"Lamberra! You're actually on time?" Lacey's voice sliced cleanly through the thrum of Whitewash Alley. The clash of mugs, the rasp of fiddles and the drunken yells of both men and women. She rose from the crowd like a torch thrown into a dark room: tall, easy, utterly sure of herself. Copper hair spilled over her shoulders in molten ribbons, catching the firelight in loud flashes. Even her smile looked confident.
She saw the instant Lamberra turned. A small flare of satisfaction lit in Lacey's chest.
But the flicker died when she noticed the way Lamberra moved.
Lamberra didn't bother with excuses; she only murmured, "I'm so sorry, Lacey," the words nearly drowned beneath a burst of drunken laughter nearby.
Lacey shifted sideways to make space for her, instinct more than choice. From this close she could see everything Lamberra tried to hide. Her stiff shoulders, the subtle wavering in her balance, the exhaustion clinging to her like smoke. That's when Lamberra leaned into her.
Not much, barely a breath of weight. But it was enough for Lacey to go still.
"I'm just… tired," Lamberra whispered. "It's been a long day. A long life."
For a heartbeat, Lamberra wished she'd swallowed the words before they escaped. She felt them hanging in the air between them. It was foolish Lacey should be the last person for Lamberra to lean on. Yet, Lacey was the only Lamberra did lean on.
Lacey's teasing dropped away instantly. Her brows knitted, her golden-brown eyes sharpening with concern so real it startled Lamberra. Warm fingers brushed through Lamberra's uneven hair, smoothing it absently, grounding her with a gentle touch.
"What happened?" Lacey asked quietly.
Lamberra's throat tightened, unsure what to say.
"Can we skip the drinks tonight?" she managed. "I just want to talk."
Lacey didn't push. She rarely did when things actually mattered. Instead she straightened her. The posture shifting into that effortless authority she wore like a second skin. A sharp snap of her fingers cut through the crowd.
A knight seemed to appear from nowhere, armor catching the torchlight in hard gleams. Lamberra caught only fragments of their hushed conversation but she didn't care. All she could think was how warm Lacey's shoulder was.
"Come," Lacey murmured, brushing a reassuring hand along Lamberra's arm.
They left Whitewash Alley behind, the noise peeling away street by street. Lamberra felt each shift of the city like stepping from one world into another. From the reeking slums, where laughter sounded desperate and broken into something more peaceful. It was replaced by composure, by order.
Knights stood at attention on every corner. Their salutes snapped crisply but not just to Lacey, but to Lamberra as well.
Lamberra blinked in shock when one bowed directly. Lacey smirked while she took notice.
"You're an honored guest tonight," Lacey said lightly, nudging for a smile she didn't receive.
Lamberra barely heard her, too busy staring at the structure rising ahead. A towering inn, its facade washed in soft gold from lanterns set in polished stone. Even in dimness, wealth radiated from every carved arch and gilded hinge. She felt her stomach clench.
"Lacey… why are we here?" Her voice shrank into the quiet. The opulence pressed in on her: velvet curtains glimpsed through the door, marble steps, warm lights. Everything about it screamed not for you.
Lacey only grinned wider, mischief curling at the edges.
"Simple. This place has everything! A kitchen, a bar, and a private room for us. The best part?" She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "It's all free."
Of course it was, Lamberra thought to herself.
Inside, the knight from earlier was already speaking with the innkeeper, arrangements somehow completed before Lamberra even realized he'd gone ahead. It felt surreal to her. The quiet efficiency, the respect, the way the room itself seemed to bend around Lacey's presence. For a brief moment, the unease loosened its grip. For a brief moment, Lamberra let herself believe she might actually feel safe.
Lacey spun back toward her with a brightness that almost felt reckless. "Order whatever you want," she announced, as if proclaiming the rules of a festival game. Her laugh bubbled outwards. There was something in its warmth tugged at the corners of Lamberra's mouth despite everything weighing her down. She didn't mean to smile, but it was unexpected and fragile. Free.
Lamberra watched as Lacey swept toward the counter, her presence immediately drawing every eye within reach. Confidence radiated from her in a way that didn't feel performed; it was simply part of how she moved, how she breathed. Within seconds she was rattling off orders in a cheerful tone. Plates, platters, pastries making Lamberra lose track almost instantly. When Lacey added two bottles of wine without blinking, Lamberra felt a flicker of awe,
"I think I'll just steal some off your plate," Lamberra said, sliding closer with a crooked grin she didn't quite feel right. It was easier to joke than to admit the truth; that Lacey had ordered enough food for an entire family.
