All Mapped Out

Hero bullies local villain

Where was the man she fell in love with? Did he got killed during the second or was it the first quest? The man she fell in love with was so different from the man before her. Nemain, were you under the influence of drugs, pot or the cauldron?

“You, what did you just do?”

“We had an agreement.”

“What agreement?” Incredulous, her voice rose to a higher scale. “It was one-sided. I never said ‘yes’.”

“You just said the word.” Orion replied childishly. His face adapting a mulish look. She saw his face change and she followed his gaze. The chain connecting them broke. Before her eyes, the chain wrapped around her wrist, melted itself and solidified around her wrist. She saw the engraved words. Speechless, she could only gaze at him accusingly for being so underhanded.

There was a look in his eyes.

Was that uncertainty? Triumph? Regret?

Before she could decide, her sight began to dim around the edges. She was quite surprised that she could not move her body, regardless how much her brain was in control of her perception. . . Then everything darkened. There was a certain satisfaction of seeing him panic before she lost her consciousness.

The only thing that saved the woman from falling flat on the floor was Orion’s reflexes. He caught her in his arms. The voluminous shapeless dark gown did nothing to enhance her features so he was surprised that underneath the clothing was a delicate body.

He started to panic.

Was it because he used the circlet to extract a promise from her? That elderly man who gave him one did not indicate side-effects and the possibility of malfunctions. The simplicity of the instructions delighted him but he did not expect this kind of fainting spell! He might have completed quests but most of them involved killing villains rather than saving damsels!

He scowled at the woman, as if all of these were her fault.

What the hell, woman?! Local villains were not supposed to faint. They were supposed to spit, fight and curse but not like this, fragile and vulnerable. Her pallor and the circles under her eyes . . . She was making him feel like a very bad and incompetent hero.

He heard the door squeak open which was followed by a gasp.

He turned to see a maid whose horrified gaze said it all.

Irritated, he said crisply, “Help me. What are we going to do?”

“M-my lord,” The woman stammered. Orion tried and failed to reign in his temper. He was coldly glaring at the woman to think fast. “L-Lay her on the couch. I’ll fetch her breakfast.”

As he did as she had instructed, he chewed on the latter’s word . . . Breakfast? So, it was not because of the damned trinket?

The smell of coffee, chocolate, combined with the insistent shakings had Nemain opening her eyes. Her eyes widened. Orion was so close! She pushed him off her. Trying to find a solid excuse for her actions, her gaze fell on her sumptuous breakfast. She reached for cup and found her right wrist bound by a circlet. She studied the engravings. The spell was simple but strong, effectively binding the two of them. The spell was made to ensure that the services rendered satisfied the client. This prince, where did he get such paraphernalia? It was difficult to get these things from the usual market. She raised her gaze to his and found him grinning at her. No, this grin was smug that had Nemain bristling. What? Was she so easy to lure? Did he found out about this horrible weakness about her? Low sugar blood sugar had always been her weakness, damn him!

She scowled at him.

He merely shrugged, sat on the chair opposite hers and helped himself on her breakfast. Before she could warn him of touching her food, he had already chomped his way through her food.

Nemain, the next time you fall in love, make sure that person does not pilfer food from your stash!

When she had managed to eject Orion from her house, he had extracted a promise to find pertinent clues about Giselle’s whereabouts.

Nemain felt her headache worsening.

She locked herself in the study, defeated. Her hands automatically went to the new set of snacks Melody left for her, finding comfort in the small gesture. She stuffed her mouth with food and chewed. At this rate, her money and food would be wiped out with the two of them. The money from the mayor’s dissertation would look like pin money with the way he would be razing through her foodstuffs and resources. Besides, she did not fancy cultivating an agricultural hobby to sustain her food. Too tedious. Too time-consuming.

She inwardly sighed. How will she get out of this? Either she finish this job or give him a satisfying alternative. Besides, what did she just agreed to? She did not remember saying ‘yes’ to him. She felt indignation flare, just remembering him. With the current situation, she had to finish the deal but she could demand a fortune in return. As for the matters of her heart—maybe she could put a tourniquet around it until it no longer functioned properly.

Her gaze rove around the room, trying to find inspiration. With books filling the shelves and scattered on the floor. There must be something. The candles, the astrolabes, her potions, those knick-knacks . . . just give her an idea. Please. Her gaze fell on the book of maps. Her eyes brightened considerably.

Without a word, she stood up and picked the thin book. She opened it on the desk and tried to pin her friend’s usual haunts. The tea shop, the dressmakers, the flower shop, the confectionary . . . were the latter’s haunts when chaperoned. However, having met this Dylan, it would have meant that her friend went alone. Without a chaperone—increasing the places for her to look.

