay, all because she was selfishly falling for him? Just because they hadn't ran into guards yet didn't mean they weren't around, and the thought that they both could be caught terrified her more than death itself. She didn't want that for Aram. Her father had caused him more than enough grief as it was.

The quiet of the forest surrounded her as Aram had been off setting traps. She was by the fire, still not quite used to being out in the lower temperatures. If she had looked deep in thought, it was because she really was. She was lost in those flames, the dancing glow of orange and yellow captivating her as it washed her in its warmth. He was fighting his feelings too, and it was killing her to keep holding back. Even earlier with just the gentle touch of his hand, she could almost feel the way he craved for more, just like she had. She was so very tempted to give in, to just talk to him and not yet ask for a decision from him yet. To tell him he couldn't make a decision yet without knowing the full story. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to tell him the full story. What would he think of her when he found out what she'd done?

Stressed, Anastasia never even looked up when Aram approached, none the wiser that he'd even been watching her before hand. She bit at the skin around her finger nails, running different scenarios through her head. Her brows drew further inward for a moment, her eyes hardening into something unreadable. Why did any of it matter? If he wanted to be with her, then he would be regardless, right? Couldn't she just be selfish, if only for one night and give them both some momentary relief? It couldn't be that bad, could it?

Almost sensing when he looked at her, Anastasia looked up, only to meet his back instead of gaze. That tight jaw, downcast eyes, and the beginnings of a scowl she couldn't quite explain. He was thinking too, it seemed. The silence ebbed on for a small while, both too afraid to speak for what might be spoken. The fire glow caught his skin, bringing attention to the scars on his face as the shadows danced away. God, she'd likely never get tired of studying those sharp features of his face. She loved the faint dip in his cheek that wasn't quite a dimple, yet stood out to her nonetheless. She loved how even when he didn't smile, there was still the gentle upward curve at the corner of his lips. She loved how when he blushed, his ears were always the first to turn and the longest to fade... She loved it all.

As he sat next to her, Ana scooted closer, the warmth of her arm brushing his as she settled near. She couldn't help it. She craved him nearer than she should. She craved to be enveloped by him, even though it would make things even harder. Her eyes found the fire again, her hands settled in her lap with a blade of grass that she turned into knots. She heard him speak, but she didn't quite respond immediately aside from a nod.

Three snares. Freshmeat. Three snares. Freshmeat. Three—

“I want.. to stay with you.” They were the first words out of her mouth in probably an hour and her voice had trembled, nearly cracking. She wasn't supposed to have said that. She was supposed to comment about how she was sure the snares would prove fruitful or about how she'd just be content to have something to eat, fresh or dried. But no, her heart was guiding her mouth, not her much more rational mind. “I don't want to be apart, Aram,” she murmured, too afraid to look away from the fire. She'd said it. Sure, they were words he knew, but she'd said it out loud and there was no taking it back.

Aram froze mid-motion, halfway to rising from the fire’s edge. He'd been planning to check the snares again before the light faded completely, assuming she’d be fine for a short while on her own. That was what her first words seemed to suggest -- that she didn’t want to be left alone again, maybe unnerved by the creeping dark or the hush of the forest. He opened his mouth to offer that she could come with him if it eased her conscience. It wasn’t like he minded the company. Truth be told, he was starting to mind being without it. However, before he could say anything, she added, “I don’t want to be apart, Aram.”

His mouth stayed partially open, his response caught on his tongue. A beat passed before he closed it and cleared his throat, more to buy time than to correct himself. His mind stalled, tried to backtrack, tried to find footing, and completely rebooted. She wasn’t talking about a snare check; she was talking about him.

His jaw flexed subtly as he looked down into the fire, its flames dancing over the sharp edges of his features. Embers crackled and spit in the silence that followed. He didn’t dare look at her right away; he didn’t trust what his face might say. Hell, he didn’t trust what his heart might say if he let it start speaking without permission. There was no easy response to that. Not when she’d said it like that, soft and unsure, like she’d torn the words from some secret place and hadn’t decided yet whether she regretted it. He breathed in slowly, nodding.

“Then I’ll stay put,” he said at last, his voice calm but roughened around the edges. He shifted slightly to face the flames better, and a faint crooked smile tugged at one side of his mouth. “Solante’s about a day out. We’ll stop there, pick up some supplies- something fresh, oats, new stitching for your cloak if you want. I think it’d be best if I went in alone. Keep eyes off you, just in case someone’s looking. But if you’d rather come, we’ll make it work.”

He hesitated, then added, “After that, Ravaryn’s only four days out. We’ll get there, and you can take all the time you need to figure out your next move. No rush.”

His gaze lifted to hers briefly, just long enough to let her see that he wasn’t trying to rush her out of his life.

Then came a faint, metallic sound as a bell tinkled in the woods. Once. Twice. Aram’s head snapped toward it, his body already half-turned before he even registered moving.

“One of the snares,” he said, more to himself than her. He stood, brushing dirt from his hands and legs as he rose. “I’ll go check it. Won’t be long.”

