Arken
The Fates were trying to kill me.
It wasn’t even two days later that I found myself stumbling into a certain guardsman, yet again.
“Are you following me, Arken?”
That irritatingly attractive voice came out of nowhere as I’d been waiting in line for breakfast.
“Fuck!” I yelped, jumping out of my skin.
I had finally made my way back over to the bakery, with the intention of a croissant and maybe even one of those little pastries for later. I had been lost in a daydream when that low, gravelly purr returned right next to my ear again. Did this man have no concept of personal space whatsoever?
Gods above and below.
A chuckle that was already starting to sound familiar fell from his mouth as I whirled around to face him.
“My, my. Such language…”
His words were admonishing, but he was grinning, clearly amused by my reaction... or my profanity. I swore like a sailor more often than not. Amaretta hated it.
“Where do you even learn such foul language, Arken?”she’d often cluck irritably.“Certainly not from me.”
No, not from her.
Not from anyone in particular, really. But even back home, I liked to watch people from a distance, observing the mundane little things they’d do and say when they thought nobody else was paying attention.
The stable hands, for example, often exchanged tales of their filthy exploits whenever they’d return from a night or two in the city. The men were hardly careful with their language when mucking out the stalls and describing their most recent rounds in the sack. Apparently in Elsweire, you could find women who offered their bodies in exchange for a fistful of Lyra, if you knew where to look. It was all a bit crude and vulgar.
Still, I liked the way certain words rolled off the tongue.
I shrugged at Kieran, who was still grinning at me like a fool. There was no use pretending that the curse had been an anomaly, and my vocabulary sure as Hel wasn’t going to change any time soon with him sneaking up on me like that.
“You clearly came in here after I did, so who’s really following who here?” I asked him pointedly.
“I think you’ve been scoping out my breakfast patterns. I come here almost every day.”
“You must think awful highly of yourself if you think I’d go through all that trouble just to talk to you again.”
“And yet here we are, talking again,” Kieran said, flashing his oddly sharp teeth.
“Indeed. By sheer coincidence.”
“So she claims,” he chuckled again. He seemed to be in a particularly good mood this morning.
“Wouldn’t it reflect rather poorly on you as the Scouting and Reconnaissance Captain if you could be so easily followed and monitored for your breakfast habits?” I asked.
“You’ve got me there, Little Conduit.”
Ah, wonderful. That irritating nickname had stuck.
“I recommend the croissants, by the way,” he added. “They’re divine.”
“I didn’t ask, but I had already been planning on getting one, so don’t get too excited when you see me taking your recommendation,” I said, trying—and failing—to resist the urge to glance back at him.
Gods, he was attractive.
“It’s too late now, I’m completely ecstatic,” the guardsman replied, with an irritating glimmer of amusement in his eyes.