Rigid as a corpse, I bounce against Mirelle's chest as her horse gallops through the forest. My limbs refuse to respond, locked by my stupid curse while Mirelle's arm wraps around my waist like an iron band. At least I've figured out how to keep breathing normally, small victories, I guess.
The woolen cape Jhone gave flaps wildly around us, occasionally smacking Mirelle in the face, which would be funny if I wasn't so damn helpless. We've been riding for what feels like hours, though the sun hasn't moved much in the sky.
"Are you comfortable?" Mirelle asks suddenly, her voice surprisingly gentle near my ear.
I manage to force words through my frozen lips. "Not really."
She makes a sympathetic noise, her armored chest plate digging into my back with each bounce of the horse. "Uhhh, maybe..." She trails off, clearly thinking. The forest thins around us as we approach what looks like a proper road.
"Just relax," she says finally.
The mont the words leave her mouth, sothing shifts. The paralysis doesn't vanish completely, but it loosens its grip enough that I can move my fingers, turn my head slightly, even adjust my posture a bit.
"Oh, okay, so that works," I say, relief flooding through as I flex my hands experintally.
"Apparently," Mirelle sounds as surprised as I feel, her grip on my waist relaxing slightly now that she knows I won't tumble off the horse.
"Thank you," I say, aning it more than she could possibly understand. Being trapped in my own body is a special kind of hell I never want to experience again.
The road ahead widens, revealing glimpses of stone walls in the distance. Honeywood, I presu. My stomach knots with anxiety as I wonder what fresh nightmare awaits there.
"We're getting close to the city," Mirelle murmurs, her breath warm against my ear. "I need to disguise you."
Before I can ask what she ans, she's already shifting behind , one-handed removing her helt with practiced ease. The steel contraption appears in front of my face, ornate and intimidating with its narrow eye slits and decorative crest.
"This should help," she says, lowering it onto my head. The helt fits surprisingly well, though the padding inside slls of sweat. She tugs the visor down, plunging my world into a letterbox view of narrow horizontal slits.
"Can you see okay?" she asks, adjusting it slightly.
"Barely," I reply, my voice echoing strangely inside the tal confines. "But I'll manage."
She reaches around , gathering Jhone's cape and arranging it more securely around my shoulders. "Hold this closed if you can," she instructs. "Don't let it fall open."
I clutch the edges of the heavy wool, pulling it tight across my chest to hide my ridiculous hospital gown.
"Perfect," she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "I can't let anyone see a man as we take the main road to the castle.
The forest gives way completely as we erge onto a wide, well-maintained road. Ahead, Honeywood rises from the landscape, its stone walls catching the afternoon sun. It's smaller than I expected, nothing like the sprawling cities from fantasy movies, but impressive nonetheless.
"Welco to Honeywood," Mirelle announces as we approach the main gate.
Guards in matching armor nod respectfully as we pass, recognizing Mirelle's uniform but paying little attention to . The heavy wooden gates stand open, revealing the city beyond.
We enter at a asured pace, Mirelle steering her horse carefully through streets that bustle with activity. Won of all ages move purposefully about their business, rchants hawking wares, laborers carrying goods, nobles in fine dresses being escorted by servants. Not a single man in sight.
I'm taking in the sights, feeling like an alien observer in a world that seems both familiar and utterly foreign, when a massive structure catches my eye. It stands three stories tall with wide-open doors revealing a chaotic interior. Won of all shapes and sizes mill around the entrance, so decked out in elaborate armor with weapons that look like they could cleave a car in half, others wearing hooded robes with mysterious glowing objects dangling from their belts.
"What's that place?" I ask, my voice muffled inside Mirelle's helt.
She follows my gaze and lets out a small chuckle. "Oh, the Adventurer's Guild? That's where you go when you're either really strong or really desperate for coin. rcenary work, monster hunting, treasure seeking, all the jobs too dangerous or too weird for regular folk."
I watch as a woman with an axe nearly as tall as she is erges from the building, laughing uproariously with her companions. "Is it hard? Being an adventurer, I an."
Mirelle scoffs, her chest puffing against my back. "For soone like ? Of course not. I could take on a nest of dire wolves single-handed if I wanted to."
"Then why be a knight?"
"Family tradition," she sighs, guiding her horse around a slow-moving cart. "Blue hair, thunder magic, and service to the crown, that's the legacy of my family. Seven generations of knights before . Mother would have a stroke if I broke the chain."
Her voice drops lower, almost wistful. "But if it were up to ? I'd join the Guild tomorrow. Way more money in that line of work, and freedom to boot. No one telling you what to do, where to go..."
We pass close enough to the Guild that I can hear the boisterous laughter and clinking of tankards from inside. A pair of won exit, one supporting the other, who's sporting a fresh bandage around her arm and a proud grin.
Mirelle leans forward suddenly, her lips uncomfortably close to my ear, even through the helt. "Is that the kind of woman you like, Sam?" she whispers, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. "A strong adventurer who could keep her man safe at all costs? Soone who'd slay wyverns just to see you smile?"
My whole body tenses, and I'm grateful the helt hides my grimace. An image of Kayla flashes through my mind, her golden eyes narrowed in that dangerous way they'd get whenever another woman so much as looked in my direction.
"My wife would literally stab my corpse if she thought I was flirting with soone else," I mutter, the words tumbling out before I can filter them.
Mirelle lets out a laugh that's half shock, half amusent. "Your owner sounds... intense," she says, clearly trying to choose her words carefully.
“She certainly is.”
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