Vermont: War of Hearts

6. Night of Clandestine Meetings

In the depths of my dream, Cecile's voice pierces through. She screams, desperate to merge with me. I twist on the sofa, futilely covering my ears with a pillow. The air feels different—humid, charged. Birdsong crescendos, then silence. Victory's scent tugs at my lips, curving them into a smile.

The clatter of spoons in the sink startles Cecile away. I sit up, adjusting to the light and life. 

He glances up from the overstuffed bag, its contents threatening to burst. "About time," he quips.

I glance at the window. Yes, I overslept. Did I drink a lot last night? I rub my temples and approach him. "What's in there?"

"Food," he deadpans.

I chuckle. "Didn't know you'd starve without it."

"Who said it's for me?"

I smile. "Thoughtful, but no thanks."

He pushes me away, eyes locking onto mine. "This is my land, dear Empress. Escaping won't be easy."

Empress? His disdain stings. "Don't call me that."

"That's what everyone calls you."

Everyone? Aldaire's hurt me, humiliated me. I won't marry a selfish man. What possessed me to believe his words? Stefani, probably draped in his sheets, stands by his throne. Bitterness churns within me.

"I wasn't even married to that monster. Don't say it again."

He grins, ignoring my plea. "I've clothes for this mission."

"You know I might not return, right? If I win, your clothes stay lost. If they hold memories, don't blame me."

He returns, silver pauldron and bracer glinting. "Your optimism's charming. But remember, there's no corner I don't know."

Is he serious? What use am I? I snatch the leather suit and go to change.

"You won't see me again."

"We'll see. We'll see," he chuckles. "We'll leave in half an hour."

I slip into the snug leather armor, its contours accentuating my curves. Too perfect—almost as if it were tailored for me. I secure the metal pauldron on my shoulder and the wrist bracer, studying my reflection in the mirror. My silver hair, now braided, feels like a badge of transformation. Cecile's changes are woven into my being.

He's already dressed in practical hunting attire, and I'm about to protest when he brandishes a saw. My feet hesitate as he points it at me.

"Come," he gestures to the sofa. "I'll remove that shackle from your foot."

My heart leaps. "You'll take it off?"

"Do you want it gone or not?"

I smile. "I do. But won't this give me an advantage?"

He rolls his eyes, deftly working on my leg. His concentration furrows his brows. His touch—gentle yet searing—travels through the leather to my skin. As the shackle falls away, he laughs.

"There you go. Now you're ready for the chase."

His humanity mesmerizes me. "Is that what you call it?"

"Of course. Sounds fun. Tracking down is my favorite game. Oh, wait! Let me get your bag..." He grabs it effortlessly and heads out. "...see you outside."

Reluctantly, I follow, pausing by the door. The last time I stepped through, it sent me back. I touch the air—the warm breeze tickling my hand.

Across from his house lies the forest I emerged from. If I continue north, I'll head back to Barracks. Elated, I walk toward him. The breeze, nature, and the scent of wet soil keep me alive. The shed—huge, dark, and messy—awaits. It stands a few meters away, to the side of the house. As the right door creaks open, my boots crunch a dry stick.