They separated the next morning at the gates of Noblecourt. Therion and H'aanit were so anxious to depart that they practically pushed the others out of their rooms at sunrise. Tressa occupied herself with checking over the stacks of provisions until an admonishing glance from Olberic sent her blushing and scurrying off to hassle Cyrus about his ever-increasing stack of scrolls and books, while Ophilia and Alfyn had their heads together in close conversation. The cleric and apothecary glanced over at Olberic and Primrose several times during their discussion but abruptly changed the topic when either approached them. Primrose was amused, shrugging slightly at Olberic when he cast a curious glance her way. They would either get whatever bothered them off their chests or not, it was not her problem. Finally, everything was set and the group said their goodbyes, wishing each other luck and agreeing to meet up together in Bolderfall once Therion's job was completed. Olberic and Primrose made their way back to the inn to pack up what was left of their belongings and departed shortly thereafter, heading south towards Atlasdam.

After a largely uneventful day of travel, they arrive at the city gates. Once inside, they find an inn and order a room. Olberic had attempted to protest for most of the afternoon, insisting on allowing her some privacy, but Primrose had put her foot down firmly on the matter. 'Safety in numbers, dear. It's best if we stay close. And think of the unnecessary expense if we were to get two rooms instead of just the one at every stop along the way! Besides, if we are to be traveling as Lord and Lady Berg, should we not act the part? We will draw more eyes if we are claiming to be a couple and sleeping separately, no?' Primrose smiled to herself, shaking her head as she played over the conversation in her head while the knight negotiated with the innkeeper. For all his objections, he truly did not seem all that put out at the idea of sharing her room. He was a deeply honorable man with a complex personal code, and she was greatly looking forward to untangling it.

"My Lady? This way." Olberic proffers his arm and Primrose rests her hand on it with a smile and a polite nod to the innkeeper, who knuckles his forehead in return as the pair turns away, heading upstairs. Their room is airy and clean with a large bed opposite a wide fireplace. Primrose spots a narrow copper tub in the corner and nods approvingly. She hangs her traveling cloak by the door and begins setting out their personal items and making the room more comfortable. "If you don't mind, I think I'll head down to the bathhouse," Olberic begins, rummaging through his bag for fresh clothing. "I'll arrange for dinner in the meantime, unless you want to look around town a bit."

"Oh, a bath sounds lovely," she replies.

"Indeed. The innkeeper was quite adamant that his humble bath house was unfit for such a fine lady as yourself and insisted upon sending hot water up for your personal use. He assured me that it would be here shortly."

She tilts her head. "Unfit for me but good enough for you?"

He grins at her. "Not quite the way he worded it, no. 'Lord Berg' is perfectly content with such amenities, but the fellow seemed quite taken with you...I cannot say that I blame him there. I suspect he would have dislodged other guests on the spot if you did not approve of this room."

"Men," she mutters.

"Just so."

"I suppose a private meal would not be a terrible thing. I've been to Atlasdam before, so I don't need to 'see the sights' right this second unless you haven't done enough walking today...?"

He laughs. "Fair enough, I'll see to it."

A sharp knock emanates from the door and Olberic lifts the peephole cover to peer through, then quickly unlatches the bolts and steps back to admit the serving girls bearing the hot water and towels. Satisfied that Primrose is in good hands, he exits with a small bow. Within moments, the bath is prepared and the dancer shoos the girls out with a small purse of coins and assurances that she is quite capable of seeing to her own comfort. She locks the door behind them and strips off her clothes, sinking into the jasmine scented water with a delighted sigh.

Some time later she emerges feeling more relaxed than she has in weeks. She dries herself off and crosses the room to stand in front of the mirror, examining herself critically. Her wound seems well healed; whatever compound Alfyn devised for her had worked like a charm. She runs a finger along the edge of it, frowning at the scar that would forever mar her flesh and serve as a constant reminder of Simeon's treachery.

Of her weakness.

