A Curse so Twisted And Cruel.

A Chicken and Mayo sandwich and a discovery.

I trail after him helplessly, my mind coming up blank. We walk in silence through the trees, until he breaks it. "So, are you ever gonna tell me what you actually are?"

I jump at his words, and my heart begins to race. How does he know?! "I erm," I pause when my voice shakes, exposing my nerves.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." He says quickly, alarmed by my sudden panic.

"No, I just.." my voice trails, and, deciding that feigning ignorance is my best bet, I ask, "What do you mean?" "Your profession." He says simply, and I almost laugh with relief. Of course he was talking about professions.

Damn my cursed, jumping to conclusions mind.

"Oh, I'm actually an assistant healer." I tell him, and he looks at me, surprised that I gave it up so easily. I just smile in relief that he didn't mean what I thought he meant.

We chat as we make our way to the western side of the castle, and my panic fades away. I'll manage to weasel out of it somehow when I get there, I decide.

"Where exactly do you plan on getting a sandwich?" I ask him, when we reach a small wooden back door, that I can only assume leads to the servant quarters. "Shh." He shushes me as he opens it, and we begin to ascend the old, musty staircase behind it.

I cock an eyebrow, but nevertheless follow him as the staircase slants steeply upwards.
We creep along it like mice, the only sound our breathing as we climb the worn steps.

We come across many doors set in long, twisting corridors, but stop at none. I'm on the verge of collapse when we finally make it to the top of an abandoned tower, panting and breathless. I flinch at the sunlight pouring in from the a dusty window, set into the curve of the opposite wall, after the dark gloom of the stairs.

After my eyes adjust to the brightness, I examine the small room, which is quite bare, except for a desk and chair, a broken broom, leaning onto a wooden cabinet on one side, a stack of papers and pens next to a rusty, ink covered typewriter, and a pile of blankets and pillows on the stone floor.

"What's all this?" I ask, as he flops forward onto the hill of blankets, buring his face in a faded pillow. "It's my..erm hideout?" He says, his voice muffled. "Do you stay here?" I ask, my curiosity only increasing. He sits up with a groan, and stretches his arms above his head. I hear a soft crack and he sighs contentedly.

"No." He finally answers, before getting up and going to the small cabinet by the far wall. He opens it and it squeaks in protest. Pulling out something I can't see, he tosses it to me, and I catch it moments before it hits the ground.

"What's this?" I ask, looking at the chunky bronze key glinting in the sun. He shoots me a grin. "The key to the kitchens."

•{§∆§}•

I close my eyes, savouring the hard earned sandwich, and I mean what I say. That sandwich almost cost us our heads. (Okay, I'm being dramatic, but just bear with me.)

After sneaking through multiple rooms and hallways, we found the royal kitchens. Since it was late afternoon and everyone had already eaten, it was empty, and we raided the pantry, taking whatever we could carry, stumbling and giggling and dropping crumbs all the way back to the tower.

Two guards came marching past, and I would've went right into them if Henry hadn't pulled me out of the way just in time, grabbing me against him. I would be lying if I said I didn't turn beet red. Luckily, he saw none of that beneath the mask.

We were, however, chuckling about it by the time we made it back, giddy with adrenaline. And it was all worth it, I think, biting into the thick, creamy chicken and mayo sandwich, making sure my hood was covering my face.

I had deliberately sat opposite him on the potion of brick sticking out of the window, my back facing him as I ate, my legs dangling off the ledge, a few hundred meters above the ground.

I finished my sandwich and wipe my hands on the already dirty uniform pants. I quickly slip the mask back on, leaving my nose exposed, because I didn't want to inhale my own chicken breath.

"That was really good, thank you." I say, turning back to face him. He sits facing forward, towards the overgrown trees and grass below. There's an unreadable expression on his face, and his eyes are far away.

When I speak though, his trance breaks, and he looks at me, a smile tugging his lips. But it doesn't reach his eyes, and disappears as soon as it came.
I shift closer to him, until my shoulder is brushing his.

He startles at the contact, but doesn't move away. "So, what made you decide to become a guard?" I ask him, and he noticibly stiffens. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." I rush, echoing his words from earlier.

He runs a hand through his deep brown hair, that shines gold in the dying rays of the sun. He's quiet for so long that I think he's not going to answer, but then he says, "I was like you once." He shoots me a crooked glance, and I'm taken aback by the sudden blaze in his light eyes.

"A poor, picked on farmer's son, and after my parents died, I decided that I wanted something more. So I enrolled for becoming a guard of the royal palace, and surprisingly, I got accepted. Then again, it's not that surprising, since they were down on guards, since they were mostly halflings before." He adds as an afterthought. He says the words matter-of-factly, but it causes a painful twist in my chest.

He doesn't notice it, though, and continues. "I thought that once I started training as a guard, everything would change. But I was wrong. All the other guards in training were older, richer boys, believing that I was unworthy to even look at the royal family." There's a bitter edge to his voice, and, unable to stop myself, I reach out and put a reassuring hand on his arm.

His gaze snaps to me, and I quickly move to withdraw my hand, but before before I can, he catches my wrist, and examines my face slowly. At least, the half that is visible.

"Why do you wear a mask?" He asks suddenly, as if the question had been on his mind for some time. I swallow, my throat dry, and my heart pounding. "I-I erm.." I fumble for an excuse.

"Because I know you're a woman. For some time now, actually. You're not exactly an expert at hiding it," he says, and I can only gape at him, my mind whirling with questions. I open my mouth to say something, but he cuts me off.

"So why don't you take it off?"