"But why the sudden interest?" Krazel asked, leaning forward with a knowing glint in his eye. He took a slow sip of his wine, watching Ramius as he took a sip.
"Something like that," Ramius answered. He held Krazel's gaze for a single heartbeat—a calculated pause—before shifting his eyes toward the man sitting at the far end of the common room.
But a heartbeat was all the time the man needed. In the blink of an eye, the chair was empty. 'He's gone. Looks like things are about to get really annoying.'
Is something the matter?" Krazel asked, noticing the shift in Ramius's focus. He craned his neck, looking in the same direction, trying to see what had stolen his companion's attention.
"No," Ramius said smoothly, turning back with an easy smile. "Thought I recognized someone, that's all."
"Ah." Krazel settled back, his curiosity undimmed. "This woman you mentioned—she must be quite something if she's caught your attention." Krazel said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial, nosy tone. He leaned in closer, clearly hoping for some gossip to liven up the evening.
"I suppose she is," Ramius voice was neutral. Truth be told, he had never paid much mind to women's looks. Beauty, charm, desire—it all seemed distant, irrelevant compared to strategy and duty.
Krazel's brows rose in amusement. "Then I take it you won't be joining tonight's Yeminai selection?"
"Yeminai selection?" Ramius repeated, recalling the term. "The event where young women are presented and men bid for… a night in their company?"
"Exactly." Krazel chuckled. "It's an old Norco tradition. Held every five months in every inn hall at Norco. 'Yemi' for maiden, 'nai' for temporary possession. All very proper authority stamps, prices agreed, no one forced. Draws crowds from every corner."
Ramius considered it. "I've never found much joy in such things. But…" He offered a small, calculated smile. "I wouldn't mind coming along. It would give me a chance to greet those companions you're waiting for this evening."
'The man from before had his eyes on Krazel. I will act under the suspicion that he is—or is at least related to—a Thornsleeper. And his target is Krazel. If I stay by him, I'm bound to find a lead.'
Krazel's face lit up. "I'd be honored to have you join me, Sir Ramius."
...
Meanwhile, in the quiet room of the smaller inn,
Hanon lay rigid on his back, his head throbbing. His eyes were shot through with red veins, a direct result of a total lack of sleep. The first pale light of dawn crept through the window, painting thin gray stripes across the ceiling beams.
He turned his head slowly and looked at the woman sleeping peacefully beside him.
Aeloria breathed soft and even, her dark hair spilled across the pillow, one arm tucked beneath her cheek. She looked utterly at ease—secure in a way that twisted something deep in his chest.
'I... I want to just roll over and die,' Hanon thought, his mind a foggy mess of exhaustion. 'I couldn't even sleep a wink. Not a single second.'
The night before had been torture.
It started innocently enough.
"What are you doing?" Aeloria had asked, sitting up in bed as she watched him spread one of the quilts on the bare floorboards beside it.
"Preparing to sleep," Hanon had answered, genuinely puzzled why she would ask something so obvious.
"You're not using the bed?" She had frowned, pulling the remaining blanket higher around her shoulders.
Hanon had looked after her with such intense care and protection over their time together that she had begun to feel a deep sense of security around him. To her, sharing a bed with him felt like the most natural, perfect thing to do—a logical extension of their bond.
"I thought you were using the bed," Hanon said, his confusion deepening.
"Yes," Aeloria pushed, her voice firm as she gestured to the wide mattress. "But it's big enough for two."
"Aeloria, I don't know if you've noticed, but I am a man," Hanon said, the words escaping in a long, weary sigh. He stood by the bedside, clutching the rough wool blanket like a shield.
"Be it a man or a woman, you'll catch a cold if you sleep on the floor," she countered simply, her voice carrying a stubborn logic that left him no room to maneuver.
Hanon stared at her, his mind racing. 'Hah... just what is going to happen to me?' He had spent years as a healer, touching skin and treating wounds with a professional's detachment.
'I have treated a lot of people in my life, but you're by far the most beautiful. It's unreal how smooth your skin is, Aeloria.'
He remembered the grueling weeks of her recovery. He had been so relieved when she finally turned a corner, thinking his days of intimate, agonizingly careful treatments were over. He wouldn't have to touch her with trembling hands anymore, or focus solely on the rhythm of her pulse to keep his own mind steady.
'But why do you have to put me in this tight spot once again?'
