’That’s not my na,’
"I have a hunch you wouldn’t want to tell your real na," he replied with a smirk. "So Damsel it is."
She opened her mouth to argue, but closed it just as quickly. He wasn’t wrong. And sothing about the way he said it—as if it was a secret pet na only he got to use—made her cheeks flush anew.
He carried her just a bit further, his strides long and effortless.
"Where are you taking ?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.
Sebastian glanced down at her, eyes dancing. "Since you won’t tell what you’re doing out here, let show you sothing instead."
Before she could ask more, he slowed, then stopped in a small, natural alcove encircled by large stones and towering tree roots. Moonlight filtered down in streaks like silver threads woven through leaves. The air was colder here, but still—the space felt hidden. Sacred, almost.
She blinked. "What is this—?"
He said nothing. With one hand behind his back, he snapped his fingers so quickly she nearly missed it. A twig of dry wood on the ground caught fla, flaring to life in a bloom of golden-orange light.
Thalia gasped softly.
He gently lowered her onto a smooth, flat stone that faced the fire. "Sit," he murmured.
Shyly, curiously, she obeyed, pulling the massive coat tighter around her. The stone was still cool beneath her, but the fire’s warmth blood outward, kissing her skin, bringing the color back to her cheeks.
Sebastian squatted in front of the fire, tending it with quiet concentration.
When the flas grew high enough, the light finally revealed his face.
Thalia’s breath caught in her throat.
He was... beautiful. In a weather-worn, roguish sort of way. Not polished like the knights at court or the lords she’d seen pass through the halls—but sharp-edged, like a statue half-carved by a god who’d gotten distracted by war.
His brows were thick and arched, giving him a permanently amused expression. His eyes were dark—no, not just dark, deep. Pools of sothing unreadable. His nose had a faint curve, likely broken twice. His lips—soft but chiseled—curved into the kind of smirk that could unravel kingdoms.
But it was the scar that arrested her gaze.
It marred his forehead—thin and deep, slightly to the right, like the mory of sothing searing hot had tried to carve its way through bone. A burn? A brand? She didn’t know.
Her heart gave a frightened flutter.
She quickly looked down, her lashes trembling. Who is this man?
She glanced up again when she felt him watching her.
He was gazing at her with a quiet intensity that made her want to fidget.
She flushed and ducked her head again.
Sebastian tilted his own, studying her. She looked like a puffed-up kitten in his coat, oversized and bundled up and blinking with wide, startled eyes. She wasn’t the usual kind of beautiful—not poised or sultry—but she was... sweet. All round cheeks, ssy hair, and trembling lips. Fragile. Real. Her sadness clung to her like river mist, and sothing in him wanted to sweep it away.
She wasn’t just his type—she was the type that made a man pause, breathe, and stay.
Thalia dared another glance up. Their eyes t.
Her stomach flipped.
No. Don’t do this, she told herself. You’re being hunted. You’re lost. And you’re still sore from being told you were nothing—
But he looked at her like she was sothing. Like she was seen.
She bit her lip, heart drumming wildly. Her fingers clenched in the coat.
Sebastian’s smirk softened. "You’re awfully quiet now."
"You said to keep quiet and not sing, rember?" she teased faintly.
"Not exactly, Damsel but now I want you to talk," he said, amused. "And preferably tell your na."
She gave him a look. "That is not going to happen."
He laughed. The sound made her want to laugh too.
He reached out suddenly, folding the oversized sleeves of the coat so her hands peeked out properly.
"There," he said. "Better."
Her hands tingled where his fingers had brushed hers.
"I don’t get you," she murmured, watching him.
He leaned in just slightly. "Most people don’t."
"But... you helped . And you don’t seem like soone who does things for free."
That drew a slow, wolfish smile from him. "Don’t I?"
Thalia hesitated. "Why are you here, Sebastian Cole?"
He leaned back and propped one arm on his knee, eyes flickering with firelight. "I ca here looking for sothing."
"What?"
He looked at her. Really looked.
And smiled.
"I think I just found it."
Thalia’s breath hitched.
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to feel. But as the fire crackled beside them, and her wet hair dried under the heat, and his coat wrapped around her like a shield against the world—she knew one thing.
For the first ti in a very long ti... she didn’t feel like nothing.
She felt like soone.
Thalia’s stomach was finally warm, a small comfort she hadn’t known in days. She drank greedily from the wooden flask of milk Sebastian offered and nibbled on the dried at, laughter occasionally bubbling up between them like startled birds.
He was charming. Damn him. Wickedly so.
"You’ve got at in your teeth," he teased.
She playfully nudged him. "Says the man wearing seven layers of coats like a walking wardrobe."
He held a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Excuse you. I’m fashionably prepared for the apocalypse."
She snorted. "You look like the apocalypse."
He grinned, and she laughed, her eyes crinkling—just as sothing slipped from one of the coat’s many pockets and fell to the ground with a soft papery thud.
Thalia blinked and leaned down to pick it up.
It was a rolled-up parchnt—thick, official-looking, sealed once with a now-broken insignia. Curious, she opened it.
And froze.
The firelight danced over the ink as her eyes scanned it. Then scanned it again. Her blood turned to ice.
A bounty notice.
Detailed and horrifyingly familiar.
Princess Salviana.
Prince Alaric.
Lord Lucius.
Lady-in-waiting Jean.
Their faces were etched in sketchy, wanted illustrations—lines brutal and unforgiving. Next to each na were the words:
"WANTED—DEAD OR ALIVE. Known fugitives. Accomplices included. High reward for their capture. Report anyone offering them sanctuary."
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