Snarls, swears, and spit fly between the two of them. I can't tell who stands where or how close they are in the dwindling candlelight, but whatever the answer is, it's too close.

"Both of you, stop it!"

My voice is raspy, and the force of it burns my throat. I attempt to stand up, but find my hand too wounded to grip anything for leverage and my hip too sore to support all of my weight. Add in my pounding headache and the itching burn of the slices made on my chest, and I'm completely useless.

"Your highness, you must not have seen how this monster slaughtered those ruffians. He is a demon, I swear it!"

Shit, shit, shit.

The curses roll through my head, and my eyes widen. I'm too used to the concept that Cephias is both man and beast. I forgot that everyone else in the world—except for Vernon's Glade—is ignorant about who the dragons really are.

"Who you calling a demon?"

His growl does little to contradict Bartholomew's insinuation. However, Cephias is thinking clearer than I am and so he takes hold of the candle stub and draws it some ways from his face. The distance casts a softer light and reveals a perfectly handsome and assuredly human face.

"Oh, I..." His words trail and I can barely make out the confusion playing across his face. Perhaps this heavy darkness and low light will play in our favor. "It was merely your ferocity with your daggers," Bartholomew continues with hesitance and uncertainty in his voice. "Well, they looked like claws..."

"And who are you?"

Whether Cephias's interjection is out of need to derail Bartholomew's line of questioning or because he's still pissed off about what he saw in the tavern, it doesn't matter. For now, our secret appears to be safe.

Them being safe from each other was a different matter entirely.

"You must be a bandit since you swung at me after I rescued her."

"How dare you compare me to such scum! I am a knight and—"

"I said stop!"

The two men follow my command instantly, though they both keep a wary eye on the other.

"I can explain everything, but I'm not doing it in the muck with four mutilated bodies at my feet. Not to mention I'm covered in blood—some of which is mine and some of which isn't. So, can you two accept that you are not enemies and get me back to the hotel?"

Though Cephias grunts and Bartholomew huffs, they work together to lift me up. There is a momentary tug of war over who will carry me, but I solve the matter by having one grab my dagger while the other helps me find my feet. Once my blade is clean and back in its sheath, I pull away from the both of them and take my next steps forward on my own.

It hurts and I would most certainly rather I not have to do anything other than slip into a nice hot bath, but I can't play favorites without having to explain things on the way back to the town center. Limping, as I am, is far less painful than tackling that problem.

"What shall we do with the bodies?" I ask, hopeful a shared interest between the two men will keep the more distressing questions at bay.

"You said they were bandits," muses the knight. "Are you certain of this?"

"Of course I am."

My dragon's answer is unnecessarily harsh and I can practically hear the retaliation building on Bartholomew's tongue.

"Cephias, please."

I pause my feet and look at him with every ounce of exhaustion in my body. His hands reach out, but stop just short of embracing me.

"It's been a long and trying day," he mutters, which is as close to an apology as Bartholomew is going to get.

"They are bandits from the outskirts of town," I answer, renewing my effort to get to the inn as soon as possible. "They overheard someone saying I might be royalty..."

I don't turn the full force of my anger on my sweet, but slightly incompetent knight. Still, I notice the stutter in his step.

"Your...Taliyah, I'm sorry. This is my fault. I understand if you must execute—"

"Oh, none of that," I groan. "Also, it wasn't anyone's fault. It was just an unfortunate consequence of a great many things. That being said, shut the fuck up about my title."

"Y-yes, ma'am."

The street isn't as noisy as it was in the dwindling evening hours, but there are still a few windows lit up with merry citizens drinking the day away.

We're getting close.

Bartholomew clears his throat. "The reason I asked was to ascertain the likelihood of the local authorities caring. If they are bandits, particularly if the town guard is familiar with them, then they likely won't ask questions and will merely consider it a blessing. Though the brutality of their deaths may raise an eyebrow or two."

