167. Terms of Engagement
Chapter 167: The Terms of Engagement
I pushed open the door to the Mikaelson Inn, my new purchases turning me into a walking armory. The common room was quiet, just a few early drinkers nursing their woes. Erik was behind the bar, polishing the same glass with a look of profound, squeaky-voiced concentration.
He glanced up as I shuffled in, my pack scraping the doorframe. His sunken eyes took in the new sword, the armor, the bulging sacks of rations. He didn’t say a word.
I dumped the load by the foot of the stairs with a solid thump that made the nearest drinker jump. I walked over to the bar, the new leathers creaking.
“Erik.”
He placed the glass down with infinite care. “Kaizen.”
“About last night,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “The… ranting. The shouting about kissing my ass and whatnot. That was the alcohol talking. And maybe the last five weeks of cosmic bullshit. But mostly the alcohol.”
He stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then, he gave a single, slow nod. “The ale here is stronger than most. It has been known to put opinions in men’s mouths they didn’t know they had.”
“Yeah, well. Consider those opinions… retracted. For public consumption, anyway.”
A faint, wheezing sound that might have been a laugh escaped him. “Noted. Your room is still yours. Try not to break the new door. It’s from a reputable carpenter. He has feelings.”
“I’ll be gentle,” I said, turning to haul my gear upstairs.
I’d just grabbed the first sack when the inn door swung open again, cutting a sharp rectangle of morning light across the floor.
She didn’t walk in. She appeared. A silhouette of polished leather and rigid purpose.
Freya.
She scanned the room, her glacier-blue eyes locking onto me instantly. There was no warmth there. No hint of last night’s confrontation, or the mission parameters screaming in my skull. Just pure, unadulterated business.
Before I could even muster a sarcastic greeting, she was across the room. Her hand shot out, fingers clamping around my bicep like an iron manacle.
“We need to talk. Now. Before the Captain gets here.”
Her voice was low, taut, brooking no argument. She didn’t wait for a reply. She just pulled, using my own balance against me, and marched me toward the stairs.
“I can walk, you know,” I grunted, stumbling as she yanked me onto the first step. “It’s a new skill I’ve been working on.”
“Quiet.”
She hauled me up the steps, her grip unforgiving. Past the second floor, to my door. She shoved it open, pushed me inside, and followed, slamming it shut behind us.
Room 2B suddenly felt about half its size.
She turned on me, her chest rising and falling with something that wasn’t exertion. It was nervous energy, tightly leashed. “Listen to me very carefully, Kaizen. When we meet the rest of the team, when Captain Alaric arrives, there will be no mention of our… arrangement. None. Do you understand?”
I dropped my sack of jerky onto the bed. “Arrangement? What arrangement? The one where the fate of my existence is weirdly tied to sleeping with you? That one? Yeah, I wasn’t planning on leading with that. ‘Hi, I’m Kaizen, and my goal is to screw over your precious little kingdom.’”
“Stop it!” she hissed, stepping closer. Her face was pale, her ruby lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. “This isn’t a joke. Alaric is a patriot. He’s served three kings. His loyalty is to the crown, not to… to whatever this is.” She gestured vaguely between us, disgust etching her features. “If he suspects for one second that my judgment is compromised, that my loyalty is divided, he will report it. He will have me relieved. Or worse.”
I leaned back against the wall, crossing my arms. “So what’s the play, Captain? We pretend to hate each other? We already do a pretty good job of that.”
“We pretend to be a couple,” she said, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. “A new, inconvenient, annoyingly physical couple. It explains proximity. It explains… any necessary interactions. It gives a reason for any tension he might sense that isn’t treasonous.”
I couldn’t help it. A slow smile spread across my face. “A couple? You want to play lovebirds? You, who looks at me like I’m something you scraped off your boot?”
She flushed, a faint pink rising on her pale cheeks. “It’s a cover. Nothing more. We bicker. We annoy each other. But there’s an… attraction. A mistake we keep making. It’s messy. It’s human. It’s not a political conspiracy.”
I pushed off the wall and took a step toward her. She didn’t retreat, but her whole body went rigid, a sword waiting to be drawn. I reached out, not fast, letting her see it coming. My hand came up and gently brushed a stray strand of her raven-black hair behind her ear. My fingers lingered for a second on the cool skin of her cheek.
“So,” I said, my voice dropping to a murmur. “We’re the couple that fights all the time but can’t keep our hands off each other? I think I can manage that part.”
Her reaction was instantaneous. She slapped my hand away as if it were a venomous insect. “Don’t,” she snarled, her composure cracking. “Don’t you dare touch me like that. Not here. Not ever, unless it’s absolutely fucking necessary for the mission. We are not actually a couple. Do you understand the difference, you arrogant asshole? This is a performance. A lie. One word out of place, one hint that you’re not fully committed to this mission and the kingdom’s interests, and Alaric will see right through it.”
She was in my space now, her finger jabbing into my new leather chest piece. “And let me make something else crystal clear, Kaizen. Any more talk like last night? Any more drunken boasts about leaving, about letting the kingdom burn? You breathe a word of that selfish, cowardly shit in front of Alaric, and I will personally throw you in the deepest dungeon in Avigate before you can finish your sentence. He is a man who has given everything for Rostalio. He doesn’t have the luxury of your… your existential tantrums.”
I looked down at her, at the fierce, terrified loyalty in her eyes. She wasn’t just protecting her career. She was protecting the idea of the kingdom she served. And she was scared I was going to shatter it.
My smile didn’t fade, but it changed. Hardened at the edges. “Relax, Freya. I know my lines. Annoying couple. Secret passion. Unwavering dedication to the crown.” I gave a lazy salute. “I’ll even try to look patriotic. Do I need to learn the national anthem?”
She stared at me, searching for mockery, for insincerity. She found plenty, but maybe also a sliver of cold understanding. This farce served us both.
“Just don’t screw this up,” she said finally, her voice losing some of its heat, leaving only exhausted steel. “The Captain will be here within the hour. Be packed. Be ready. And for the love of all the gods, try to look like you take something seriously.”
She turned and yanked the door open, pausing on the threshold. Without looking back, she added, “And if you ever touch me like that again without a damn good mission-critical reason, I’ll break the fingers you used.”
Then she was gone, her boots echoing down the hall like a retreating verdict.
I stood there in the quiet room, the scent of her, leather, steel, cold fury, still hanging in the air. I looked at the closed door, then down at my hand.