For the briefest moment, as she drifted in that fragile haze between sleep and waking, Claudia was able to fool herself.

She felt the warmth of the morning light seeping in through the sheer curtains of their chambers. She felt rested, almost blissfully so, her body nestled against the mattress, and her head tucked against the crook of her arm. An indistinct sense of contentment lingered in the periphery of her consciousness, a soft, drowsy buzz. There was scent in the air, like crisp and clean lavender—Klaus always made sure the housemaids filled the sachets with potpourris of the same fragrance.

The scent of home. The scent of him.

A smile tugged at her lips, and she let out a low sigh, rolling over, expecting to see him there; drowsy but already awake. He would be smiling at her, that soft, fond look in his eyes, the one that was hers alone, like she was the first and last thing in his world.

But the other side of the bed was empty. Vacant, save for the rumpled sheets. This wasn't Geofu.

It struck her, then, that the air in the room was too thick—too warm, too close. The sheets beneath her were tangled, the mattress still indented beside her where someone else had been. Her body ached with a dull, pleasant soreness, a familiar throb in her lower belly. Her skin was sensitive. Flushed.

And the scent in the air,that was wrong, too. It wasn't the mix of herbals and fragrant flowers, but something more earthy and human—the musky, masculine smell of skin and sweat. There was a note of pine, fresh and woodsy, and another of dried lavender. It wasn't an unpleasant scent. It was familiar, almost comforting. But it wasn't right. It wasn't Klaus.

It had never been Klaus.

Some hollow sound caught in her chest, like a dull knife scraping against bone. Claudia sat up sharply, gripping the edge of the mattress as though it might steady her, forcing some semblance of balance back to her world.

No, no, no.

Her head spun. Her stomach twisted. She swallowed hard.

It could have been a dream. Some feverish delusion, spawned from exhaustion and stress and everything else. She hadn't been herself lately, hadn't been thinking clearly. She'd been distracted, and irritable, and... and...

And even as she rose, she could feel the lingering stickiness between her legs. And on her stomach, and her breasts, and the insides of her thighs, making the sheets cling to her. She saw the marks on her skin, too, where someone had touched her. Someone had pressed their fingers into her flesh, had made her body sing and tremble with a passion she hadn't felt in...

Her hands trembled as she fumbled to drag the sheets around her, in some mockery of half-decency. It had happened. She'd really...

What did I do?

The shame came first. Sharp, biting. It settled in her gut like a stone and spread to her limbs, weighing her down. She felt the burn of it on her face and in the tips of her ears. Her fingernails dug into her palms, leaving half-crescents in her palms. All she could do was stare at the empty bed. Where he'd held her in his arms, had been inside her, stretching her, filling her, even as she urged him on for more and more and more, almost pleading—

She moved without thinking, standing so fast her legs nearly gave out beneath her. She reached for the robe draped over the nearby chair, pulling it around her shoulders with a jerky, almost frantic motion. Then she was crossing the room, her bare feet soundless against the chilled floor beneath her as she made her way to the private bathing room.

A maid was there. Claudia almost hadn't noticed her, barely even recognized her. She was young, perhaps no older than Ans... Than nineteen. She wore a plain grey dress with a white apron, her dark hair pinned away from her face. She curtsied, murmuring a quiet, "Your Excellency."

How long had she been there? How much had she seen?

The mere sight of another person, in that moment, in that state, made Claudia's stomach churn. Her words were sharp. "Leave."

The girl flinched, but hesitated, as though not quite understanding her words. Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "Your Excellency," the idiot girl said again. "I was told—"

Claudia's breath came short, tight in her chest. Her hands clenched at her sides. "Leave," she repeated, louder, sharp enough to sting.

The girl paled, eyes widening, and she dipped into a hasty bow before turning and retreating, footsteps quick, almost fearful.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Claudia exhaled sharply, her hands shaking as she clutched the robe tighter around herself.