"They'll get over it," grumbles Cephias as we turn onto the street leading past the station and toward the inn.

I'm willing to accept Bartholomew's view on the matter. It allows me to remove the concern from my ever-growing pile of problems.

We step into the inn's small lobby and the night staff glances over with worried expressions.

"Got too drunk. Fell down."

They accept my excuse far too easily, considering the blood on both me and Cephias. However, I'm not in a place to question gifts the gods have sent me. So, we head up in silence.

Once we're in the room, I collapse onto a nearby stool and the two men are racing to take care of me faster than the other. When both reach for the same towel in the bathroom, war breaks loose again.

"I will take care of her!"

Cephias pulls the towel from Bartholomew's grip with a lot more force than the knight was expecting. He looks dumbfounded by Cephias's strength, especially considering how much leaner my dragon is compared to himself. Cephias doesn't notice this appraisal, however, instead he continues his attack. "Just leave. You're only getting in the way."

"Like I'd leave the princess with a wild fellow like you. Who even are you, anyway?"

"Please stop," I roar, my fury as deep and gravelly as a dragonith's. Thankfully, it catches both of their attentions. "Bartholomew, I appreciate you and your unflinching loyalty means so much to me. But you have to listen to my commands. Don't even call me a princess or your highness in private. We don't know what ears will hear."

I see a blush on his cheeks. He shifts his weight so his legs are shoulder width apart and then draws his hands behind his back. Despite his formal stance, he struggles to look me in the eye.

"I also expect you to trust me when I say that Cephias is not your enemy. Please let him treat me. Though if you have any ointments for my wounds or a tincture for pain on hand, I would surely be grateful. Also..." I groan and curl over my grumbling stomach. "I left all our food back at the tavern so..."

"I grabbed your food. It is in my pack. I also have a fully stocked medicinal kit. It is an honor to supply you with your needs."

I catch Cephias's eye roll when Bartholomew turns to dig through his hefty bag.

"What is up with this guy?"

I can feel the growl in his voice vibrating through his fingertips as he dabs the blood from my chest.

"He is Sir Bartholomew Sheridan, and he is a knight that was raised alongside me to better serve as one of my guard. He is both a childhood friend and a loyal ally."

As Cephias huffs, he bends toward me to take my bloodied hand. I take the opportunity to lean in and whisper in his ear.

"He is like a brother. Do not worry yourself, Cephias. What you saw in the tavern—"

"I don't want to talk about that," he grumbles, taking his dirty cloth and bowl of water to the washroom to get fresh supplies.

Bartholomew, of course, takes this moment to slide over to my side under the pretense of handing me the tincture.

"Are you under duress? Say the word and—"

"Bartholomew," I say as I cringe against the taste of the potion, "this is Cephias Fireheart, he's—"

I'm interrupted by the rough clearing of my dragon's throat and it's impossible not to see his fierce, warning gaze from over Bartholomew's shoulder. I do what I can to give him a reassuring look before turning back to the knight.

"He's been protecting me ever since the tribute. He and his people took me in and cared for me."

Bartholomew steps away to allow my dragon room to use a fresh rag with soap and water to cleanse my wounds. The knight looks over the dragonith and, though there's still tension in his broad shoulders, he accepts my words.

"Thank you, Mr. Fireheart, for protecting my charge in my stead. Now that I have found her, I can take it from here."

"Excuse me?" Cephias nearly tosses the soapy water into Bartholomew's face as he straightens up for another standoff. "And where do you plan to take her? She said you were one of her knights. Are you just taking her back to the very people that sacrificed her?"

"No, I am not."

His answer surprises me more than it does Cephias.

"So what do you plan to do?" asks my dragon.

"I swore to protect her with my life. I failed to steal her away before the sacrifice, but now I will remain forever at her side, serving her until my death."

Oh, this somehow got worse, I think to myself with a groan.

"Like hell you are!"

