Alessandro had told -- meaning paid -- one of the barmaids to make sure Lorenzo would wake up neither robbed nor kidnapped. It was the least he could do for him. Lorenzo had been nothing but cheerful and kind and far too trusting. Alessandro looked over his shoulder several times when they left the tavern. Not only abandoning someone helpless, but poisoning him for their interests... What was he thinking?

Giacinto had shot him something between a pitying and a condescending look.

Fine, chilly strands of rain had greeted them, a cold gust of air spraying it right into their faces. Giacinto had cursed like a sailor, wrestled with his long black coat flapping in the wind and sprinted across the yard to the stables.

Laelia had laughed, spread out her arms and danced in the rain. She was still laughing when they raced through the moorland, bent flat over their horses, cloaks flying.

Giacinto lead the way. The moon hid somewhere in the pitchblack sky from the hammering rain. Alessandro could barely keep his eyes open in the aussalt of icy drops. Yet the Greek, at breakneck speed, never even slowed down to orientate or look for landmarks.

Several times Alessandro had seen torches in the night, glowing eyes watching them from far away. They had flown past too fast to make out whether the torches came towards them or not. Every time, Alessandro tensed, preparing for a mad escape. Even in this weather, the guards must long be out for them ...

Hours of wind whipping their faces and the cold rain seeping through even their thick cloaks, they suddenly thundred into a village ducked between the rolling hills. The houses lined the streets, low and seemingly thrown together from bricks, plaster and awry wooden beams. All shutters tightly closed, the buildings unwelcoming and fast asleep. Only the few taverns they whisked past lit up the streets with drunken laughter and light streaming outside. Gaicinto didn't stop.

Mud flew up when they raced over the market place. The houses were in better shape here, the plaster mostly still on the walls, the lines a bit straighter and the doors more than boards nailed together. A ghostly peal of bells sounded over the place when they slid to a sudden halt, Alessandro almost barrelling right into Giacinto with his horse. The Greek pointed to one of the buildings. An inn. His horse reared and he shot back off into the dark streets, the hammer of hooves slowly fading as well.

It didn't take long until Alessandro and Laelia stumbled into their room, drenched and tired and aching. The owner, ripped from sleep by them ringing the bell in the dead of the night hadn't even let Laelia recite their cover story. He had mustered them for one second, snatched the money, thrust a key into their hand and shuffled back away.

The room was smaller than the broom closet in Alessandro's family's palace. The floorboards were bumpy and creaked with every step and the hesitant flames of the three candles in the candleholder couldn't even reach the corners. But it was warm and dry and there was a bed.

They peeled themselves out of the stiff and clam clothes stuck to their skin -- Alessandro having turnt away before Laelia could even open her mouth and Laelia blinking a few times too often at the wet shirt clinging to his chest.

Giacinto appeared at the wrong time. There would never be a time in Alessandro's life that would be right for the Greek. So Giacinto appeared at the worst time.

Laelia whined about not being able to dish out the 'merchant husband and wife' story. She had practiced! Alessandro muttered it might have been better that way. She hadn't even managed to hide anything from Lorenzo.

Laelia pouted and threw a pillow at him. "Pillow fight!" She lunged for Alessandro, hitting him with a giggle. "Have a little," she attacked Alessandro with wild tickles, "fun!"

Alessandro raised an eyebrow. His muscles tensed. He wouldn't be able to stand keep up the facade for long. He wrestled with the laughter bubbling up in his chest.

Laelia tried harder, small hands coming for his sides. Her giggles danced through the room, happily skipping from the walls and bouncing around them.

Alessandro's lips tightened. The corner of his mouth twitched.

Laelia's eyes narrowed. Her fingers picked up a merciless pace, finding weak spots with the expertise of a childhood spent in happiness.

Alessandro burst out laughing, arms coming up to shield himself from the evilly grinning girl as he writhed helplessly.

"You're ticklish!" Laelia cheered, doubling her efforts.

"Oh -" he pressed out breathlessly, "really?"

"Why don't you go ahead and just rip his clothes off already, Laelia? Don't mind me," a voice snapped.

Their heads whipped around to see Giacinto sit on the window sill, leaning his back against the frame and dangling one leg outside. He jumped down soundlessly -- no creak of the floorboards, no thud of the muddy boots.

Laelia froze, slowly raising her head like a child caught snatching one more cookie by their stern mother.

Alessandro panted, sitting back up again. Laelia's cheeks were flushed with the rosiness other noblewomen took ages to meticulously dust on with some perfectly measured tint of strawberry juice and water. Her hair was messed up beyond any noble standards, half wet, half touseld from the wind and Alessandro trying to get her off of him. Her eyes sparkled happily.

Giacinto took a step towards them.

"Hey! You're dirtying the floor!" Laelia said.

"Get the fuck off of his lap," Giacinto tossed his cloak over a chair.

Laelia blinked, as if only now realizing she was straddling the officer on a couch, both red faced and breathless. She scrambled off, hastily smoothing her nightgown. She fumbled with some lace trimming. Innocent white linen, fine silken embroidery -- so out of place.

Alessandro coughed, straightening his shirt.

"I'm gone for a half an hour and you--" Giacinto paced the room, "You can't keep your hands off her!" When the green eyes fixated Alessandro, he found himself comparing the stare to the man's razor sharp knives.

"I wasn't --" But, what was he doing? He didn't even really know Laelia. He had never been formally introduced to her. He shouldn't even be calling her by her first name.

"Oh please," Giacinto snorted, "humor me."

"I have no interest in her in that way."

"And I am the queen of Spain. How could I forget, silly me!" the Greek laughed joylessly.

"Your majesty," Alessandro mock bowed.