"The floor is fine," he insisted, though his voice lacked conviction. "I won't catch a cold. Even if I do, I was raised by an Oakliner. My constitution is tougher than a few floorboards."
Aeloria's expression shifted, the light in her eyes dimming. "Is the reason why you keep avoiding me because people call me the cannibal? Is it because of my eyes?"
The raw hurt in her voice hit Hanon like a physical blow. Her expression was so fragile it broke his heart instantly. He realized then that in his attempt to protect his own virtue—or perhaps his sanity—he had deeply wounded her feelings.
Without another word, he snatched his blanket from the floor and hopped onto the bed, keeping a respectful but narrow distance. "You're right, Aeloria. I'll definitely catch a cold if I sleep on the floor. You should sleep too."
Aeloria lay down beside him, the tension leaving her shoulders. The room grew quiet, the only sound the flickering of a dying candle.
"By the way," Hanon said into the darkness, his voice barely a whisper, "I think your eyes are uniquely beautiful."
He couldn't see it, but on the other side of the pillow, Aeloria's cheeks flushed a deep, burning red. She quickly turned her back to him, facing the wall to hide her face.
'I treated her for nearly two months,' Hanon told himself, staring up at the ceiling beams. 'One more night won't make any difference.' He was wrong. In those two months, she had been a patient; now, she was a woman whose warmth he could feel through the sheets. He never had to sleep beside her for an entire night before.
The minutes crawled by like hours. Every time she shifted or breathed, his heart hammered against his ribs. He didn't sleep a single wink.
The Morning After
"Oh, you're awake. Good morning, Hanon," Aeloria said softly, stirring from a deep, peaceful slumber. She looked refreshed, her skin glowing in the morning light.
"Good morning, Aeloria. How did you sleep?" Hanon asked. He kept his head turned away, refusing to let her see the dark circles under his eyes.
"I slept well. How about you?"
"The same," Hanon answered. His voice was raspy, and his face carried the hollow, gaunt look of someone who had spent an entire day performing tedious task without a second of rest.
"We should prepare to head down for breakfast," Hanon suggested, practically vaulting out of the bed the moment he could. Aeloria sat up, watching him move with a strange, jerky energy.
'Something feels off about him, but I can't tell what,' she thought, her eyes following him as he splashed cold water on his face.
After a short while, they descended the creaking stairs. But instead of turning toward the inn's eatery where the smell of stale porridge hung in the air, Hanon walked straight to the door. He pulled it open, stepping out into the open. Aeloria followed close behind, blinking against the sudden brightness.
"I thought we were going to eat breakfast?" she asked, her brow furrowing in a puzzled expression.
"There's something I want to show you," Hanon said, glancing back at her.
They spent the morning weaving through the labyrinthine streets of the market district. Hanon became a whirlwind of activity, buying anything that looked interesting. He bought savory skewers for himself and sweet pastries for her. They tried strange, sugared fruits and drank juices from cups sold by vendors whose origins were unknown.
Aeloria found herself laughing—a rare, melodic sound—at the dramatic faces Hanon made whenever he bit into something he didn't like. The bitter herbs and sour fermented milks of Norco were a gamble, and Hanon seemed to lose every time.
They walked and talked, unconscious of the time, until they suddenly realized the sun was dipping toward the horizon.
"Shouldn't we prepare to meet with Sir Krazel?" Aeloria asked, glancing nervously at the setting sun.
"We still have some time before the appointed hour," Hanon replied, eyeing a nearby stall. "There's still some food we haven't tried yet."
"But I'm full," Aeloria protested, holding her stomach. "I don't think I can survive another bite."
Hanon looked at her and felt a quiet sense of pride. 'I'm glad she's able to laugh,' he thought. 'I haven't seen her talk about her life since the time she cried. I'm sure there was someone precious to her once, but it seems too late for her to go back to them now. Since she never speaks of them, they must be very important. I don't know what pain she carries, but strangely enough, it fills me with joy just to see her smile.'
He decided to push her just a little more, wanting to keep that smile on her face as long as possible.
"Aren't you the gluttonous cannibal?" Hanon teased, scolding her with a playful glint in his tired eyes. "This is the moment when you're supposed to act like it."
"But..." Aeloria tried to step back, looking at the mountain of fried dough Hanon was pointing at.
"No buts!" Hanon laughed. He reached out, catching her hand gently in his, and pulled her toward the next vendor before she could escape.