"What is your problem? I acknowledge your kindness in showing her compassion and providing aid, but now I can pick it up from here so you can return to your family."

"As if it were that simple."

"Bartholomew," I say, raising a hand, "Cephias's people are in danger and I vowed to help them. It's only right after all they've given to me. You follow me, then you follow him."

The knight's nostrils flare and he looks between the two of us before returning his gaze to mine.

"What are you not telling me?"

"A great many things. None of which I will share with you tonight. I'm sore, tired, and hungry. I thank you for your help, and I promise to tell you more in the morning."

That promise seems to ease his shoulders a bit, though they still flex with an uncertain fidget.

"As you wish. I'll remain here until you've been treated, and then I will escort Mr. Fireheart to his room."

Gods, why are you doing this to me?

"This is my room," Cephias asserts.

"Then I will escort her to hers."

"This is her room, too."

Though there is still gruffness in Cephias's face, I see a flicker of joy touching his lips when he watches Bartholomew's trained composure start to flake.

"Your high—"

"Taliyah, Bartholomew!"

"Yes, I'm just..." He huffs and runs a hand through his short blond hair. "I'm also supposed to protect your—"

"I'm going to stop you right there. Who shares my bed is my business. The ones with concerns over what happened in my bed were my parents. Now that you defected and wish to serve only me, you don't have to worry about such things."

He blinks a few times as if something completely unheard of has slapped him in the face.

"Um, as you wish."

"It is what she wishes."

Not helping, Cephias.

My knight has a brief stare down with my dragon, but surrenders with a clearing of his throat. He then moves over to grab his bag, handing a jar of ointment and the tincture to Cephias.

"I will see you in the morning," he says, bowing to me before turning a hard gaze on Cephias. "I look forward to knowing more about you, sir."

I can see words rolling up the dragonith's throat, but I pinch his side and when his attention is drawn to me, Bartholomew escapes without further retaliation.

"Good night."

He leaves us with that and shuts the door.

Cephias finishes cleaning me up and applying the ointment in silence. Then checks the hallway to see if Bartholomew is still lingering in the shadows.

"I don't want someone with ties to the human military knowing about who I or my people are."

"I agree."

I spread goat cheese over a slice of bread. After taking a bite and savoring the flavor, I wash it down with a sip of wine. Cephias watches me, waiting for an answer, but I take another big bite of my dinner.

"So," he says, his patience short, "what are you going to tell him?"

I take my time chewing before swallowing with another swig of wine to soften the crusty bread.

"Nothing," I say with a satisfied sigh.

"What do you mean? You promised—"

"As much as it hurts me to do so, I lied to Bartholomew. He is dear and loyal, but he's rooted in his ways. Already his old habits have cost me dearly." My hand instinctively rises to feel the lines that will one day be a scar upon my chest. But I stop myself before my fingertips can disturb the ointment slowly seeping into my skin. "He's too much of a liability. Besides, our train is leaving first thing in the morning. We'll disappear before he has a chance to knock on our door."

Cephias sighs while I take a bite of an apple. I feel his eyes on me, searching for something, but all I can concentrate on is fueling my weary body. After some time passes, his tense posture loosens, and he joins me at the small tea table in our room.

He braces his elbows on the edge and runs his hands over his face.

"I'm sorry I overreacted. I'm just as much at fault as he is for what happened tonight."

"I appreciate your willingness to defend him, despite having a clear dislike for him. However, whatever fault you may claim is not in equal measure to him telling the whole town I'm a princess. That being said, those bandits were tracking us since we left Vernon's Glade and they would have come after us eventually. At least now the matter is dealt with."

He nods, though he still appears to have a burden on his shoulders. He pours himself a glass of wine and grabs one of the smoked sausage links.

"What now?"

"Now, we eat and then you will apologize for your behavior by running me a hot bath."

His eyes flash with renewed fire, and I shiver in his gaze.

"As you wish."