After an hour of walking up and down the market road, and talking to almost a dozen tradesmen, Rhosyn had finished tidying up one of Merrow's messes. Karsyn helped smooth over a few nervous men and reminded a few fiery ones that they were not the most intimidating in the room.
She felt the familiar joy of working alongside someone, only it wasn't Edrien.
They stepped out of the last shop and into the side-street it exited onto. It had started to get late now and their carriage was parked two streets along.
Most people who glanced at her, quickly took check of Karsyn next to her and Caerwyn over her other shoulder and chose to find another way to their destination. Dusk began to settle in, throwing long shadows spilling into the streets and creating darkened corners where lamplights failed to illuminate.
They turned onto the narrow cobbles toward the waiting carriage. Frost made the stones glassy; a nearby lamp threw a shaky orange puddle. Karsyn stopped so abruptly Rhosyn nearly stepped into him.
A whimper cut the air.
Steel rasped—Karsyn's blade was out before she finished the breath, Caerwyn's a heartbeat behind.
That was when she caught the red in black, a scarf wrapped around the man's face, Karsyn's blade pressed against the back of his neck.
"Unhand the lady and be on your way," Karsyn said, voice low enough to slice.
The shadow across the lane laughed—wet, snide. Rhosyn's eyes found the woman pinned to a doorway, bodice torn, skin goose-prickled in the cold. Terror lived in her eyes, bright as the lamp.
Rhosyn moved—one step—and a shape peeled off the wall to her right and snapped down onto her wrist. Missing toothed and a split-ear, his tar stained fingers gripped hard. Pain bit up her arm; breath locked.
Karsyn was already there. He crashed his crossguard into Split-Ear's face—cartilage crunched, Rhosyn's arm falling free—then rolled his shoulder, blade pinning the man's knife hand to the wall.
The other man moved—Red-Scarf, frayed crimson at the throat—hands going for a dagger. Caerwyn slid past Rhosyn, his sword kissed Red-Scarf's wrist before the dagger cleared leather.
"Don't," he said.
Red-Scarf heard something in the tone. He froze—then feinted like a coward, flung the dagger to the stones, and ran, boots skittering on frost, scarf tailing him into the dark.
Split-Ear bucked. Karsyn shifted weight, head-butted him short and brutal. Skull met nose; the man sagged, eyes glassing.
Rhosyn was already shrugging off her shawl and wrapping it around the woman's shoulders, covering her as best as she could. Her body shivered under Rhosyn's hands, or maybe it was terror that shook the woman.
She ignored the men as Caerwyn moved to support Karsyn. Her eyes and fingers searching for any injuries the woman may have had.
One set of feet pounding against cobblestone told her that split-ear had taken off. Then Karsyn appeared by her side, his attention already on her.
"You're injured." He reached for her arm.
"I'm fine—" she bit off the word when his thumb prodded the inside of her arm, pain flaring up and Caerwyn couldn't help the half-step forward in response to her yelp.
Karsyn set her with a look. "You're not fine, don't lie to me."
And she bit back her retort. Instead she turned to the knight over her other shoulder.
"Sir Caerwyn, could you help this woman home please—"
"Certainly, My Lady."
He stepped forward and bowed to the woman, who thanked them through tears and allowed Caerwyn to lead her back up the street.
It bothered Rhosyn that Caerwyn so readily agreed. She fully expected the knight to refuse such an order with a simple—line of sight.
"Let's get to the carriage, there will be more light there to inspect this, but I don't think anything is broken at least," the duke muttered mostly to himself, his fingers carefully running the length of her forearm with a 1-2-3 rhythm.
The carriage back was quiet besides the clack of wheels rolling along the paved roads. Her wrist tinged purple and bruised, tender to touch, but she didn't let him know how sore it really was. Distinct markings from the fingers that bit into her, but it wasn't her attackers fingers that she thought of when she looked at it.
By the time they pulled into Ravelocke estate, the sun had fully dipped, painting the sky the same shade as her wrist. They exited the carriage in the same fashion as they rode in it—in silence.
There had been too many truths between them today and too many battles they'd fought—but this time, it wasn't against each other. Everything felt so fragile and she hated the feeling.
Her corset cut in too tight and she couldn't feel her dagger strapped to her calf any more.
The staff had all retired, though she knew Oswin would be somewhere fretting over her return. Corridors glowed awake for her and she faltered, the duke's steps halting shortly behind hers.
Silence followed them here too.
"Why did you come here, Your Grace?" she finally questioned.
It sat heavy between them. A nagging that didn't add up.
"Rhosy—"
"Stop calling me that," she snapped.
It curled in her stomach and something in her chest sank every time he did.
"You want a Vow of Loyalty." Her masked persona slid back into place and she distanced herself from the discomfort she felt. "A safe of secrets."
"Is that what you truly believe, Lady Valewyn?"
Not using her name twisted just as much.
"You said it yourself—brunettes aren't your type." Rhosyn took a breath and then a step—
"You are my type," his words caught her short.
She scoffed at herself. When did she lose her ability to retort?
"And I know you find me attractive." His steps came closer.
Rhosyn rolled her eyes. "Vain much?"
She felt the heat pouring off him before his hand slipped around her waist and pressed her against him. His other tracing across her jaw and hooking her chin up, his breath on her face and her heart thundered against his chest.
"No, just confident," he boasted, lips skimming hers.
Her hand ran down his arm and around his hand at her middle, stroking his fingers as she stared into his eyes.
Exhaustion drained at her and his hands held her firmly. But as much as his words promised, she couldn't lose herself again. Speech was his gold and she wouldn't become his bounty.
She pulled his hand away, stepping out of his warmth and didn't stop.
"Don't come back," she whispered hoarsely and felt the bitterness catch in her throat.
He didn't follow her and she sighed in relief.