Liria and Dastan finally emerged from the dense forest, stepping onto open land under the dim glow of the sunset. The silence between them was thick, heavy with tension and exhaustion. Liria followed him closely, her legs aching with each step. She hated this—hated being dragged along like a lost puppy with no choice but to trust the man who had captured her.
"Quick," Dastan ordered without sparing her a glance.
They arrived at a small, rundown settlement, a place where shadows moved in the alleys, and strangers spoke in hushed tones. Dastan led the way to an inn, rented a single room, and pushed open the wooden door, letting her step inside first.
The room was small and sparse—a single bed pushed against the far wall, a square window that barely let any light in, and a wobbly desk with a chair that had no backrest. It smelled of damp wood and old linen.
"Sit. Or lie down. Whatever you prefer," Dastan said, his tone firm, commanding.
Liria turned to glare at him. "You do not have the power to order me," she spat. "I am not going to let you touch me."
Dastan threw his head back and laughed. The sound filled the room, raw and unapologetic. "Who told you I wanted to touch you?" he sneered, his lips curling into a smirk. "You're a little too confident, little fox. Look at you—weak, helpless. I don't waste my time with fragile little things."
His words burned like fire under her skin. Liria clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. Her heart pounded with anger, but before she could retort, he grabbed her wrists in a firm grip and pulled her toward the bed.
"What are you doing?" she hissed, struggling against him.
Dastan ignored her protests. He tied her hands together, securing them tightly with rope. Then, he fastened her ankles to the bedpost. "I can't risk losing my bounty," he murmured, tightening the last knot. "If you try to run, I lose my reward. And I don't intend to let that happen."
Liria sat stiffly on the bed, her bound wrists burning against the rough rope. Fury flashed in her eyes, but she knew fighting would do nothing. Dastan had already proven he was stronger. He was faster.
Without another word, he turned and left, locking the door behind him.
… … …
Dastan walked through the dimly lit streets, his boots crunching against the dirt path. He stopped in front of a crooked wooden house at the edge of the settlement and knocked. The door creaked open, revealing a man in his fifties with a thin, scruffy beard.
"Well, if it isn't Dastan," the man mused, stepping aside. "Come in."
Dastan entered without hesitation. "I need to know the place. I've got her."
The man's expression darkened. "Where is she?"
"She's safe."
The older man exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Don't tell me you left her alone."
"She's tied up," Dastan said simply.
The man let out a dry laugh. "Gods, Dastan. Do you really think that'll be enough?" He stepped toward the center of the room, rubbing his temples. "Whale's Shore. A fortnight from now. I'll send a pigeon to inform them about the handover."
Dastan tensed. "A fortnight? That long?" He scowled, his patience wearing thin. "I don't want to take care of her any longer than I have to. I'm a free man."
"This is the soonest they can be there," the man said. "They're traveling by ship. You'll have to wait."
Dastan exhaled sharply through his nose. "Fine."
… … …
When he returned to the room, Liria was asleep, her head resting against the wall. Her breathing was slow, steady, but her position looked painfully uncomfortable. He stepped closer, intending to wake her, but something stopped him.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, watching her. The dim light of the lantern softened her sharp features, making her look… different. Less like a captured prize and more like—
Dastan swallowed hard. Something stirred inside him, something unfamiliar and unwelcome. His heartbeat quickened. His breath slowed.
Without thinking, he reached out, his fingers brushing against a strand of her crimson hair. The softness of it startled him. Before he realized what he was doing, his hand lingered, tracing the curve of her cheek.
He cursed under his breath and pulled away quickly, rubbing his face as if that would erase the strange moment. Shaking his head, he moved to untie her wrists. As he worked the knots loose, her eyes fluttered open.
She blinked at him sleepily, confusion settling in. "What…?"
Dastan didn't answer. He simply moved to her ankles and freed them as well.
When he finished, he sat on the chair, his fingers brushing lightly over her wrists where the rope had left faint marks. A strange silence stretched between them.
Then, without a word, he pulled a piece of bread from his bag and held it out. "Eat."
Liria hesitated, her gaze flicking between him and the bread, but hunger won over. She took it, biting into the stale loaf. They ate in silence, neither of them willing to speak first.
As he chewed, Dastan studied her. Something was wrong. She didn't look like the fiery girl who had glared at him in defiance. Her skin was too pale, her movements sluggish.
Liria suddenly winced, reaching for the back of her neck.
"What's wrong?" Dastan asked, his voice unusually gentle.
She ran her fingers over the spot, her brows furrowing. "It hurts. Feels swollen."
Dastan frowned. He moved closer, carefully sweeping her hair aside. His eyes darkened.
"Shit," he muttered. "It's a spider bite."
Liria stiffened. "What?"
"A purple spider. You must have gotten bitten in the forest."
She swallowed hard. "How bad is it?"
"Bad," he admitted. "Some people don't survive."
Her breath hitched. "You're joking, right?"
Dastan didn't answer. Instead, he dug through his bag and pulled out a handful of dried leaves. He crushed them between his fingers, releasing a pungent scent, and then gently pressed the mixture onto the bite. His touch was surprisingly careful, almost tender.
"This will help with the swelling," he murmured. "You need to sleep on your side. Don't lie on your back."
Liria obeyed, exhaustion overtaking her again.
Dastan hesitated, then pulled off his cloak and draped it over her. He moved to the floor, stretching out on the hard wooden planks.
But sleep didn't come easily that night.
His mind raced. His thoughts were filled with her—the stubborn, fiery girl lying in the bed above him. He shouldn't care. He didn't want to care.
And yet, despite himself, he did.
He turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He was supposed to be her captor, but something told him that, in ways he couldn't yet understand—
She had captured him too.