This time, he didn’t offer for her to come with him. He didn’t trust himself not to say something too much, too soon, if she did. He disappeared into the treeline, the forest swallowing his silhouette in seconds. The moonlight filtering through the canopy cast ghost-pale shapes across the underbrush. The path was familiar, one of the many deer trails he’d followed earlier, a bend just west of the fire’s glow.

It didn’t take long to find the sprung snare. The wire had done its job well. A hare, mid-sized and dust-gray, hung limp in the trap, its neck cleanly broken by the force of its leap. Aram crouched beside it, silent for a moment, fingers brushing over the still-warm fur in a gesture of brief respect.

“Sorry, friend,” he murmured under his breath, untangling the wire with practiced care. “We all do what we must.”

He returned to the fire with the hare’s body hanging from his hand by the legs, already bled and ready for dressing. The fire crackled gently as he stepped back into its light, the shadows peeling away from him like a veil. Without a word, he crouched near the edge of the flames and set the hare beside his pack. He glanced at Ana, his face unreadable for a moment, then softened his expression.

“Looks like we eat well tonight,” he said, a half-smile twitching at the corner of his mouth again. But his eyes, when they settled on her across the flickering firelight, held something still caught between hope and restraint. He didn’t speak again, only reached for his knife to begin skinning the hare, the rhythmic scrape of blade against fur filling the space between them. Yet still, his thoughts lingered on her words, on the tremor in her voice.

I don’t want to be apart, Aram.

He didn’t either.

Ana had needed to get that off of her chest, and now that she had, she felt immensely better. She wasn't sure how long that would last, but even if relief was only for a few short moments she'd take it. She was sure it hadn't been the right time to state such a thing— if there ever was a time to admit one's attachment, but she was relieved that he finally knew her partial feelings and that she'd been able to speak them aloud. Yet, she still didn't look at him as she feared his reaction. It could have gone many ways, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know which way he would lead. A part of her didn't want to know whether or not he'd choose to stay with her, but at the same time not knowing was driving her to the brink of insanity.

His silence was unnerving, but at the same time she understood. It was hard to figure out the right thing to say, and truth be told she didn't expect Aram to say much of anything in response. Anastasia wasn't even seeking an answer then. Just the relief of that weight off her chest, to ease the ache in her heart. It was hard to hide how she felt, and though she had told him she didn't want him to go, that was only scraping the surface of her feelings towards Aram. It wasn't as simple as she didn't want to be alone or that she wanted to keep him around for protection. It was much deeper than that, and it frightened her whether she admitted it or not.

Her heart jumped a fraction when he began to speak again, telling her he'd stay put. She wasn't sure how long he meant that he would, or if he even truly understood the weight of what she was trying to tell him, but they provided her with comfort nonetheless. Anastasia looked at him through the fire's glow, smiling to herself when she caught that barely there crooked smile that she loved so well. Heavens, did he know the way he made her heart flutter?

She nodded along to the words he spoke, understanding still it was best she stayed out of the city. She wasn't afraid of being alone and camped out while waiting for him. If she was nervous, she could easily find somewhere to hide in the underbrush while waiting for him. Being alone wasn't the problem. Being without him for the rest of her days was. So she could wait while he went into town. “I can wait for you to avoid trouble,” she confirmed quietly in the moment he paused. She fell silent again as he spoke, that jump returning to her heart as he told her there was no rush once they made it to Ravaryn. He'll stay if only for a little while...

Anastasia met his gaze, a faint smile pursing across her lips as she nodded, content with that. There was no rush. They could stay together past Ravaryn...

She had been about to speak again when she heard the tinkling of the bell, her own head titling in that direction as Aram turned away. “Alright.. Be careful,” she spoke softly as he departed, her eyes trailing after him as he left her alone once more. There was still so much left unsaid, and that was okay. Anastasia wasn't quite sure she trusted herself not to say what the heart wanted her to stay, to say something much too bold for the night to bear. She took a deep breath, her attention turning back to the fire as Aram faded from view.

How could things have ever gone so far? She practiced for years learning not to love someone, never to show that she cared, but a few days with Aram had completely rerouted her mindset. He crumbled her walls and warmed her cold heart. He did what she thought was impossible, and she had never been more blindsided than she was then. Ana just prayed that her quiet admittance had been enough to appease the roiling thoughts within her mind for the rest of the night.

That time, Ana heard Aram before she saw him, her head lifting and expression softening as he returned to the fire, hare in hand. She smiled softly at his next words, her head nodding. “So it would seem. Thank you,” she told him, though her thanks wasn't quite directed towards the meal to come. She could see the look sparkling in his eyes, and she watched him for some time even after he looked away from her.

Thank you for staying. Thank you for understanding. Thank you for caring when n one else has.

Anastasia breathed a soft sigh before tossing the knotted strand of grass into the fire, making it crackle quietly as the water was leeched from the blade. She turned her head up to the sky, her gaze studying the stars as she tried to figure out which one was her lucky star to continue giving thanks to.