A few moments passed, though she had no real sense of time. Her breath came too quick, her mind racing too fast to grasp anything solid. She braced herself against the doorframe, letting the cold, rough wood ground her. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she drew in a deep breath, held it for a heartbeat, and then let it out slowly. Her lungs ached with the effort.

She forced herself to move, pushing off the door and striding forward. The water had already been drawn—hot, steaming, undisturbed. The maids must have already prepared the pool before she woke. She hesitated for a moment, then let the robe slip from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet, and she stepped out of it, leaving it crumpled on the floor. The steam rose from the surface of the water, filling the air with a warm, humid haze. Claudia waded in, feeling the warmth of the bath surround her, and lowered herself down until only her head and shoulders remained above the surface.

It was still too hot. Far too hot. But it was exactly what she needed. She took a deep breath, and then another, and then submerged herself completely. The water stung her skin, the heat prickling at her flesh. But she welcomed the pain. It was a distraction. A reprieve. A punishment. Something to focus on, besides...

She pushed all thoughts of him from her mind, trying to concentrate on the sensation of the bathwater, on the scalding heat. On the way it burned, just slightly. She stayed there, her eyes squeezed shut, for as long as she could.

But it did not cleanse her. It did not wash away the shame and anger and disgust, the way she wanted it to. It did not take away the memory of what she had done, how she had touched him and been touched in return, craving it, pleading for more.

I could hear birds singing around me. Their chirps and trills echoed across the streets, mingling with the sound of rustling leaves and wind. A bell began to toll somewhere nearby, its clear peal reverberating. And I'm sure that if I looked to the east, I would've seen the sun cresting the horizon.

It struck me, then, that I had no idea where I was, or how I'd come to be there. For a moment, I stood in the middle of a thoroughfare like an idiot, slack-jawed, and blinking in the dim morning light. The street was cobbled and lined by buildings of weathered brick and plaster—some shops, some homes, others indeterminate. The air was cool and crisp, still clinging to the damp chill of night, and I shivered, my breath clouding before me.

It was a miracle that I'd somehow managed not to catch cold. And the moment I thought of that, I almost wanted to laugh. As if that was what I should have been worried about. As if there was anything funny about this situation at all.

I think... I think I'd just kept walking last night, after...

Don't think about it.

I'd gotten out of the manse as soon as possible, and I'd just kept moving, without any thought of where or why, or what I even wanted to do.

My head had been a mess. It still was. I wasn't sure that there'd ever be a time when it wasn't.

—Someone bumped into me, nearly knocking me off balance. A gruff voice barked a curse that I barely registered, and then they were gone, leaving me standing there like a fool. I blinked, looking around.

Right. It was morning. I'd... I'd lost track of time. People were waking up. The day was starting.

And I was standing in the middle of the street, getting in everyone's way. My face heated up. I coughed, and moved to the side of the street, letting the other early risers pass. There weren't many yet, but there would be more and more, as the morning went on. I'd forgotten, for a moment. This place was so far from the Holy City. So different.

My feet were sore. My legs ached. I'd walked all night, without direction or goal, and now that the morning was coming, I felt the weariness in every part of me. I kept on walking anyway. It was all that I could do.

What else could I have done? Gone back? After that?

Don't think about it.

My throat grew tight. I swallowed, and kept walking, not caring where my feet carried me. It was early enough that few others were out yet. I passed by the occasional watchmen making their rounds, carpenters lugging hammers and lumber, a few bakers already halfway through their workdays. I could smell woodsmoke and heated yeast in the air. They were all too tired, too focused on their own lives, to pay a wayward squire any mind. And that was fine. I didn't want their attention.

Don't think about it.

There was a church. Bigger than a chapel, but not quite a proper cathedral. At least, not like the ones in Geofu. There was a bronze statue in front of it, depicting someone with his sword plunged into the cobblestone before it. A saint, maybe. Saint Genseric? Saint Raphail? I couldn't tell.

The streets grew wider.

A few carts passed me by. The city's gates must have opened by now, letting the few merchants brave or desperate enough to travel in these times into the city.

The streets grew wider.

