His voice was not accusatory, merely stating a fact. Bethel wasn't telling him the whole truth or her real reasons. He picked up on her recited words—the kind an actress might use.
"Family concerns don't usually involve women carrying small sledgehammers."
Bethel's breath hitched, but she held her composure. "I carry a self-defense tool because this city is crawling with men who think they can grab any woman's ankle," she retorted.
"Besides, you, good Sir, don't seem the type to care unless you yourself are the one being targeted."
Rupert gave a slow nod, acknowledging the logic without accepting the lie. He leaned closer, forcing Bethel to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.
How can I explain without revealing my profession or Josephine's situation? Bethel had tried to lie, a small white lie, enough that people wouldn't question it.
Now, a man named Rupert was standing before her, looking at her with ease, patiently waiting to hear words that weren't excuses.
She thought about a few moments ago: it would have been easier to overpower her, but Rupert kept his distance as he spoke. He instead put her to work carrying spice crates only a few steps away into storage, in exchange for answering any questions she had.
From the start, she benefited from his choices. Bethel didn't suffer any loss except a bit of stamina. The problem is, telling a stranger that I'm a Divorce Lawyer won't end well.
What Bethel is attempting to do is still new and Goddess-fearing to this kingdom. There haven't been any form of retaliation against her office yet. While the people are voicing their displeasure, others are waiting for actual results.
"Sigh..." Looking back up at Rupert, she tried to find his eyes through the forest of fringes. Catching a glimpse of them before losing sight in the wild mess. Were his eyes gray-colored? It was difficult to tell, as she kept her hands to herself.
That's not important right now. I should poke around the bear with a question before deciding to tell him the real reasons. Bethel forced herself to relax her shoulders. She took a half-step back to reclaim her personal space, setting the spice crate down deliberately.
"Are you, by chance, devoted to the church's belief that marriage is forever blessed by the goddess and no wrong can be found within it?"
Rupert didn't immediately answer. He let the silence stretch, the sound of Lord Ramsey's carriage now a definite presence by Grem's office—a distant but audible reminder of the ticking clock. His massive hand, resting on the textile crate, twitched slightly.
"An unexpected question, Miss," he finally rumbled, his voice losing its mocking edge and adopting a tone of genuine thought. He straightened, giving her back the personal space she'd needed.
"I wasn't raised on the common faith, as most are," he admitted. "But I respect the tenets of the Goddess: stability, loyalty, and protection of the home."
He took a measured step toward the oxen-pulled wagons and effortlessly picked up a crate, turning to face her as he spoke.
"Yet, I do not follow the Goddess's words of blessing from the mouths of priests with the legal contracts people draw up," Rupert continued, his pale eyes—Bethel now saw they were indeed a striking, clear gray—meeting hers without flinching.
"There are people with a tendency to corrupt the sacred with greed and power. To say 'no wrong could be found' in a marriage simply because a priest spoke words... is foolish. Wrong can be found anywhere people are involved."
He placed the spice crate precisely on the shelf she'd already started, the movement economical and final.
"So, no," he concluded. "I am not a devotee of that belief, if it excuses cruelty or binds the innocent. Why do you ask? Are you a runaway wife? Or are you simply testing my moral compass before you tell me why a woman armed with a construction tool is prowling my workplace?"
Bethel felt a rush of sudden relief. His answer wasn't just no. He saw the difference between faith and legal oppression.
She took a deep breath, a decision was made. "I'm a Divorce Lawyer, meaning I help clients safely end their marriages. Even though I have not yet successfully obtained a case."
The silence that followed was different from the others: the stillness of profound surprise. Rupert's gray eyes widened barely perceptibly, a flicker of shock that vanished as quickly as it came. He put his hands on his hips, his massive forearms crossing the expanse of his worn tunic.
