All characters belong to the lovely Sarah J. Maas.

TWO

By the time Madam Clarisse returned, it was dusk.

At first, Sam thought it was just another one of the maids bringing him his daily meal of stale bread and cold, thick soup that tasted like chicken at first but had a bitter after taste. Though, when he looked closer at her face, he saw that it was Clarisse holding a wooden tray and his meal with one hand and a pair of tattered clothes in the other with her fingers holding a pair of boots.

Sam scoffed, "This is the power you said I was undermining?"

Clarisse dropped the tray on his bed beside him and scowled. "Having servants helping you is rather imperative when there are so many everywhere and in the thresholds of some of the most powerful people in Adarlan." Her sharp eyes twinkled with mischief as she unfastened her hood, letting her hair fall over her shoulders like leaves falling off an Autumn tree.

"Change into this," she threw the tattered clothing at his chest before turning to the broken sink on the other side of the cell.

As he stood up to turn his back, Sam examined her briefly, running his eyes over her slim figure. With her long curls and pale skin she could have been wedded as soon as she was of age but she chose this life –this life of selling young men and women off for a profit which she took most of.

Normally, he would feel disgusted but everyone has there own reasons for doing the things they do and Sam has surely learnt that.

He sighed, opening his mouth partly, as he spread the thin attire in front of him. The bottom of the tunic was covered in, what looked like and he hoped was, mud and bits of rocks. The trousers were ripped into knee-high shorts in which he didn't mind but the shoes, they were moist the moment he slid his calloused feet into them –moist with sweat, like she just pulled the footwear off a working slave.

Once he was dressed in the servant attire, Clarisse examined him and scowled.

He returned the scowl, "What is the problem now?"

She approached him until their bodies were only centimetres apart and raised her hand into his hair, styling it in random directions making his hair look wilder.

Clarisse stepped back and scowled again as she stared at his hair. "You would have made a brilliant courtesan," she murmured to herself but Sam couldn't help but feel like it was directed him.

Opening the cell door, she pulled out a rusted key out from the lock and placed it in the pocket of her maid dress. Madam Clarisse motioned for Sam to follow and he did, closing the door behind him.

They proceeded down passageways where he could barely fit his shoulders in and up stairways that reeked of rotten food and the salty smell of blood until finally they reached a honey oak door with light illuminating through cracks. The air smelt like sweet bread and made his stomach grumble.

"This is where we bid our farewells young Sam Cortland," she whispered but if she wanted to be quiet she didn't need to whisper because on the other side of the door there were loud shouts and curses that could cover any sound of chatter.

Clarisse lifted a finger towards the door, "Through this door is a kitchen to a bakery in the middle of Rifthold." Ah, no wonder. "A man dressed in black will be waiting in the bakery alone at a table in the farthest corner from the door at this very moment."

She grabbed his shoulders, digging her glossy nails into his shoulder blades, and stared into his eyes, "Sam, whatever you do, don't forget who saved you and absolutely don't let Abroynn find you. If he captures you and discovers that I was the one who assisted you, not only will my career demonise, you will be dead."

Sam ran his hands through his hair, moving it back into its usual place. "Then why are you helping me if it's a huge risk?"

"I already told you mister Cortland," she turned the knob to the door and opened it, shoving him inside. Immediately, a wave of heat surrounded him and he felt grateful for the thin material of his clothing. Sam looked back and saw water gleaming on the surface of her eyes.

"And besides, this is my last act of help for the Cortland family. May your Mother rest in peace knowing that I don't owe her for her death." With the last word, she slammed the door shut on him, leaving Sam stunned.

Passing through the door separating the kitchen and the bakery, Sam was suddenly aware of his appearance in a fancy bakery in the centre of Rifthold. He soon realised that his deviance wasn't an issue once no pair of eyes bothered to look his way except for one pair of vivd green eyes in the farthest corner from the glass front door.

He looked young –much more younger than he expected. He looked like he was in his early twenties, only a few years older than Sam himself.

When he approached the round table, the green-eyed man with one hand on a cup of coffee whispered his name with humour. For some absurd reason Sam believed that he met this man once before, once with Celaena when they were young.

The young man motioned his free hand at the seat and Sam took it. The seat was cushioned with silk and framed with oak. Celaena would of taken a liking to this bakery.

"My, my Sam Cortland," his voice was low and smooth like he was fully aware of who had all the cards here.

Sam gazed blankly at the man and took note of his features. The young man was undeniably handsome. His hair was golden brown and he had sharp features but he couldn't help but take note of the darkness shadowing his eyes, like he just awoke from the pits of hell itself.

Celaena would fawn over him without a moment hesitation…

She already has, screamed a voice in his head.

And with that, Sam stared at the young man with perplexity and he stared back, amused. Who was this man? Why was there a sense of familiarity within his appearance?

He dropped his porcelain cup of coffee and exhaled loudly. "Don't tell me you have forgotten who I am Cortland."

At that moment, at that exact moment, his name rolled off his tongue making the young man beam. "Archer Finn."