Lacey didn't even look back at her. She simply told the innkeeper, "She'll have your meat pie."
Lamberra's head snapped up. "No, that's too expensive! That pie is more than I make when I do supply runs to Siburg!" Her voice hitched upward, disbelief twisting sharp in her chest. Spending that much on a meal felt obscene.
"I told you, we don't pay here." Lacey's tone remained calm, but there was an edge beneath it which forced Lamberra to agree.
"Please have everything brought to our room when it's ready," Lacey added, already turning toward the staircase, already leaving no space for another protest.
"My lady," the innkeeper murmured, bowing his head.
Lamberra followed, her steps slow, her thoughts racing faster than her legs could carry. The stairs didn't creak beneath her weight, something that Lamberra never noticed before.
The room they entered was small. No more than a bed, a table, two chairs, but to Lamberra it felt extravagant. It was too clean, too quiet, and far too comfortable. The moon spilled through a narrow window in a pale sheet of silver, softening the room's edges and making everything look even more unreal.
"This is what passes for royalty?" Lamberra joked weakly, though awe hovered beneath the words.
"Meh. I've stayed worse. Especially when I'm traveling with my lord father." Lacey waved a hand, dismissive, almost bored. "This was last minute. We could've gotten the best room with more time."
"Oh my gods, Lacey, I was kidding," Lamberra laughed, bewildered by the casualness of it.
Lacey smiled but said nothing. Instead she turned to the three knights posted silently at the door. Lamberra had nearly forgotten they were there.
"You three, out. Let me know when the food and wine arrive."
The knights left wordlessly, boots thudding down the hallway. Their absence folded the room inward, shrinking it into a pocket of warmth but also tension. Silence settled in the space they left behind.
Lacey lightly walked to the window and shoved it open. A cool breath of night air rushed inside, brushing against the back of Lamberra's neck.
Lamberra lowered herself into one of the chairs, her muscles loosening with a kind of exhausted surrender.
"What's wrong, sweet girl?" Lacey's voice drifted over her voice the softest it had ever been. As she passed behind Lamberra, her fingers slid lightly through Lamberra's short, greasy hair. A gesture so gentle it made Lamberra's eyes sting, filling with tears.
"I'm just tired, Lacey. I told you already." Her gaze stayed fixed on the floorboards. The old oak was scarred with dents and darkened by years of spilled wine and hurried footsteps. They belonged to a guest room meant for comfort, yet she felt like an intruder sitting there, knees drawn in, boots still on. Her fists curled tight in her lap, nails biting into her soft skin.
After a long silence, she forced herself to speak again. "What you're doing is amazing." Then the truth slipped through, rough and unguarded. "But… I can't help feeling guilty about all of it. I am a poor girl that sleeps next to elves."
Lacey saw everything Lamberra was trying not to show. The tension in her shoulders, the way she folded inward like she'd learned long ago to make herself smaller. She crouched beside her without ceremony, skirts whispering against the floor, and rested a warm, steady hand on Lamberra's knee.
"The fact you feel guilty," Lacey said softly, "just proves how pure your heart is." Her voice had the calm confidence of someone used to being believed. "But no one's paying for this. Not me, not my father, and certainly not you."
She tilted her head, golden hair catching the moonlight from the narrow window. "Now tell me… why are you tired?"
Lamberra felt the question settle on her. Lacey's gaze wasn't sharp, but it was impossible to escape. It was warm but also searching. Lamberra had dodged worse questioning from her mother, but this one frightened her more. Slowly, she lifted her head.
Their eyes met.
Lacey's were the color of sunlit honey, bright with curiosity and promise. Yet, Lamberra could not speak as tears slowly spilled from the sides of her eyes.
"You know," Lacey said, "I respect you so much."
"Me?" Lamberra laughed weakly, disbelief fraying her voice. "A dirty, greasy, broke girl from the slums?" Bitterness crept in, sharpened by old shame. "You respect me?"
"Of course I do." Lacey didn't hesitate. "You work tirelessly for your family. Not for yourself, but for Selma and Amara." Her expression softened. "That matters. But…" She studied Lamberra carefully. "Do you feel respected? Do you feel loved?"
The question slipped past every defense Lamberra had.
She looked away, shoulders rounding as if bracing for a blow that never came. "No," she admitted quietly. "They're grateful. I know that and I'm thankful for them too. But my mother's getting older, and my sister…" She swallowed. "She's too innocent to grow up where we live."
