A commotion shattered the pre-dawn quiet of the inn—shouts, heavy boots stomping, and the innkeeper's muffled protests. Atherion snapped awake, the haze of fever lifting just enough to sharpen his senses.
The knights' voices carried through the floorboards, their demands clear. They were searching for someone.
His jaw tightened. Had one of them recognized her at the market?
"Damn," he muttered under his breath, cursing his lapse in vigilance. His body burned with fever, his limbs sluggish, but he forced himself upright, hands trembling as he reached for Camelia.
He shook her shoulder gently, urgency driving his movements.
Her eyes fluttered open, still clouded with sleep and confusion.
"Get on the bed. Now," he hissed, hearing the knights' boots on the stairs. "They're back."
Camelia, still half-asleep, scrambled onto the bed without hesitation, sensing the danger in his tone. Trusting his urgency without question.
Atherion's mind raced. Her black-dyed hair might not be enough to throw them off. The knights were too close, and he needed something stronger—something convincing.
"Forgive me," he whispered, his voice strained.
Before she could react, he tugged her tunic's collar slightly, exposing her shoulder, then lifted the edge of her trouser leg just enough to suggest intimacy. He pulled off his shirt, tossing it toward the bed's edge, and moved closer, their bodies nearly touching.
Camelia's breath hitched, her eyes widening as she fully woke. His fevered skin burned against hers, the warmth unnerving.
Her heart pounded—not just from fear, but from the unfamiliar closeness.
In her modern life, she had never been this near a man. Not like this. Not someone like Atherion, whose presence was overwhelming, his scent—a faint mix of cinnamon and worn leather—clouding her thoughts.
The door burst open.
Atherion didn't hesitate. He cupped Camelia's face and kissed her, a desperate ploy to sell their deception.
Camelia froze, shock rippling through her body.
It was her first kiss, stolen in a moment of survival. Her mind screamed, but she understood the stakes.
A knight's voice carried into the room. "The girl who looked like Lady Camelia?"
Hearing the words, Camelia pressed closer, wrapping her arms around Atherion's neck, hiding her face against his shoulder.
The knights hesitated, their gazes sweeping over the scene—the bare-chested man, the disheveled woman caught in an embrace.
Atherion broke the kiss, shifting slightly to shield her face. His glare was sharp, unwavering.
"You're interrupting," he said, his voice edged with impatience.
His fingers brushed Camelia's thigh, maintaining the illusion. She stiffened, a soft gasp escaping—loud enough to carry.
The lead knight, a grizzled man with a scarred jaw, flushed in embarrassment.
"Apologies," he stammered. "We mistook you. Lady Camelia wouldn't…" He trailed off, gesturing to his men. "Let's go."
Another knight muttered under his breath, "No noblewoman would be caught like this."
They retreated, the door slamming shut, their footsteps fading down the corridor.
Camelia remained still, her arms still locked around Atherion's neck, her breathing uneven. His head sagged onto her shoulder, the fever pulling him under.
She flinched slightly at the contact—the tickle of his breath against her skin—but quickly eased him back onto the bed.
His face was flushed, his eyes unfocused, heat radiating from his skin in alarming waves.
"I'm sorry," Atherion rasped, his voice weak. "I didn't mean to… I've never done that before. It was to protect you."
Camelia shook her head, her cheeks still burning. "It's fine. I know you were saving us."
She grabbed the damp towel from the bedside, wringing it out and placing it gently on his forehead. He winced but relaxed slightly, the cool fabric easing the fever's grip.
As she adjusted the towel, Atherion's hand shot out, swatting hers away with a rough jerk.
Camelia recoiled, eyes wide with hurt and confusion.
The towel slipped into the basin, and she instinctively retreated to the chair, her hands trembling slightly.
Atherion caught the expression on her face and turned away, his back to her, guilt twisting in his chest.
'I've hurt her again.'
He closed his eyes, the fever pulling him deeper into exhaustion.
'She's not Camelia… but is she the Light?
I should've left her to the Duke's men, let her live as a noble.
Why am I dragging her into this?'
Camelia sat in silence, her thoughts tangled between embarrassment and concern.
'That was my first kiss.'
The memory burned—not just for its suddenness, but for the way it had stirred something unexpected.
She glanced at Atherion's still form, his breathing uneven.
'He's not like that. He was desperate.'
Yet, the ease of his act, the way he had played the part so convincingly, left her wondering.
'Does he do this often?'
She buried her face in her hands, the weight of her new reality pressing down.
***
In the Valthoria Kingdom, far beyond Calonia's borders, King Edrick paced before his grand throne, his black beard twitching with agitation. Theon, an ancient seer draped in white robes, leaned on his worn wooden staff, his long beard nearly brushing his knees.
"So, Theon," Edrick said, his voice sharp with impatience, "you're certain the Light has awakened?"
Theon bowed respectfully, his voice steady despite the slight tremble in his aging frame. "Yes, Your Majesty. The Light stirs, its power no longer dormant."
Edrick halted mid-step, his glare pinning the seer in place. "You told me the Duke of Valois's daughter in Calonia was the Light, her power asleep. Correct?"
"Indeed, Your Majesty," Theon replied, bowing even deeper, his gaze never lifting from the floor.
"And you said the Darkness rises with the Light," Edrick continued, resuming his pacing, his boots striking the marble floor with deliberate force. "A force we could harness."
"That is so," Theon confirmed, his hands tightening around his staff.
Edrick's steps echoed through the throne room, the tension mounting in his voice. "We couldn't touch her before—too many guards, Calonia's damned knights. Now she's vanished, kidnapped, and you can't see where?"
His voice rose, sharp with frustration.
Theon hesitated, his fingers trembling slightly. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. The visions are clouded, tangled. I cannot pinpoint her exact location."
Edrick spun abruptly, his towering form looming over the seer.
"Nothing?" His tone was incredulous, his fury barely contained. "The Light could control the Darkness—give us the world—and you offer nothing?"
He stormed back to his throne, slamming a fist onto the armrest, the impact reverberating through the hall. "Get out."
Theon hurriedly scurried from the room, his robes billowing as he disappeared beyond the doors, leaving Edrick alone, his mind churning with ambition and unease.
The Light was a prize, but the Darkness it could unleash was a gamble he couldn't afford to lose.