The stranger stood silently on the riverbank, still turned away, arms crossed, his head tilted slightly toward the stars as though he had all the ti in the world.
She picked her inner clothing that had been saved because she had used it to tie her hair up a bun, she slipped the flimsy shirt on
"I’m kind of decent?," Thalia called softly, though the word barely applied. Her skin was still wet, her cheeks flushed, and she was clinging to modesty by the thinnest thread.
He turned—and as he did, he unfastened one of the many layers he wore. His outer cloak was thick, black as midnight, and so heavy it looked like it could drown soone in warmth. Beneath that was a tailored navy jacket, a second coat of finer quality.
He shrugged that one off too, and then another. How many coats does this man wear? she wondered, bemused.
Finally, he held out the largest, fluffiest and warst of them all.
"Here," he said with a faint grin. "This one’s good enough to fight a snowstorm. You’ll disappear in it, which I admit—might be the best look for now."
Thalia hesitated, eyeing the coat. "Why are you being so... helpful?"
"Because you’re cold, naked, and covered in goosebumps," he said plainly. "And I’m not a monster."
"...Right." She took the coat with careful hands.
It swallowed her. The sleeves hung past her fingers, the hem brushed her calves, and the collar ca up to her jaw. She looked like a child playing dress-up in her father’s hunting cloak.
He burst into warm laughter.
"You look absolutely adorable." he breathed.
Thalia blushed to her ears and muttered, "It’s huge."
"Everything about is," he said, voice deliberately low and teasing.
Her face flad hotter. "That’s disgusting." she breathed.
"And you’re endearing."
He moved closer and gently reached to adjust the way she’d thrown the coat on. His fingers brushed her collarbone as he tugged the heavy fabric around her shoulders and fastened one of the buttons near her chest. "Hold still."
Hold still? She could barely breathe. He was so close all she wanted to do was wiggle. She could sll him now—clean, smoky, and sothing faintly herbal, like crushed mint leaves and ashwood. Her heart betrayed her with a flutter.
He tucked a strand of her wet hair behind her ear with quiet care, then picked up her torn dress from the bush where he’d laid it earlier.
"Hmm," he said, inspecting it. "Beyond saving. But we can use it to wrap your hair. Give a mont."
He knelt in front of her, and before she could protest, he gently gathered her dripping hair in one hand and wrapped it in the fabric with almost shocking tenderness.
Thalia stared down at him, stunned into silence.
"Why... are you being this gentle?" she whispered.
He looked up with a crooked smile. "Because you deserve gentleness, don’t you think?"
Her throat tightened. No one’s ever...
He rose to his full height again and took one look at her sleeves dragging and her awkward shuffle forward before sighing. "Yeah, no. You’ll fall flat in that thing."
"I can manage—"
"No, you can’t." he cut her off.
Before she could react, he swept her off the ground in one smooth motion.
Thalia squealed, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck. "You—put down!"
"Nope," he said, smirking. "You’ll trip, crack your skull open, and I’ll feel guilty. I don’t do guilt."
She wriggled uselessly in his arms. "You’re ridiculously strong."
"And you’re ridiculously light. Have you eaten in the last week?"
"I—I ate a biscuit and carrots," she defended weakly.
He chuckled again, a deep, velvety sound that vibrated against her. His grip on her tightened slightly, steady and secure. "Sll nice, too," she muttered under her breath.
His lips twitched. "Why, thank you."
Her eyes widened. "Oh no—I didn’t an to—"
He laughed again, eyes gleaming. "I’m flattered, little river ghost."
Little river ghost...?
Thalia bit her lip and glanced away, overwheld by warmth that wasn’t just from the coat.
"Thank you," she murmured at last.
"For?"
"For... all of this."
His voice softened. "You’re welco."
They walked in silence for a few monts—well, he walked, and she clung to him, her heart thudding in a wild rhythm she didn’t want to analyze. But then, his tone shifted.
"So," he asked casually, "what are you doing out here alone?"
Thalia stiffened instantly.
Oh no.
The question was innocent enough, but it slamd into her like a brick. Her heartbeat turned erratic again—but this ti, from fear.
What am I doing here? she thought, panic curling through her stomach. I’m a fugitive. A castle maid turned hunted girl. The pirates attacked. My friends were taken. I ran with Heappal. I’m not supposed to be out bathing or flirting or wrapped up in a stranger’s coat like so wandering princess—
"I..." she swallowed. "I’m traveling with soone. We got separated from our group when—when sothing happened. That’s all."
His eyes glinted with curiosity. "Running from sothing?"
She hesitated. "Yes."
"Or soone?"
She went still.
"I won’t tell," he said gently, watching her face. "But maybe don’t sing next ti. You’ve got a lovely voice, but it’s not the best camouflage."
Despite herself, Thalia gave a weak laugh.
"Noted."
He smiled again, and for a mont, under the moonlight and the trees, the world felt safe.
But that question—what are you doing here?—still echoed inside her like a warning bell.
And she knew this mont—this stranger’s warmth—would end soon.
Because people like her didn’t get to rest for long.
"My na is Sebastian Cole, by the way," he said as they reached a clearing away from the riverbank.
His voice was low and amused, like velvet spun over a knife. "And I’m going to call you Damsel."
Thalia giggled despite herself. The laughter ca out small and breathless, trailing steam in the cold air.
"No, silly—that’s not my na," she said softly.
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