"You were once innocent too, you know." Lacey rebuttaled.
The room fell silent, with Lamberra attempting to find that innocence. Narrow alleys slick with runoff, laughter edged with desperation, the constant press of too many lives fighting for too little space, the constant ache of hunger. She'd learned how to survive there.
Three sharp knocks cracked through the air crushing the slight awkward silence.
Lacey sprang up, the heaviness dissolving from her face like mist under the sun. "Food's here!"
She opened the door to three men balancing trays heavy with silver lids and dark glass bottles. The smell alone transformed the room: roasted meat, buttered crust, herbs Lamberra couldn't name.
"Mains on the table," Lacey instructed, "the rest on the bed."
They obeyed without question, efficient and silent, and moments later the door shut again. Lacey turned back with a grin. "Now, where were we?"
Lamberra didn't answer. She reached for a fork, cutting into a massive meat pie. Steam escaped, rich and fragrant. One bite and her breath caught. It was indulgent and decadent. Nothing like the thin stews and hard bread she knew. She barely finished chewing before the words spilled out, her guard becoming undone.
"I asked my mother if I could get a job at the castle."
Lacey's interest sharpened, though she said nothing.
"But Mama shut it down immediately," Lamberra continued. "Told me never to bring it up again. She was furious."
Her grip tightened on the fork. "I haven't seen that look in her eyes in years."
Silence stretched. Lacey watched her closely, plate untouched, mind racing ahead faster than she let on. Then she smiled slowly, bright in radiance.
"Miss Lamberra," Lacey declared, delight bubbling over, "I officially welcome you into my service! I've been waiting so long for you to ask!"
Lamberra's stomach twisted. "No. I can't." The refusal came out firm, though doubt crept beneath it. "Every position requires living there. Mama made that quite clear."
"Easy," Lacey said, waving it away. "You won't be live-in."
"That's still hours of walking," Lamberra pressed. "And it wouldn't be fair to the other maids-"
"Who said anything about being a maid?" Lacey interrupted smoothly. "I said my service." She leaned in, conspiratorial. "I hate the word 'servant.' Sounds like chains. You'd be my personal attendant."
She laid out the plan with practiced ease. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, when the castle is most busy. Come and go freely. Lacey watched Lamberra's face intently. "So," she said lightly, "Monday?"
"I don't know," Lamberra whispered. "Can I think about it?"
"Of course, silly" Lacey finally turned to her food. "That's all this was, then? Just a job?"
The question cracked something open. The previous dried tears on her face were met with fresh ones. They came fast, violent. Her breathing broke into ragged gasps, chest aching as if she couldn't draw enough air. Lacey's chair scraped back, loud in the sudden quiet, and she was there in an instant, moving dishes and clearing space.
She knelt before Lamberra, Lacey's hands warm and steady on her thigh.
"Berra," she said gently. "I don't know what hurts you so much. I might never understand. But I know you're strong." Her voice softened further. "You're why I want to succeed my father."
She glanced at the cleared bed. "Would you like to lie down?"
Lamberra blinked hard, as if the simple act might push the moment away. It didn't. Tears broke free instead, spilling down her cheeks in hot, unstoppable streams. She shook her head, a small, desperate motion that said no.
"I want to help people like you," Lacey said, understanding her needs. "The ones the nobility forget."
Lamberra raised her hands and covered her face, palms pressing hard against her eyes as if she could physically hold herself together. Through the blur of tears and skin, she could still see Lacey kneeling beside her refusing to look away.
Lacey shifted, something sparking behind her eyes. "Do you remember that man?" Her voice carried a new energy now, restrained but electric. "The one who tried to hurt you the night we met?"
"Of course I do," Lamberra said hoarsely.
"Well," Lacey replied, and now her tone sharpened, "he's still rotting in a cell. Even now. Two years later."
Lamberra's head snapped up so fast it made her dizzy. "Two years?" Her voice cracked. "But…that's not right. For something like that it's usually…" She swallowed. "A beating. Or they take a hand?"
"Not anymore." Lacey's lips curved into a smile that did not ask permission to exist. Her golden eyes gleamed. "After I witnessed it firsthand, I had my father change the law across his entire lordship."
She let silence stretch allowing the buildup.
"Now they choose," Lacey continued softly. "Rot in a cell until they're forgotten… or become free, but only as a eunuch"
For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
Then Lamberra snorted.
