Fugitive of Death

19

 I awoke the next morning just as Xander entered the tent with a plate of food.

"You're awake," he said, setting the food down on his desk. "Good. It's about time."

I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, feeling more refreshed than I had in quite some time. "How long was I asleep?"

"Nearly a full day." He sat down at the desk and took out a pen. "I'd like my bed back if you'd be so kind."

I looked down, realizing I was tangled in his sheets, heat inflaming my cheeks. And worse, it was the first time in my entire life I slept in another man's bed. And it was the fucking Captain of all people.

Nearly leaping out of my own skin, I crawled out of the bed and made for the breakfast platter. "Sorry."

Xander sighed, scribbling away. "It's quite alright. I found an empty tent. I am more than willing to give up my space for Death."

For Death. Not me. Never anyone beneath his rank.

I scowled.

Kindly tell the prince I appreciate the gesture, Death said.

I'm not doing that, I replied.

A sudden sensation tugged behind my naval and I found myself slamming a hand on the desk, against my will.

Xander merely raised his scarred eyebrow.

Do not make me speak for you, mortal, Death rumbled.

I rolled my eyes and gritted my teeth. "Death says thank you for allowing us to sleep here last night." I choked down a gag.

The barest of smiles tugged on the corners of Xander's lips. "How very kind of you to share that, Bibi."

Another eye roll and a forced smile. "Right." I quickly shoved a bread roll into my mouth to keep from telling him how deeply I wished to kick him right in the—

You must leash that temper, Death cut in. Respect will go a long way.

I'll show Xander respect when he gets off his Oblivion-damned high horse and learns to treat others as humans, not dirt, I said.

Did he not give you his bed?

I sighed, taking a bite of some eggs. He gave you his bed. Not me. He wouldn't so much as give me the time of day if I asked for it.

I do not see a difference.

Of course you don't.

Death said nothing for a moment. Then, are all the spawns of leaders so immature?

I huffed out a laugh, garnering a sidelong glance from the Captain as he finished writing. That may be true.

"What is that?" I asked Xander as he rolled up the parchment and stamped a wax seal on the seam.

"A letter to my father," he said, poking his head out of the tent and handing the letter off to another soldier. "I'm sending word of your binding."

I nearly choked on my breakfast.

"Is there an issue?" Xander asked, sitting back down.

I coughed, reaching for a cup of water. "The King?"

Joining the Lysidorian Army was one thing, a strategic play to fade into obscurity, another number, another soldier, one of thousands. And sure, I was now familiar with the prince. But to introduce myself to the King? That was playing with fire. If he learned just who I was, everything would go up in smoke.