Giselle, when I find you, you’d better be happy with that guy. Don’t let me spend my resources for naught.

Nemain, gird your loins and tighten your purse, were going on an excursion!

A few days after Orion extracted a promise from the local witch, he spent his days in the training field, crossing swords with his knights. Any day now, he would hear news about Giselle. He did not want to think about the certain relief he felt from knowing that Giselle just disappeared. He did not want to dwell on the thought that around Nemain, he felt incompetent or that she was interesting. When had she been interesting? He silenced the thought with a savage swing of the sword. Afterwards, he gestured to his partner for a small reprieve, he took a swig of water. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he saw his squire approach him, crossing the huge field.

He felt his insides tighten. The hurried steps and the severe features of his squire alerted him that something was afoot.

“My lord, the witch knocks upon your doorstep.”

He felt the tension inside loosen. He tried to convince himself that the only reason was that he was afraid that she would do a runner on him.

“Where is she now?”

“We kept her in The Room.”

His blood ran cold. His mood darkened. The Room, in this context was the polite way of handling persona non grata. It was bare save for the chandelier that hung above the room. There was no chair for the person to sit, only the hard limestone floor. No window to let light or fresh air in. There was only a vent to let the air circulate in the huge room. He glared at the squire. The words were cold and sharp like a whip. “How long had she been there?”

“An hour, my lord.”

His mood further darkened. An hour of waiting inside that room, alone and with no amenities fit for a woman or a guest who travelled far. If he remembered correctly, Nemain’s cottage was situated in the outskirts of the city. So much for hospitality.

“Why did you not think it fit to inform me?” He demanded glacially. Inept. The word grated his temper.

The smug look on the young man’s face was replaced with bewilderment and fear. “U-Um, y-you were busy, my lord.”

“And you did not think it fit to inform me that my guest was treated shabbily?” Not wanting to hear the latter’s weak defense, he sheathed his sword and made his way towards the whereabouts of his guest.

When he reached The Room, he saw Nemain standing in the middle of the room her back to him. She turned to him when he cleared his throat. His next words got stuck when his eyes clapped on her. Gone was the voluminous and shapeless dark dress and the cloud of dark hair around her. She was wearing a dark gown that hinted her figure and her dark hair was pinned atop her head, a single silver hairpin anchored within the dark locks.

She looked so . . . normal. And nice, his brain added. That too, he silently agreed.

“I have to apologize for the long wait.”

Nemain merely shrugged and rested her weight on the other foot. She must have been numbed waiting. He inwardly cursed and vowed to give the squire proper training on chivalry. He waited for her to say something about the callous and inhospitable treatment she suffered under the Palace servants as he decreased the distance between them. It could give him an idea of the intensity of the punishment. Stopping at a respectable distance from her, he waited for her words. He was surprised for instead of harsh words, her next words were, “I think we have to go to Fallen Angel.”

He raised a brow towards her.

“Are you sure about this?”

Fallen Angel, that pub downtown. The place were demons usually go to grab a drink or rest during their travels since they were not allowed within the capital. He knew the owner. They had a certain understanding. He did not like him but he had to tolerate the Crown Prince. Not good to alienate the natives, the owner said crassly. No woman of Giselle’s ilk would dare enter that place.

Orion quickly exited the hired hack with great alacrity. The moment Nemain stepped into the confined vehicle, her scent drove his senses crazy. In an enclosed carriage, his senses were taking their fill of lemons, greedily. As if he was hoarding food. Even Giselle’s scent, light and flowery did not elicit the same response from him.

When she sat opposite him, his skin prickled with awareness. He was acutely aware of her, the way she stiffened when he stared at her for too long during the ride and the way she let out a breath when she thought that he was not looking at her. But he could not help himself, for his gaze was drawn towards her. It was as if his brain was trying to reconcile the woman he met before, the one plastered to the walls and overshadowed by Giselle and the woman now, the one he barely knew but learning to know.

Breaking his train of thoughts, he turned his attention to the façade before him. He was studied the pub with narrowed eyes. Fallen Angel seedy with dusty windows and the sign hanging above the door was lopsided. The façade had given up against the grime and dust. Suspicious brown spots were found on the walls. He could never bring Giselle into this kind of place and would never subject his female acquaintances to this place. Even someone like Nemain. He wanted to push her back into the cab and call it a day. Maybe he could drag someone more suitable for this kind of trip. Maybe he could drag that squire here instead, just to remind him of his manners. As he turned to do just that, the woman was beside him and the hired cab gone. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he had changed his mind but her steady gaze halted him. Her eyes said it all. Going back meant underestimating her capabilities. It meant insulting her.

Pride. This woman possessed it in spades.

“After you.” He said and opened the door for her. Even if chivalry on his part was late.