The brassy blare of the horn grew louder, accompanied by the rhythmic, heavy thud of marching boots—the sound of iron crushing gravel. Marianne's blood turned to liquid ice. She knew that rhythm; it was the "Cleansing March," the sound the Imperial Guard made when they weren't just passing through, but searching.
"They're not just patrolling," Marianne whispered, her eyes darting to the bend in the road where the first glint of silver armor appeared. "They're house-to-house. Gerald, if they see you, they'll know you're not from here. Your hands, your posture... you'll be in chains before you can blink."
"The woods?" Gerald asked, his hand instinctively reaching for a sword that wasn't there.
"Too late. They've circled the perimeter." Marianne's mind raced through the layout of the hovel. "The cellar space. Under the floorboards."
She grabbed his wrist and hauled him inside, past the startled Maya. Behind the grain sacks in the corner was a tiny, cramped crawlspace—a hole dug into the earth to keep roots cool during the summer. It was barely large enough for a child, let alone a grown man and a girl.
"In. Now," she commanded.
Gerald scrambled into the dark, damp hole, and Marianne squeezed in after him, pulling the heavy, moth-eaten rug and a stack of empty crates over the trapdoor.
The space was suffocating. They were forced into a tangle of limbs; Marianne's back was pressed against the cold, packed earth, while Gerald was braced directly over her. Because the ceiling was so low, he had to tuck his head into the crook of her neck.
The air was thick with the scent of damp soil, dried herbs, and the sudden, sharp heat of two bodies pressed together. Every time Gerald breathed, the warmth of it bloomed against her collarbone.
Marianne froze. In her previous life, she had led thousands of men, slept in trenches, and faced death without blinking. But here, in the dark, she was suddenly acutely aware of the girl she was now. She could feel the steady, frantic thrum of Gerald's heart against her chest. She looked up, her eyes adjusting to the slivers of light peeking through the floorboards.
Up close, Gerald was devastating. Even with a smudge of dirt on his jaw, his features were carved with a perfection that seemed almost unfair. His lashes were long, casting shadows over his cheekbones, and his lips were pulled into a tight line of tension.
She realized then why Lila and the others had been acting like fools. He wasn't just handsome; he possessed a magnetic, quiet strength that pulled at the air around him.
But as she watched him, she noticed something strange. Gerald wasn't looking at the door or the floorboards. He was staring pointedly at the dirt wall an inch from his nose, his face flushing a deep, visible crimson. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, and his breathing became shallow and jagged.
He's shy, she realized with a jolt of shock. The great Crown Prince of Dwelfinth, the man who would lead armies, was currently trembling because he was squeezed into a hole with a girl.
"Gerald," she breathed, the sound barely a vibration. "Are you alright?"
He swallowed hard, his Adam's pillar moving convulsively. "It's... very small in here," he choked out, his voice strained. He shifted his weight, trying to create distance, but only succeeded in pressing his thigh more firmly against hers. He let out a small, stifled gasp and shut his eyes tight, refusing to meet her gaze.
"Shh," she hissed, her hand moving to his chest to steady him. Under her palm, his heart was racing like a trapped bird.
Above them, the heavy boots of the guards entered the shack.
"Search the back!" a voice barked. "The Prince said the girl lived in this district."
The floorboards groaned. A guard's boot stepped directly onto the crate covering their heads. Marianne felt Gerald go still—not the stillness of fear, but the deadly, coiled stillness of a predator. He placed a hand over hers on his chest, his fingers cold and steadying. For a few agonizing minutes, they stayed like that—chest to chest, breath to breath, suspended in a pocket of time where the past and future didn't exist.
Finally, the boots retreated. The front door slammed.
They waited until the sound of the horn faded into the next street before Gerald pushed the crates aside. He scrambled out first, reaching back to haul Marianne up. His face was still flushed, and he wouldn't look her in the eye, busying himself by brushing the dirt off his sleeves with unnecessary intensity.
"Thank you," he muttered, his voice still a bit high. "That was... efficient."
"It was necessary," Marianne said, smoothing her hair, trying to regain her own composure.
They stepped outside to catch their breath, only to find a shadow blocking the sunlight. Lila was leaning against the fence, her arms crossed over her chest, a sharp, knowing glint in her eyes. She hadn't left. She had watched the guards enter and stayed to see who came out.
"My, my," Lila said, her voice dropping the sugary tone and replacing it with something cold and calculating. "The Imperial Guard is out in full force. They weren't looking for grain thieves today."
She stepped closer to Gerald, her eyes scanning the way he held himself, the way he stood protectively half-a-step in front of Marianne.
"You're not a trader's son, are you?" Lila whispered, her "great intuition" finally catching the scent of a secret. "Traders don't have guards from the capital scouring the slums for them. And they certainly don't hide in holes with village girls like they're protecting a crown."
"Lila, you're imagining things," Marianne said, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous warning. "The guards are bored. They harass everyone."
"I have a very good nose for power, Marianne," Lila countered, a smirk playing on her lips. "And right now, this 'nobody' of yours smells like a golden ticket. You think you can keep him all to yourself? You think you can hide a lion in a dog kennel?"
Gerald finally looked at her, his shyness replaced by a cool, regal distance that made Lila blink. "I don't know what you think you saw, but I am just a man trying to reach his family. If you interfere with that, you might find the 'power' you're looking for is much heavier than you can carry."
Lila's smile faltered, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated suspicion. She backed away slowly, pointing a finger at both of them.
"I don't trust either of you," she spat. "You're hiding something that could get this whole village burned, and I'm not going to be the one holding the torch when it happens. Keep your secrets for now. But remember—I'm a Miller's daughter. I know how to grind things down until there's nothing left."
She turned and marched toward the village, her pace hurried and angry.
Marianne watched her go, a sinking feeling in her gut. "She's going to be a problem," she murmured.
Gerald looked down at his hand, the one that had held Marianne's in the dark. "She already is. But she's not the one I'm worried about." He looked at the Citadel on the hill. "Alaric is looking for you. Not me. He's coming back, Marianne."