𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ᵉ*ᵗᵐ

50 ┃ 𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝

━ ⭑─⭒━

━ ⭒─⭑━

You woke up later than you meant to.

The light in the room had changed—gone soft and golden, the way only early evening could manage. It slipped through the slats of the wooden shutters like honey, painting the bed in stripes of warm light and shadow.

You blinked against it, your lashes sticky with sleep, the corner of your mouth dry from where it had pressed against Lady's fur.

She hadn't moved much.

Still curled at your side, her body warm and heavy, tail twitching once at some distant noise before going still again. She let out a snore—not loud, but stubborn—and you smiled faintly.

Then—right on cue—a knock.

Gentle. Hesitant.

Lady's ears perked. Her head lifted. But when she didn't hear anything dangerous—or particularly exciting—she let out a soft huff and dropped her chin back to the mattress like: That one's harmless.

You dragged yourself upright with a slow groan, stretching until your shoulders cracked, your legs dangling off the bed like you weren't sure if they remembered how to hold your weight yet.

The floor felt cool under your bare feet as you crossed to the door.

You opened it, and there stood Eben with both hands gripping a slightly dented tray, his curls windblown and his cheeks pink from either running or being too near the kitchen fire.

"I got you dinner," he announced, proud. "It's not fancy or anything—they said it was the most they could make for the crew with short notice. But there's meat. And a roll. And cheese that probably doesn't bite back."

You laughed softly and stepped aside. "Bring it in before Lady wakes up and thinks it's hers."

He grinned and slid inside, setting the tray down on the table near the window. You followed, still rubbing sleep from your eyes as you took in the food—small but hearty. Stewed lentils with a chunk of goat meat, a hard roll on the side, and a triangle of some soft, crumbly white cheese. A few olives scattered in a chipped dish.

It wasn't palace food, but it smelled like home.

Eben flopped onto the spare chair with a dramatic sigh. "The others get to go look around," he complained. "They're at the beach or the temple square or the cliff with the rope swing. You know what I get to do?"

You raised a brow, already chewing the corner of the roll.

He pointed at himself with both thumbs. "I get to stay in the inn. Because I'm 'too little.' Which is rude, by the way, because I know how to swim and gut a fish. And I didn't even cry during the storm!"