Honestly, I was still trying to figure out how Sir Alex managed to haul my gloriously heavy, curvaceous, plus-sized, queen-of-chunk body away from a collapsing mine entrance like I weighed nothing but rogue feathers and anxiety issues. I mean, what was he made of? Adamantine? Secret magical protein powder? Pure knightly delusion? Because I swear, physics was crying, gravity resigned, and even my fats were like, "Girl, we flying now."
But before I could question him with my usual snarky "excuse me, why are you a forklift with abs?", the loud commotion outside woke the entire camp. Rubble everywhere, smoke still floating, and me looking like a horror-movie cameo.
Suddenly, Coffi, my eternally dramatic but loyal aide, sprinted toward me with my guards. "My lady! My lady! What happened? Are you harmed? Injured? Cursed? Possessed? Reincarnated?!"
I almost rolled my eyes so hard, "I'm… fine. Mostly dusty. And confused. But alive. So that's something."
Meanwhile, Sir Alex's men were exchanging looks like they just witnessed a whole telenovela telecasted live—hero saves damsel, damsel weighs more than a whole horse, hero still does it without breaking a sweat—ratings: solid 10/10.
And Coffi, being Coffi, didn't stop there. No, because why pause when drama exists?
"My lady, why are you smiling like someone who just made a pact with a shadow demon?"
"Because I got a sword."
Her eyes widened, "A WHAT—"
I smirked, "A sword. Like, a real one. I think it's mine now."
"Can you even lift it—"
I looked at her how I looked at my Instagram profile, "…not… yet."
Okay, I tried swinging it earlier like every dramatic heroine in my imagination, but that sword weighed more than my emotional baggage and all my snack regrets combined. My wrist said "no", my elbow said "NO", my spine said "not today Satan."
A few hours of talks and explanation later, the camp fully awakened. Cooking pots clanged, fire crackled, and the smell of breakfast started floating around like magical therapy. My guards were rushing to prepare my meal, moving like overworked contestants in a medieval cooking show.
Then Coffi, with zero tact and maximum audacity, sniffed the air.
And gagged.
Actually gagged.
"My lady… with utmost respect… you smell like death. Like… rotting demon feet dipped in ancient despair."
What the hell? "Excuse me—"
"You smell like dark magic, destruction, misery, and expired dungeon air. You MUST bathe. Immediately."
I blinked.
Then stared.
I sighed, "Coffi… it was MINE DUST. I'm not an undead lich—"
"River. NOW. Before we all absorb evil aura." She replied with sass and push me towards the river.
Meanwhile, Alex's men were definitely holding back laughter. One of them even muttered: "Never thought dark sorcery smelled like… burnt potatoes and sadness."
I swear, if I wasn't trying to maintain the little dignity I had left, I would've thrown my boot at him.
So now I'm standing here, sword I can't lift, dignity barely breathing, apparently smelling like a cursed crypt…
And Sir Alex?
He keeps staring at me like he's trying to figure out why he risked his life for this walking disaster…
…and somehow still not regretting it.
Worst part?
I think I'm starting to like that look.
At the river…
Silence wrapped the forest like a velvet blanket. The only sounds were the soft rush of water and the occasional lonely hoot of an owl somewhere above the trees.
I had walked far enough from camp to guarantee privacy — or so I believed — clutching my towel like it was royal evidence and praying no spirit, soldier, or squirrel would witness my night-before-disaster appearance. With a deep sigh, I stepped into the river, letting the cold water climb slowly up my legs, then my waist. It was shockingly refreshing, washing away the dust, fear, and stupidity of sneaking into a cursed mine at midnight.
"This is heaven…" I whispered, closing my eyes.
For once, it felt like the world wasn't laughing at me.
My dress clung heavily to me as the water soaked through, but it was better than exposing myself to the moonlight. I splashed water on my face, humming softly, finally breathing.
Then —
SPLASH.
Holy Hell!
A heavy, masculine splash.
My eyes snapped open.
From behind a large mossy boulder, someone stepped into view — tall, broad-shouldered, soaked to the skin… and shirtless.
Sir Alex.
Moonlight traced every line of him like the gods were sculpting him fresh — wet hair brushed back, drops of water sliding down his neck, clinging to the defined lines of his chest, muscles flexing with every effortless movement.
My heart forgot how to function.
"W–WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" I squeaked, instinctively sinking lower into the river.
He blinked at me, completely unbothered. "Bathing."
Bathing.
BA. THING.
AS IF THIS WAS A COMMON SOCIAL ACTIVITY WE SCHEDULED TOGETHER.
My soul nearly drowned itself.
"This is— this is— this is my spot!" I stammered. "I am bathing here! I am a lady!"
He raised a brow, gaze calm, voice smooth. "I am aware."
My cheeks burned. "Then why are you still here?! Go to another river— or a puddle— or a lake— or— anywhere!"
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "This is the nearest water source. I didn't know you were here. But if you want me gone, I will leave."
He turned slightly, ready to walk away — but stopped.
His voice softened, almost hesitant. "…Unless you feel unsafe alone."
My breath caught. "…Unsafe?" I whispered.
He didn't look back, but his voice was low, steady. "There are wolves nearby. And shadows we still don't understand. You should not bathe alone. I can guard from here — turned away — if that makes it better."
My heart twisted painfully. Someone…wanted me safe.
Not useful.
Not obedient.
Not invisible.
Just…safe.
I swallowed. "You… won't look?"
He shifted his gaze to the opposite side of the river, giving me his profile — noble, composed, annoyingly beautiful. "Seraphine," he said quietly, "I am a knight. Not a beast."
My chest tightened so hard I feared I would float face-down and die from romance.
The river rippled between us, like a secret. Silence stretched — not awkward, but strangely warm. I exhaled shakily. "Fine. You may stay… but — not one glance. If you look, I'll… splash you to death."
A faint smile curved his lips — the kind that made the night air warmer. "Understood."