The sound startled her as much as anyone. It burst out of her chest, sharp and undignified, and once it escaped, laughter followed. It was raw and breathless, almost hysterical. It cut through the tears like a blade. Absurdity slammed into her all at once, and she bent forward, shoulders shaking as she laughed harder than she had in years.
Lacey stared for half a second and then she laughed too. Loud yet unrestrained. A noblewoman's laugh with no concern for walls or witnesses.
"You're sadistic," Lamberra managed between gasps, wiping her cheeks with the heel of her hand.
"Protective," Lacey corrected easily.
She rose from her kneel and brushed a few loose copper strands from Lamberra's face, fingers gentle, almost reverent. The touch lingered longer than necessary.
"You're dangerous, Everknight," Lamberra murmured. The words teased, but beneath them was something else. Recognition.
"Only to those who deserve it," Lacey replied, smirking. The room quieted. The laughter drained away, leaving the weight of everything they'd said hanging thick between them. Lacey exhaled, and for just a moment, something like hesitation crossed her face. When she smiled again, it was softer toward Lamberra.
"Why are you so nice to me?" Lamberra asked quietly.
"That's a conversation for another time," Lacey said, sidestepping with practiced ease. Then her expression shifted, unreadable. "But if there's anything I can do for you… I will do it."
All Lamberra could do was nod as there was no doubt in her voice.
"Not to be rude," Lacey added, glancing over Lamberra's disheveled state, "but this inn has a bathhouse. Would you like to try it?" She grinned and patted Lamberra's greasy hair with exaggerated solemnity.
Heat flooded Lamberra's face. "I-"
"Come on," Lacey urged, already tugging her hand. "I'll go with you."
"Huh?" Lamberra blinked. "We'd be… naked." Unease curled in her stomach. "That would be extremely disrespectful to you."
Lacey giggled. "Unless you're planning to mock me or stare with lustful eyes, nothing is disrespectful." A pause. "Although… I wouldn't mind one lustful look," she teased.
Lamberra choked on air as she watched Lacey knock on the door to alert a knight from her personal guard.
"Fresh clothes from the castle. And make sure the bathwater is piping hot."
Turning back, she added lightly, "Let's finish eating. Maybe get a little tipsy. I still need my drink, you know."
They ate. They drank. Conversation wandered about weather, distant lordships, ridiculous hypotheticals about magic. Lamberra laughed more than she meant to. Forgot, briefly, where she was until the knock returned.
"Our clothes will be waiting in the changing room," Lacey said, rising gracefully.
"You mean the ones you ordered?"
"Yes," Lacey grinned. "Also, keep yours. They don't fit me anymore."
Lamberra looked at her as they made their way toward the bathhouse. The difference between them struck like a blow. Lacey was poised, confident, and radiant. Built for silk and crowns. Lamberra had always been slight, narrow, easily overlooked. She felt like a shadow beside the sun.
Steam rolled thick through the bathhouse, clinging to skin and stone alike, carrying the scent of lavender oil and heated mineral water. It softened the edges of the room, blurred hard lines into something intimate, almost secret. The heavy wooden doors sealed shut behind them, guards stationed beyond.
"It must be strange," Lamberra murmured, glancing toward the door as if she could still feel the weight of the world pressing from the other side. "Having so much protection all the time. I think I'd go mad if I never had a moment to myself."
Lacey huffed a quiet laugh as she wrestled with the ties of her gown. "It's not so bad," she said, tugging at stubborn fabric around her neck. "My chambers at the castle are secure enough that no one guards the door. That's where I can breathe."
Lamberra watched her without meaning to. Watched the way Lacey's fingers worked, nimble but impatient. Watched the way heat had already flushed her skin, how damp air made bronze hair cling faintly to her neck.
"Here," Lamberra said before she could think better of it. "Let me."
Lacey sighed theatrically and shifted her hair aside, exposing the graceful line of her neck and the delicate hollow just below her ear. The gesture was unconscious and trusting. It sent a sharp, electric awareness through Lamberra's hands which made her hesitate.
Then she reached forward and undid the clasp in one smooth motion.
The gown loosened instantly, sliding from Lacey's shoulders like liquid silk, whispering down her arms, over her hips and pooling at her feet. Steam curled around bare skin, tracing the lines of her body without shame or apology.
"Oh-!" Lamberra spun away so fast she nearly slipped, hands flying to her face. "I—I'm sorry, my lady, I didn't mean to-"
"Shut up, Berra." Lacey's voice was laughing, unbothered, warm with amusement rather than offense. "Can I call you that?" Lacey continued lightly. "I did earlier. You didn't seem to mind."
