168. Rehearsal
Chapter 168: Rehearsal
The silence after Freya left was thick enough to chew. I stood there, the new leather armor feeling suddenly stiff and foreign, like a costume I’d already put on wrong.
An hour.
I looked around the room. My gear was dumped in a heap. My new sword leaned against the bedpost like a shy guest. The rations smelled of smoked meat and hard decisions.
‘An annoying, inconvenient couple.’
Right.
I didn’t bother with the gear first. I walked to the door, opened it, and stepped into the hall. She wasn’t at the end of it. She’d probably gone to the common room to stew in her own sense of duty.
I went the other way, to the small washroom at the end of the corridor. I splashed cold water on my face, the shock of it sharpening the edges of the morning. In the blurry metal mirror, I saw a stranger’s face, leaner than the one from Earth, eyes holding a light that wasn’t just reflection. A man gearing up for a lie.
When I got back to my room, she was there.
She’d let herself in and was standing stiffly by the window, staring out at the waking city, her back to me. She’d taken off her cloak. Her hair was still in its severe, practical tie, but a few strands had escaped, softening the line of her neck.
“You know,” I said, closing the door softly behind me, “for a couple, we have a real problem with boundaries. You just walk into my room now?”
She didn’t turn. “You left the door unlocked. It’s a security risk.”
“Or it’s an invitation.” I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms. “See? This is the bickering. We’re nailing it already. But Alaric’s a smart guy, right? Veteran. He’s going to be looking for more than just snappy comebacks.”
She finally turned, her expression guarded. “What are you talking about?”
“Chemistry,” I said, pushing off the wall and taking a few steps into the room. I kept my movements slow, non-threatening. “Even couples who fight have it. A tension. A… familiarity. Right now, if you so much as brush my arm, you look like you’re going to draw steel. That’s not ‘annoying couple.’ That’s ‘hostage situation.’”
Her jaw tightened. “I told you, it’s a performance.”
“And every good performance needs rehearsal.” I stopped a few feet from her. Close enough to smell the faint scent of soap on her skin, the oil on her leathers. “We have an hour. We should at least get used to being in the same breathing space without you vibrating out of your skin.”
“I am perfectly composed,” she said, her voice tight.
“You’re wound tighter than a crossbow,” I replied softly. I took one more half-step. Not touching. Just reducing the distance. “Look, I’m not asking for a romance lesson. I’m saying when we’re on the road, in close quarters, there will be moments. Passing a waterskin. Checking a map. We’ll need to not flinch. It has to look… habitual.”
Her eyes searched mine, looking for the trap, the mockery. I kept my gaze steady. This was practical. Our lives might depend on the consistency of the lie.
Slowly, I raised my hand, palm open. “See? No sudden moves. Just… proximity.”
She stared at my hand like it was a venomous snake. A full ten seconds of tense silence passed. Then, with visible effort, she unclenched her own hands at her sides. She didn’t take my hand, but she didn’t step back.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, but it was less a refusal and more a confession of defeat.
“It’s survival,” I corrected gently. “A different kind. Now, come on. Stand here.” I gestured to a spot beside me, near the bed where the light from the window fell. “We’re looking at a map. I’m pointing something out.”
With the stiffness of a marionette, she moved to stand beside me, leaving a full foot of charged air between us. We both stared at the blank wall.
“Okay,” I said, my voice dropping into a casual, low tone. “So, the road forks here by the old mill. The northern path is shorter but goes through the Blackroot Thicket. Lots of cover for ambushes.”
I could feel her listening, her focus shifting from my proximity to the imaginary problem.
“The southern path adds half a day,” she replied, her own voice losing some of its icy edge, slipping into professional analysis. “But it’s open country. Nowhere for bandits to hide.”
“Good,” I said. I shifted my weight, letting my shoulder gently bump against hers. It was the lightest touch, the kind you’d hardly notice.
She froze. A full-body flinch.
“And you’re dead,” I said, not moving away. “The jig is up. Captain Alaric thinks, ‘My Knight-Captain has a personal space bubble the size of a small kingdom. This isn’t a lover’s familiarity. This is two strangers in armor.’”
She took a sharp breath, her eyes closing for a second. When she opened them, there was furious resolve in them. “Fine.” The word was gritted out.
She forced herself to relax her shoulder, to lean ever so slightly into the contact. It was like leaning against a statue that was slightly warm.
“Better,” I murmured. “Now, I’m disagreeing with you. I think the thicket is worth the risk. Time is a factor.” I turned my head slightly toward her. In a real couple, this would be intimate. Whispering over a shared map. “What do you think, Freya?”
Her name, spoken that softly in the quiet room, seemed to hang in the air. She turned her head too. Our faces were close. I could see the faint dusting of freckles across her nose, the tiny scar on her chin, the way her pupils dilated slightly despite herself.
“I think,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “that you have a reckless disregard for established security protocols.”
A genuine smile touched my lips. “And I think you’re beautiful when you’re quoting the guard manual.”
That broke the spell. She pulled back as if scalded, the professional mask slamming back down, but her cheeks were flushed. “That’s enough. We’ve practiced.”
“We’ve scratched the surface,” I said, but I didn’t push closer. I gave her the space she needed. “Just remember, out there, it’s not about perfection. It’s about consistency. A touch here. A look there. The way you hand me something without thinking. The way you stand a little too close when you’re telling me I’m an idiot.”
She turned away, busying herself with straightening a perfectly straight strap on her bracer. “I won’t have any trouble with the last part.”
I grinned. “See? We’re getting there.”
She walked to the door, her composure reassembled brick by brick. With her hand on the latch, she paused, not looking back. “Be ready in forty minutes. Downstairs. And Kaizen?”
“Yeah?”
“The touching… keep it mission-critical.”
Then she was gone, leaving me alone in the room with the ghost of her closeness and the heavy weight of the performance to come. I looked at the spot where she’d stood, then at my own reflection in the window glass.
‘An annoying couple.’ We could do that. We’d been doing it for weeks.
But the other part? The familiarity? The unthinking closeness?
That was going to be the hardest mission of all.