Giacinto's eyes blazed. He seemed ready to hurdle over the bed and tackle the other man when Laelia pulled on his arm.

"He wasn't doing anything - I was tickling him. Leave him be!" the girl scolded, pushing a loose strand behind her ear.

Giacinto scoffed. But Alessandro could how he went soft.

"Now apologize and then it's all good!"

"No," Giacinto freed his wrist from her grip.

"Yes. Or you can share the couch. I'll keep the bed just to myself!" The brunette grinned, crossing her arms and tilting her head expectantly.

Giacinto almost broke his neck shaking his head. "Hell no."

"Absolutely not," Alessandro said.

"Then apologize," Laelia chirped victoriously.

"I hate you, Lia." Giacinto sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. His brows furrowed into a defeated frown. "I'm sorry."

"You do realize apologies are not supposed to sound like murder threats?" Alessandro muttered from his spot on the couch. "My apologies, Marinos."

Laelia clapped her hands. "And now we can chat! We don't really know each other." She jumped into the bed. Her nose wrinkled. She poked the worn matress. "That's hay!"

"Told you to stay home," Giacinto said. "This is no place for--"

"No! Shushy! I wasn't complaining!" Laelia quickly shook her head.

"Sure," Giacinto said. He turnt to Alessandro. "You're sleeping on the couch. And don't even think of her," he snapped before turning away to rummage through one of his bags.

He wasn't actually looking for something -- Alessandro had enough experience as a detective to know when someone was just pretending to do something. Distracting from whatever really was going on. He chose not to point it out. "Why would I?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

"I simply do not."

"Right," Giacinto let his bag drop to the ground unceremoniously, narrowing his eyes at Alessandro. "Whatever." He ripped his wet shirt off, fishing for another in his bag.

"Be nice for once? Please? For me?" Laelia batted her eyes.

Giacinto pulled another shirt over his head -- black, what a surprise. Alessandro caught a glimpse of a handful of scars littering his torso. "I don't want to talk. I want to sleep." He scrunched his nose when a drop from his messy curls fell onto his cheek.

"Boring." Laelia crossed her arms.

"Don't care." Giacinto tugged off his boots. He must be the only person managing to hop on one leg perfectly elegantly.

Alessandro's gaze dropped. Around his right ankle was wound a broad leather strap, at least five short knives tugged into special little loops. A long dagger was strapped to his left calf.

"Eyes are up here, Steno."

Alessandro snapped his eyes up.

Giacinto grinned mischievously. At least he doesn't really hold a grudge.

Laelia had long fallen asleep when the Greek had cleaned and checked every single blade individually. She had flopped down with a content sigh, arms stretched out wide like a wanderer stopping his travels to lie down on a grassy hill, gazing up at a laughing sun so bright he could feel her happiness tickling his skin. Where the grass blades swayed in a warm breeze, rustling and whispering around him.

"Thank god, she's tired," Giacinto said. He sat next to Laelia, leant back against the headboard.

"Why, do you plan on going anywhere?" Alessandro turned, eyes narrowing at the Greek.

"Your suspicion wounds me, Giant," the other man clutched his chest. "Just don't want to chat. Trading stories, maybe braid each other's hair?"

"That wouldn't be able to save yours anyways," Alessandro said, nonchalantly tugging open the strings that had closed his shirt orderly up to his neck.

"What?" Giacinto glanced up from the knife he had examined in his lap.

"Nothing," there was a smug grin tugging on Alessandro's thin lips.

"Did you just insult my hair?"

"I described it."

Giacinto bared his teeth in a mocking grin. "How funny you are."

"You are unsuitable to judge anyone's humor," Alessandro sat down on the couch, rolling his shoulders, stiff from riding hard and long through the storming night.

"Enough to know that your attempts are more than sad."

They glared at each other, but the aggressive tension from their encounters over dead bodies had disappeared when gold clashed with green. The angry spark quickly turned into an amused glint.

Giacinto snorted, rolling his eyes.

Alessandro chuckled. "No really, you might want to fix that."

"What?"

"Your hair," Alessandro pointed at the mess atop Giacinto's head. It was always messy, unruly waves as stubborn as the man himself, refusing to submit to comb and order. Maybe it had just taken on Giacinto's personality. Always tangled and tousled, as if ruffled by an ocean breeze. But now, after riding through a thunderstorm and climbing up the inn's wall in rain hammering down in icy drops of heavenly wrath, it was any noble's nightmare. "If Laelia wakes up to a scarecrow next to her, she might just pass out immediately."

"Did you just call me a scarecrow?" Giacinto furrowed his eyebrows in disbelief, but still dragged a hand through the pitch black mess. It didn't really help.

Alessandro's eyes twinkled. He leant over to douse the three lonely candles illuminating the room in flickering orange. "Maybe."

Darkness seeped in, only one broad silver ray of moonlight fell through the window.

Giacinto hadn't moved, a still shadow on the bed. They sat in silence for a while, only the rhythm of the raindrops that knocked on the shutters keeping time.

Then Alessandro heard a rustle of sheets as Giacinto shifted before he turned his head and lay down next to Laelia.

Alessandro could make out a tiny, dark pile where Giacinto was. He must have curled up again, just like in their cell... Alessandro paid it no mind, shaking his head to toss out the dark whispers creeping back into his consciousness at the memory of the prison. He fell asleep soon after, exhaustion he hadn't let himself feel claiming his mind in dreamless black.

Had he known what he would wake up to, he would've forced his eyes open the entire night.

Now, what might wait for him when he wakes up?

Less action here, hopefully you don't mind. More establishing of dynamics and personality -- and leading up to something big...

Thank you for reading! Have a great day! You're awesome!