"Why don't the guards speak?" Misra repeated the question. She hesitated, her eyes darting around the carriage, searching for an escape from the inquiry. Seeing that nothing would come to her rescue, she sighed.
"Well... It's because they can't," she said, as if displeased with her own words. Or perhaps, unwilling to share them.
"What? Are they mute?" Nemes asked. The sun was beginning to rise on the horizon. "Yes, something like that," Misra replied evasively, earning a furrowed brow from Nemes.
"We promised just hours ago to be friends, to be honest," Nemes said with a tone louder than intended, looking offended that their 'agreement' was being broken so quickly. Those words seemed to strike deep with Misra, who wore a pained expression.
"We cut out their tongues!" she blurted out. After a moment, she realized how that sounded and corrected herself. "I mean, not me personally. But it's a rule, the royal guards must not be able to speak or write." Nemes's expression was indescribable.
"They... they have no tongues? Doesn't that make them more useless?" Nemes tried to bring some logic into the conversation. "Yes... well. From a certain perspective, perhaps. But in the castle, silence is valued more."
"And it's not as bad as it sounds! We pay them well and... and our enemies know that torturing them is pointless, so..." Misra realized with each word she spoke, she was darkening the situation. They fell into an uncomfortable, sepulchral silence.
Fortunately, someone came to their rescue.
"Ladies," Sixtin introduced himself. He did this occasionally, ensuring the princess was well. Whenever he opened the window, he shot Nemes a long, sharp glance. This time was no different. "We're stopping to camp," he announced, and upon receiving Misra's nod, he continued, "Don't leave the carriage until then," and he moved away from the window.
...
The group of six—three soldiers, two women, and one man—halted in a clearing ahead. The forest was no longer red and dead; one could say it looked normal.
"I don't know where Lady Nemes will sleep," Sixtin voiced his concern. 'He wants me to sleep in the forest,' the vampire thought angrily, seeing it in his face, in the glances he gave her. "Well, she'll sleep with me," Misra said casually.
"What?! No, that... I don't think that's proper, Your Highness," he said, glancing sideways at Nemes. For some reason, he didn't trust the deformed elf. "I can sleep outside. Let her use my tent," he suggested. But Misra shook her head and declared, "I understand your concerns, Sir Sixtin, but they're unnecessary. She should sleep with me so that no one is left in danger outdoors." She persisted, seeming to have put him in a dilemma.
"Then..." he seemed to ponder before continuing, "she can sleep in my tent and I..." He hesitated, letting the silence settle. Misra seemed to anticipate where this conversation was headed and cut it short. "No need for anything more. It will be as I said; Nemes is trustworthy, I assure you." It was an order, Nemes thought. Sixtin stood there with his mouth agape and simply walked away dejected. His hypersensitive ears caught his murmurs—"Nemes? Only Nemes?" The boy was head over heels for the princess; that much was clear. When Sixtin left, the girls exchanged glances; Misra had a smug smile for some reason.
Who would tell Sixtin that, despite his strange motives, he was right to suspect the foreigner?
...
The tent was small, made of linen. It didn't seem like the warmest shelter, but there were plenty of fur blankets inside. Misra seemed to misinterpret her expression.
"I know it's not the most exquisite, but we'll be warm and without bugs," she said as she settled onto the blankets, appearing as though she hadn't hit the ground. She patted the spot beside her. "Come on! Let's keep chatting." 'She wants to keep talking?!' Nemes, exhausted, seriously considered sleeping outside but finally relented.
Finally, night fell upon them again; she had spent 24 hours in this world. She had appeared at night and now returned to night. She didn't know how long the journey would be, but her back hurt from the hours in the carriage, and every bump felt like a hammer blow to her buttocks.
She looked at Misra, unable to understand how a supposed princess could endure such things and now sleep so peacefully. She had tried various tricks to make her fall asleep faster: taking longer to respond, speaking in whispers, keeping their conversations slow and boring, and stretching out the silences as much as possible. She finally succeeded; now Misra was emitting soft, gentle snores next to her.
She observed her body, rising and falling slowly with her breath. She noticed her smooth neck and relaxed throat; unconsciously, she swallowed. She wasn't sure how she was going to sleep with her next to her.
She tossed and turned several times in bed, trying to fall asleep. She couldn't stop thinking about the girl resting beside her. Sadly, hunger combined with the desire to eat, and it happened.
Nemes got up slowly. Her long, bare legs settled on Misra, sitting on her abdomen with great care. She tried to contain her racing heart and her ragged breath as she slowly lay down on the princess's chest, putting her face against her neck.
When she was finally inches from her skin, she slowly opened her mouth, revealing her small fangs, and...
"Who's there?!" Sixtin's shout rang out from outside the tent with force. Nemes was startled, thinking she had been caught, and Misra jumped up.
"Ow!" she complained more from reflex than pain when Misra, upon getting up, accidentally hit her vampire friend in the mouth. When she saw her bedmate in such a position, she raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?" she questioned. Nemes's mind spun through a thousand attempts at an answer but settled on one. "I-I was cold," she said. "Why are you asking me? Don't you know?" she added with a sarcastic smile. Fortunately, Misra relented and set the topic aside with a grim promise.
"We'll talk about this later," she said, pointing at Nemes, who was still sitting on her lap, dressed in a light pajama dress that was more revealing than necessary. Understanding this could be her chance to escape, she got up from her lap. "What's happening outside?" she asked, to which Nemes shook her head, unsure. Outside, murmurs of discussion could be heard; one was Sixtin's voice, the other a deep, unfamiliar male voice.
"I can't allow him into the tents, I'm sorry. Please leave," Sixtin spoke seriously. "I'm telling you, they could be harboring a vampire!" he sounded furious, incredulous. Upon hearing this declaration, Nemes tensed; her hair stood on end, and her mind raced in several directions.
"Who is it? How does he know I'm here?" she thought, trying to find answers. Then she looked at the back of the tent, facing the deep forest. "I could escape; breaking the tent shouldn't be difficult." Surprisingly, Sixtin's voice cut through her thoughts.
"I told you no, the princess is resting. There are no vampires here; go somewhere else, vampire hunter," he said with disgust and venom. He seemed on the verge of anger. Fortunately, she heard heavy footsteps moving away. The outsider had departed.