There were some skeletal, unfinished houses. Shells of buildings. The remnants of some half-finished expansion. Weeds and shrubs had grown over the piles of lumber and broken bricks. I'd heard something, once, about Wallesdorf having plans for a new district. Before the Legion had come. Before we'd been dispatched to garrison the city.

Don't think about it.

The streets grew narrower.

I passed by a brothel. Then I passed an alehouse. It might have been the same one Vera had dragged me and the squad to just the other day. The sign above the door had a painting, depicting a jolly dwarf holding up a mug. Or a barrel. It was hard to tell.

The streets grew narrower.

There was a proper inn, where a few drunken beggars were sprawled out on the front steps, sleeping off the night. Someone was passed out in an alley, shirt torn, a trickle of blood on his face. The city watch, if it even bothered to patrol this part of the city, would be along to deal with them later. If he woke up, he'd have a hell of a hangover. Maybe a missing purse.

Maybe he wouldn't wake up at all.

That thought made me pause, snapped me out of whatever fog had taken hold of me. I stopped in my tracks, looking back at him. He was young. No older than me. Maybe even younger. His face was bruised, and blood trickled from a cut on his forehead, staining his blond hair a deep, rusty red. There were a few half-pennies scattered on the ground beside him. His clothes were ragged and dirty.

…I couldn't leave him like that.

"Hey," I said, my voice hoarse from disuse. He didn't respond. "Hey. Are you alright?"

I knelt beside him. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at me, dazed and confused. "Wha..." he said, his speech slurred. He tried to push himself up, but he just collapsed back down onto the ground, groaning.

I sighed, and helped him sit up. "Are you alright?" I repeated.

He shook his head. "'M fine," he mumbled, trying to push me away. "Jus' a bit dizzy..."

I raised an eyebrow. "You're bleeding."

"Huh?" He touched his forehead, wincing as he did. "Oh. Damn." He shook his head again. "It's nothin'."

"Right," I said, not quite believing him. There was a small crowd of people passing by, but no one was paying us any attention. No one was coming to help. That didn't surprise me. It wasn't a good idea to get mixed up in things like this.

"You a soldier?"

The question surprised me. I glanced back at him, and he was staring at me, squinting.

No, I wanted to say. No, not anymore.

"Yeah," I said instead.

"Huh." He coughed. Then he grinned. "Thought so. I'm a soldier too, y'know. Or, somethin' like that." As if to prove it, he gestured vaguely at himself, and I realized, only then, that he was wearing a badge, just hanging casually over his shirt. A badge that I recognized. Dark steel, bearing a snarling dog's head.

"You're a Black Hound," I said.

He nodded, the motion making him wince. "That's right," he said, a touch of pride in his voice. He tried to sit up straighter, but the effort seemed to pain him, and he sagged back against the wall.

"Where's the rest of your guys?" I asked, as I helped the boy stagger to his feet. He was heavier than he looked. "The rest of the company?"

"Still inside," he mumbled, his words slurred. "Got kicked out last night. They said I could come back in the morning. But I couldn't find my way back." He coughed, and there was a touch of bitterness in his voice. "I'm new. They probably don't even realize I'm not there."

He sounded miserable, and I didn't blame him.

"Come on," I said, helping him stand. He leaned on me heavily, his arm slung over my shoulder. "I'll help you get back."

He hummed something in the affirmative, his eyes glazed over and half-lidded. He let me help him, slumping against me. "Malvin," he said after a moment.

"What?" I asked, glancing over at him.

"That's my name. Malvin. Lang." His voice was still thick and slurred. "What's yours?" He blinked up at me, his blue eyes hazy and unfocused, but searching.

"Ansel Eschenwald," I said in return.

Malvin grunted an acknowledgement, and fell silent. Together, we limped down the street.

As it turned out, the proprietor of the inn was the same man who'd thrown Malvin out on his ass last night. I found him behind the bar, cleaning up the remnants of the night's revelry. He was a large man, with broad shoulders, a balding head, and a scowl that could curdle milk.