Heat flared violently across Lamberra's face, down her neck, into places she very deliberately did not examine. "Of course," she stammered. "You can call me whatever you like."
"Good." She stepped into the bath, sighing as the water enveloped her. "Now hurry. The water won't stay warm forever."
Lamberra finally began undressing herself. Her heart was pounding as she slid her pants, shirt and then underwear off. All of their clothes pooled beside one another. One was rich and demanding, the other deserving of trashcan.
When she finally stepped into the bath, the heat made her gasp. Water closed around her thighs, her hips, her waist. She tried not to think about how exposed she was, how her heart hammered so loudly she was certain Lacey could hear it.
She glanced up and froze. Lacey was watching her openly, yet unflinching. Golden eyes taking her in with a boldness that made Lamberra's breath catch.
"My, my," Lacey murmured, voice low, appreciation threaded through every syllable. "You're beautiful."
Lamberra's hands rose instinctively, a futile attempt to shield herself. Modesty was muscle memory for everyone in the slums. Her mouth opened to deny it, to laugh it off but the words never came.
"What's that scar?"
Lacey's gaze had shifted. It traced the jagged line running down Lamberra's side, from just beneath her breast to the curve of her hip. Not a prying question, but a curious one.
Lamberra went still as the water lapped softly against her skin.
She sank lower into the bath, the waterline creeping up her ribs. "When I was a child," she said, voice subdued, distant. "I fell into a ravine. I was playing with some elven children."
Lamberra paused for a small moment.
"A rock tore me open," she continued. "From my chest to my hip. I remember the pain. I remember going unconscious with my ears ringing. They ran for help, screaming." Her fingers curled beneath the water. "But when they came back…as I was laying in a pool of my own blood, the wound was already closed."
Lacey rose from the bath without a word. Water streamed down her body as she stepped closer, completely unconcerned with her own nudity. She crouched beside Lamberra, eyes fixed on the scar, studying it. Her fingers hovered over the scar but never quite touching it.
"Healing magic…" Lacey barely audible.
Lamberra shook her head quickly, forcing a dry laugh. "No. It couldn't be. Emerald children are the only ones who can do that. Everyone knows-"
"Everyone knows what they are told," Lacey said quietly. She straightened slowly, expression unreadable now.
"It's probably just a story Mama made up," Lamberra played it off. "To scare me into being careful and to not go back near the ravine. Nobody in the continent much less Ashvale can heal fatal wounds like that if the story is true," she chuckled.
"Perhaps," Lacey replied but not convinced.
They soaked in silence, steam curling between them, water rippling softly as time passed enjoying the peacefulness.
Then Lacey spoke.
"I really hope you choose to become my personal servant, Berra. Truly."
The sincerity in her voice caught Lamberra off guard.
"Why?" Lamberra asked. "I'm just an unimportant girl from the slums. I don't know why you even like me."
Lacey's smile faltered. Her gaze dropped to the water, to the distorted reflection staring back at her.
"Because I'm tired of being alone," she said. The vulnerability in her voice was naked in a way her body was not.
"My family is grooming my younger brother to inherit everything," Lacey continued. "Because he's a man. And they're trying to marry me off to a lord on the far edge of the kingdom." She exhaled slowly. "I'm fighting it. It's tearing us apart."
She laughed quietly, without humor. "You think I have everything. But I am a pawn, a political toy. Not a person."
Lamberra hesitated but then moved closer. The water shifted, their knees nearly brushing. The closeness sent another jolt through her chest, gentler this time.
"I'm lonely too," she admitted, unable to muster anything more.
"It's nice to hear that," she said softly.
For the first time, Lamberra saw her clearly. Not the noble. Not the Everknight family. Just a girl.
Later, dressed in the clothes brought from the castle, Lamberra traced the fabric of the gown with careful fingers. Burnt orange and midnight purple like a sunset over the Siburg River. It felt like something from another life and it was a glimpse into a world she'd never touched until now.
"This is the cleanest I've felt in years," Lamberra murmured. She turned slightly, slow and uncertain, testing how the fabric moved when she did. The gown followed her body instead of fighting it. It didn't hang stiff or bunch at the seams like the clothes she was used to. Patched, reused, built for endurance rather than comfort. She lifted her hands and combed her fingers through her hair, still damp from the bath, pausing when they met no resistance. No grease. No grit. Just soft strands sliding free.
"Thank you," she said after a moment, quieter now, as if the words were fragile. "For helping me feel… anew."