How could she be so blind for so long? She had tried to justify her naivete as the trusting nature of the child she once was, but that child and her foolish innocence was gone long before Simeon had buried his knife in her belly. Some desperate, stupid part of her had wanted to believe there was a last shred of goodness left from her fabled childhood, but that hope lay in tatters now. Tears pricked her eyes briefly until she blinked them away with a scowl. No. No more. She was done weeping for her past, her steps carried her only forward now. That foolish little girl was gone, as was the starry eyed adolescent pining over her first love. This scarred, cynical woman was all that remained. She would have to be enough.

Sighing, she wraps herself in a frost-blue dressing gown, settling at the foot of the bed to run a comb through her long auburn hair. A gentle tap at the door interrupts her grooming and self-recrimination, and Primrose rises to open the door for the serving girls who make short work of setting out supper and emptying the tub. Olberic returns as the girls depart, his thick hair still damp, loosely laced linen shirt clinging to his broad shoulders. Primrose feels a familiar warmth uncoiling in her belly as she watches him, a flush rising in her cheeks. Part of her chides herself for looking at him this way and she unconsciously runs a fingertip over her mostly-healed wound as if to remind herself what happens when her heart guides her instead of her head. The rest of her burns with the memory of his arms around her, his lips on hers, the shock and regret in his eyes when he thought he had injured her, and the knowledge that this man is nothing like that simpering poet she thought she knew or any of the dozens of men who had leered and hurt her before. She had known from the moment she met him that Olberic Eisenberg was an honorable, trustworthy man. Looking at him now, she resolved to push her usual cynicism aside and all her doubts and fears fell away once and for all.

As if sensing a change in the dancer, the tall knight turns back after latching the door and pauses, running his eyes over Primrose appreciatively. The thin, silky robe clung to her in all the right places and she knew it, leaning artfully against the table as if putting herself on display. "Hungry?" she murmurs.

Olberic swallows hard, his eyes locked on hers. His fingers twitch involuntarily at his sides but he doesn't answer.

Primrose straightens, pushing away from the table, and glides across the room coming to a stop right in front of the warrior. "Forgive me, my Lord. I couldn't quite hear you...are you hungry?" She gazes up at him through thick lashes, her lips slightly parted.

"Primrose..." he rumbles. His voice is so deep she can feel it through her toes. "You...are a vexing woman."

She laughs softly, slipping her arms around his waist. "Is that a no?"

To answer he bends his head, kissing her soundly. She leans into him, tightening her arms and pressing against him, relishing the feel of his muscular torso against her. He begins to pull away slightly and she chases after him with a low noise of protest, tightening her fists in his shirt and holding him close. Breaking the kiss he looks down at her, his grey eyes dark and searching. She reaches up to begin unlacing his shirt, her eyes never leaving his. Something in him seems to break when her fingertips graze the flesh just above his waist and he captures her wrists in his large, calloused hands, stopping her. She frowns, opening her mouth to protest but stops short when he lets go, his hands sliding up to push the dressing gown off of her shoulders, leaving her torso bare under his hungry gaze. He gently cups her breasts in his hands, lifting them and stroking the undersides gently. She inhales sharply, hooking her hands into his belt for support when he suddenly rubs his thumbs over her taut nipples in a slow, circular motion.

Her eyes close briefly, letting the sensations wash over her. Her pulse pounds in her ears, her whole world reduced to the dull ache between her legs and the delicious torture of his rough fingers teasing and exploring her. She shifts carefully, rubbing against his hard length and lets her robe fall all the way to the floor. That brief contact shakes her out of her languor and she quickly resumes her attack on his belt, unfastening the buckles with sure hands and tugging his trousers down over his hips. His swollen member springs free and she wastes no time slipping both hands around him, causing the knight to release her with a shudder and brace himself against the wall.

"Prim..." he groans.

She raises up on her tiptoes, nipping at his lower lip, then gracefully lowers herself to her knees, staring deep into his eyes as she guides his trousers over each leg, tossing them to the side. She leans forward, expertly taking him into her mouth.

Moments later, he gazes down at her, his eyes glazed, and offers his hands to pull her to her feet, wrapping her in a tight embrace and holding her close to him.

"That...was incredible," he whispers, his voice thick.

"That was just the beginning," she replies with a slow smile, turning towards the bed and tugging him after her.


I've edited this down so as not to risk a rules violation. Full version is on AO3!