His scowl deepened, his eyes narrowing as they settled on the Black Hound's surcoat draped over Malvin's shoulders. "I thought I told you not to come back here," he growled.

I helped Malvin to one of the barstools and eased him onto it. He swayed and nearly fell over, but managed to keep his balance. The innkeeper was still glaring at me, his expression hard and cold. "That one's not welcome here," he said, his voice flat. "Not after the trouble he caused last night."

I glanced over at Malvin, who was staring at the countertop with glassy eyes. "He wasn't doing too well when I found him," I said, turning back to the innkeeper. "I thought he could use some help."

The man snorted. "Yeah, I'm sure you did," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look, son, I don't care if he's your friend or not, but I'm not going to have him here. He's a menace."

"He's a Hound," I said. "He's fighting to defend this city from the Legion."

The innkeeper scoffed, crossing his arms. "Yeah, and so what?" he said. "Doesn't mean he can do whatever he wants."

I... I didn't have an answer for that. I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Then I reached down into my coinpurse. "Think you can make an exception this time?" I asked, dropping a few pennies and a schilling on the counter. The man's eyes widened, and he scooped up the coins, giving them a quick count.

"I'll see what I can do," he said, his voice softening. He nodded to Malvin. "You can leave him here with me. I'll keep an eye on him until his friends come to get him." With that, the man turned away and went about his business.

That was up until someone else spoke up.

"Well, well now," came a low, amused voice. "A right and proper knight, looking after one of our strays. Now I've seen everything."

I turned.

The man leaning against the far wall had the look of someone who had just woken up and wasn't in much of a hurry to do anything about it. He wore a threadbare linen shirt, open enough at the front to reveal some of his chest, and a Black Hound badge hanging from a chain. The man raised a brow in obvious amusement, and brought one hand up to stroke at his blonde beard. He pushed away from the wall, his movements unhurried, and sauntered over to the counter.

"Kieran Walsh," he introduced himself. "I'd say I'm somethin' like Mal's superior, but that'd be a bit generous. Wouldn't it, boy?" He prodded Mal's shoulder, and the boy grunted in response, swatting his hand away.

"Piss off, Kieran."

Kieran laughed at that. "He'll be fine. He's got a hard head. Give him a few hours of sleep, he'll be right as rain." He then looked over at the innkeeper. "Jules, be a good man, get some breakfast for me, Mal, and Herr...?"

"Ansel," I replied. "Ansel Eschenwald."

"Herr Eschenwald," he continued. "It's the least we can do to thank him for bringing our lost pup back."

The innkeeper grumbled, but complied, retreating to a side room.

"I'm not really—" My stomach gurgled at the thought of food, and I stopped halfway through the lie. "...Thanks."

Kieran smiled. It was a lopsided smile, one that made him look like he was perpetually in on some joke that only he understood. "It's the least I can do," he said again. Then he paused. His eyes widened. "Ures' balls! You're that one bastard from Halem, aren't you? Redlocks?"

I winced at the moniker. "Last I heard, you guys just called me 'Red.'"

He laughed, slapping a hand against the table. "Oh, that's rich! We're in fine company this morning, eh, Mal? A bonafide hero among us."

"Shut up, Kieran."

The innkeeper returned from the back room carrying a tray. On it were several wooden plates, each laden with bread, cheese, and a thick slice of ham, still steaming. Kieran took his plate with a nod, and began to eat with gusto.

"So, I heard you were... a knight or somesuch now, Red. Shouldn't you be off with the rest of them doing..." He waved a hand, "Knights' errands?"

I shifted uncomfortably on my stool. "I... needed to clear my head," I said. "Take a walk." I wasn't about to tell him that I had no idea where I was going, or what I was going to do when I got there. Or that the reason I'd taken off in the first place was because of—

Don't think about it.