"You deserve to feel human, Berra," Lacey said finally, tilting her head. "Everyone does."
They walked side by side back toward their room, a knight leading the way through the inn's narrow corridor while another followed close behind. The rhythm of heavy boots against worn floorboards echoed softly, filling the space where laughter and music had once been. The inn had gone quiet.
Lamberra had seen it before. The way common folk retreated in the presence of nobility, as if visibility itself were a risk. She'd grown up learning when to step aside, when to lower her eyes, when to become unremarkable. Still, something about the emptiness unsettled her.
At the door to their room, one knight remained stationed outside, posture rigid, gaze sharp. Lacey barely looked at him before speaking, her voice calm and certain.
"Inform the commanding officer that we'll be staying the night. Make sure the rotations are handled properly."
The knight nodded sharply. "At once, Lady Everknight." He disappeared down the stairs, crimson cloak with the burning arrow stitched in brushing the rail as he went.
"What was that about?" Lamberra asked, tilting her head.
Lacey shrugged, though her expression tightened slightly. "It's my responsibility. If they're risking their lives for me, the least I can do is ensure they're cared for."
Lamberra smirked faintly. "See? There's a good heart in there."
"More or less," Lacey teased back.
Inside, the room felt smaller than before. Perhaps it was the wine and cheese laid neatly on the table, or the way candlelight pooled in the corners, softening the space. Or perhaps it was the quiet realization taking root in Lamberra's chest that for the first time in years, she didn't feel an urgent need to leave. Two bottles of red wine caught the light, their glass dark and glossy. Lacey reached for one and poured without hesitation, filling both cups generously.
"Now it's time for multiple drinks," she said with a small laugh.
The laughter faded as quickly as it came. Lacey's gaze drifted to the window, to the thin slice of moonlight slipping between the shutters. She exhaled slowly, a sound that carried more than fatigue.
"Something's bothering you," Lamberra said.
Lacey hesitated, fingers tightening around her glass. "A lot, actually. But I don't want to burden you."
"Try," Lamberra said, stepping closer. The word came out steadier than she expected.
Lacey turned, surprised by the shift in her tone.
"I'm a good listener," Lamberra continued. "You listened to me. I might not understand court politics, but you'll get my honest opinion."
For a moment, Lacey studied her, weighing the offer. Then she looked back toward the window.
"King Mone is visiting soon," she said quietly.
"Within the year?" Lamberra asked.
Lacey nodded, swirling the wine absently. "He's coming to meet my father…" She trailed off, scared to speak. "I suppose I'll tell you the full truth. I'm expected to marry his son. The prince."
The words settled heavily between them.
"The capital. Stormhaven," Lamberra said after a beat. "That means you'd leave."
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Lacey replied flatly.
"Well," Lamberra said at last, lifting her glass with a crooked grin in an attempt to lighten the mood, "sounds like the next few months will be interesting."
Lacey laughed softly, clinking her glass against Lamberra's.
The conversation drifted after that. Childhood stories. Small, unimportant things. Laughter that felt earned. The wine softened the edges of everything. At some point, Lamberra found herself lying on the bed beside Lacey, her stomach aching from laughing too hard.
"If we are being completely honest with one another tonight…" she murmured, words slightly slurred, "I'm a bastard."
Lacey turned her head, blinking slowly. "I thought you said your father died."
"He might be. I don't know," Lamberra said, snorting quietly. "Mama won't talk about him. I don't have a surname. Just Lamberra."
"That's… sad," Lacey murmured. "Your sister too?"
"Amara too," Lamberra replied quickly. "And don't you dare pity me." She forced a smirk. "Berra's just fine."
Lacey was quiet for a moment, then spoke with a sincerity that caught Lamberra off guard. "I want you to know I think nothing less of you." She turned onto her side, golden eyes steady. "Bastard or not, you're remarkable."
"Remarkable," Lamberra scoffed.
Lacey stretched her arms overhead, yawning softly. "So, you're a bastard, possibly tied to healing magic, and you want to work at the castle." She paused, then chuckled. "You might be the most interesting person on the whole continent."
"Yes, no, and maybe!" Lamberra laughed. "But I will leave the slums one day."
Weariness came over both of them at the same time.
Lacey closed her eyes with a smile. "I guess I needed tonight too, not one just at the pub."
Outside, Whitewash Alley faded into near silence. Somewhere in the quiet, Lacey's arm draped over Lamberra. An absent, unthinking motion as Lamberra didn't notice. Their breathing slowed, warmth shared in the narrow space as sleep took them gently.