Chapter 12 "Aelries' Guide To Not Murdering Your Travel Companion (Despite Extreme Provocation)

The morning sunlight streamed through the inn's windows as Aelries savored her breakfast, the sweet tang of blueberry pie bringing an uncharacteristic smile to her lips. She'd slept surprisingly well after last night's… incident, though she'd never admit the blanket had anything to do with it. “The blueberry pie is exceptional,” Aelries remarked, dabbing her mouth with a cloth. “Even the omelet is perfectly seasoned.” The innkeeper beamed as she refilled Aelries' tea. “Our baker gets up before dawn to make them fresh. Though it seems your companion rises even earlier, he's been gone since sunrise.” Aelries' fork hesitated mid-bite. She hadn't realized she'd been unconsciously tracking Mixarnt's absence until now. “He's not my…” “Don't worry about your boyfriend,” the innkeeper interrupted with a knowing smile. “The village is small. He'll be back soon enough.” Aelries' ears burned crimson. “H-he's not my boyfriend!” The denial came too quickly, her voice an octave higher than usual. The innkeeper's giggle was cut short by the door swinging open. Mixarnt strode in, transformed by his new outfit — a crisp white shirt under a tailored black jacket, practical six pocket trousers, and sturdy combat boots that gave him a roguish adventurer's air. The style was foreign yet oddly suited him, a far cry from his previous clothes. “Morning!” he announced cheerfully, dropping a bag of supplies onto a nearby chair. Then, with impeccable bad timing: “Hey Aelries, can I use your room's bath? I still feel like I haven't fully washed off the manure smell.” Aelries' fork clattered against her plate. “You absolute disgusting brute!” she said, her breakfast suddenly became less appetizing. “Don't talk about such things while people are eating!” she scolded. The innkeeper muffled another laugh behind her hand as Mixarnt raised his palms in surrender. “Right! Sorry, sorry!” His sheepish grin didn't quite hide his amusement at her reaction. “So… about that bath?” Aelries took a long sip of tea to compose herself. Before she could answer, Mixarnt added with a playful wink: “You could wash my back if you want.” The tea went down the wrong pipe. Aelries choked, coughing violently as her face turned the same shade as her blueberry pie. The innkeeper rushed to pat her back while Mixarnt, wisely, took several steps backward, hands raised in mock defense. “Too soon?” he ventured. Aelries' glare could have melted steel. “I'll wash you with fireballs if you want!” she wheezed between coughs. Mixarnt's laughter filled the dining room as he made a tactical retreat toward the stairs. “I'll take that as a no! Just… save me some pie!” As his footsteps faded upstairs, Aelries noticed the innkeeper's amused expression. “What?” she asked annoyed. “Oh nothing,” the woman sang, clearing the empty plates. “Just that for someone who claims not to care, you certainly let him get under your skin.” Aelries opened her mouth to protest, then closed it with a huff. There was no winning this conversation. Instead, she stabbed her fork into the last bite of pie with unnecessary force, trying to ignore the warmth still lingering in her cheeks. ---------------- Steam curled from Mixarnt's freshly washed hair as he rejoined Aelries in the common room of the inn, the scent of pine soap replacing yesterday's less pleasant odors. He found her studying a worn map, her finger tracing routes with military precision. “Clean enough for your highness?” Mixarnt teased, shaking his damp hair like a dog. Aelries didn't look up. “You missed a spot behind your ears,” she said automatically, then froze when she realized what she'd admitted to noticing. Her ears turned pink. “Not that I was looking!” Mixarnt's grin widened, but before he could respond, Aelries cleared her throat and pointed to the map. “We're in Goldmeadow Village, also known as Seles. Northwest of the grasslands when we need to go southeast.” She explained the options with the clipped efficiency of someone who'd rehearsed this speech: The deadly sacred lands to the south, the expansive Sanctum Dominion to the east. Her finger landed on Morvain's border. “There's another way,” she said, her voice dropping. “Morvain has a teleportation circle. I have… connections there.” Something flickered across her face too quickly for Mixarnt to catch, a fracture in her usual composure. Had he been paying closer attention, he might have noticed how her thumb brushed unconsciously over a faded scar on her wrist, or how her eyes lingered half a second too long on Morvain. But Mixarnt was already bouncing on his shoes. “Okey-dokey! Morvain, here we come!” He threw up a thumbs up, already halfway to the door. “I'll register as an adventurer there too! Maybe we'll get some decent jobs along the way!” Aelries watched him go, her carefully maintained mask slipping for just a moment. The map crumpled slightly under her tightening grip. Morvain. Where golden spires cast long shadows and a certain king did not answer her letters. She took a steadying breath and folded the map with sharp, precise movements. Whatever ghosts waited in Morvain, she'd face them as she always did, with her chin raised and her back straight. Even if her chest ached at the thought. “Wait for me, you overexcited mutt!” she called after Mixarnt, forcing her usual irritation into her voice as she grabbed their supplies. The innkeeper caught her arm as she passed. “Safe travels,” the woman murmured, pressing a small wrapped pastry into her hand. “And good luck with… whatever waits in Morvain.” Aelries stiffened, then nodded once before striding out into the sunlight where Mixarnt was already chatting up a merchant about the best road to the border. Her fingers tightened around the pastry. “I could do this. I had to.” she whispered. Even if every step toward Morvain felt like walking toward a blade.