"A... Divorce Lawyer," he repeated, the new term sounding strange and almost foreign coming from his low voice. He let out a slow, heavy breath that was half disbelief, half amusement. "You fight the Goddess's blessing and the Kingdom's law, and you carry a sledgehammer. And you asked if I was devout."
His composure—the outward appearance of a man surviving in the wilderness—combined with a subtle mock humor, made Bethel finally pull down her hood, pink lips pulled into a grand smile.
"Either that or get chased with torches, pitchforks, and having the High Priestess throw the church library at me."
Under the lanterns providing light in this dingy warehouse, Bethel swore this time, she witnessed him smile from the slight lift of his cheeks. Realizing the thought she was having, she pinched her wrist to not let herself get sidetracked.
"My name is Bethel Green, Divorce Lawyer and owner of Cleaved Knot Legal Services." Extending her hand towards him.
"I'm Rupert Graves, soon to be a fired employee of Master Grem." Taking her hand into a firm handshake. She could feel the rough calluses of his experienced hand wrapped around hers, a grip that held stories. But this was the furthest from her mind.
Graves? He has a last name? Commoners rarely have last names to associate with. Mainly ruling families, nobles, high-ranked priests, merchant families, and even knights bestowed upon by the King. While it's possible to inherit a last name from a parent that has one or an ancestor, these cases would sooner be absorbed into a different family and be forgotten, or the last surviving member of a family will perish without leaving an heir.
"Well, we are about finished here. Talking can make the work go by faster," he mused, making Bethel realize belatedly that all the crates were put away.
Looking up at Rupert, "Why did you say you were getting fired?"
"Weren't you eavesdropping earlier? Master Grem is displeased with my performance. The reason he was yelling is because I placed one textile crate blocking the path towards the spice storage."
"For that? That's clearly being unreasonable!" Frowning at the absurdity she was hearing, "I could help you sue him for abuse of authority as long as you have physical proof for the judges."
He shook his head, messy locks of curls bounced at this action. "There's no need, the Guild I'm a part of would already have another job waiting for me. Besides, for now, don't you have questions?"
Josephine... the possible client she spent days looking for. A timid woman with a slight stutter, suffering from domestic abuse, and maybe more than Bethel couldn't see.
Taking a deep breath, being filled with unanswered questions. She needed to wipe all of them off her desk, especially those of Rupert.
"Yes, have you noticed a woman with light brown hair and icy blue eyes? She would fidget with her sleeves, constantly pull them down." Her only description of Josephine.
The time she spent in Bethel's office was so brief that their tea didn't even have time to turn warm. The woman stuttering as she spoke of her reason for visiting: divorcing her husband, a man she no longer recognized as being married to.
Rupert noticed Bethel's expression seemed a bit off. Raising his arm, a finger poked Bethel's forehead. Snapping her out of any negative thoughts. Quickly covering the spot he poked, she didn't understand how quickly she got comfortable around him. A stranger no less; if Lydia saw this, she would ask how Bethel made a friend so easily.
"There shouldn't be a need to worry. I believe I have seen the woman you are searching for." His calm voice unfurled slowly, giving it a drowsy sense.
"Really?" Eyes widened at the information. "Are you sure? There might be plenty of women that would share the same description." She needed to make sure his word of witnessing Josephine was accurate.
"Purplish bruising around her wrists." Dropping those words in the silence of the warehouse they were in felt louder than the approaching footsteps and grumbling of a familiar voice.
Before Bethel could even form the next question, Rupert's massive hand shot out, not touching her, but catching the loose fabric of her dark cloak near her shoulder. He didn't pull; he simply spun her, pushing her gently but firmly behind the towering stack of recently placed textiles crates.
"Now is not the time, Miss Green," he murmured, his voice dropping to a near-inaudible rumble right by her ear before he took a long stride away. A fleeting heated sensation flared on the skin where his breath touched.
Wiping her ear to be rid of its lingering effects. 'What's going on? Is someone coming?' Bethel peered beside the crates as the warehouse door opened.