I sucked in a sharp breath. Closed my eyes. Tried to focus on the present, on the sound of Jules cooking in the other room. On the smells of sausages and potatoes sizzling over the fire, and the bitter aroma of brewing tea. Anything to keep from thinking of her. "What about you?" I asked, opening my eyes again. "I didn't know the Hounds were in Wallesdorf either. Is Vault here, too?"

Kieran shook his head. "Nah. He took half the company further west. Seems like some aberrants were stirring up trouble by Feoh." He took a bite out of his bread, chewing noisily before continuing. "So, some of us decided to take up the Wallesdorf job. Not exactly the most glamorous work, but it's work."

"So you're in charge, then?" I asked.

"Ha! I'm only in charge of a dozen surly morons, gods be praised," said Kieran. "No. The one who's really in charge is gonna Morgan—Kaspar Morgan, don't think you'd have met him. He's due to arrive with more Hounds any day now. Hopefully he'll have some aberrants, too." He gave me a conspiratorial wink, and then turned his attention to his meal.

I nodded, picking up a hunk of bread. It was warm, and soft, and fresh-baked. It tasted like nothing I'd had in a long time. The cheese was sharp and tangy, and the ham was salty, with just a hint of smoke. It wasn't a fancy meal by any means, but it was good.

We ate in silence, and for a while, that was enough. But as we finished our meals, Kieran spoke again.

"Say, Red. I heard Vault wanted to poach you from the army after Halem, eh?"

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the piece of bread in my hand. "I... yeah," I replied. "He did. But—"

"But you didn't take him up on it," Kieran finished for me. "Just as good, I 'spose. Knight wages are probably better than a merc's." His words were mocking, but there was a gleam in his eye that belied the scorn.

Almost without thinking, I reached down to my belt. My fingers brushed something there. A small, cold piece of metal. Slowly, deliberately, I pulled it free. The medallion glinted in the low light—the snarling dog's head unmistakable.

"He give that to you?" Kieran asked.

"Yeah. I almost forgot that I had it." I looked back up at him. "I wasn't sure what to do with it. If I should wear it or just..." I shrugged. "I don't even know. But I kept it. Just felt like the thing to do."

Kieran laughed at that. "Well, alright. If you want to call yourself an honorary Hound or something, I'm not going to stop you. You've done enough to earn that. Maybe more."

"Maybe," I echoed, not sure if I agreed with him. But he was right about one thing—I had earned it. And it wasn't like anyone else was going to give me any honors, not after...

Don't think about it.

Don't think about it.

Don't think about it.

"...Morgan... You said he wasn't at Wallesdorf yet? When's he getting here?" I asked. A thought seized me. An idea. Maybe a bad idea, but an idea, nonetheless.

Kieran raised an eyebrow. "Couldn't say for sure. Two weeks at the very least, but definitely within the month. Why?"

I licked my dry lips and took a breath. "I... I'm just curious. Thought I'd introduce myself. See if maybe someone else from Halem will be here."

He nodded. "Sounds good. The more, the merrier." Kieran grinned. "Maybe you can even teach us a few knightly tricks, eh? Like how to joust, or how to use those fancy swords. We'll make proper gentlemen out of the lot of us yet."

I shook my head. "I don't think I'd make a very good teacher."

Kieran shrugged. "That's fine. I'm not a very good student anyway."

I chuckled. "That makes two of us." We fell silent again, and I finished off the last of my meal.

When we were done, Kieran stood, clapping his hands together. "Alright, Red," he said. "I'm gonna get this one back to his bed before he starts puking again." He jerked a thumb at Malvin, who had actually fallen asleep at the table, snoring quietly.

"Sure," I said, getting to my feet as well. "Thanks for breakfast."

Kieran laughed. "Don't mention it. Least we can do. If you're still around when Morgan shows up, I'll introduce you two."

I nodded, and he grabbed Malvin's arm, slinging it over his shoulder. Just as he was about to turn and walk away, Kieran paused, looking back at me. He gave me a half-smile and said, "I guess Mal lucked out, huh? Having a good and proper man like you to look out for him." Then he left, hauling Malvin along with him.

I stood there, staring after them, not knowing what to say.