Chapter Text
Prelude
They were getting married.
There’s nothing he would have done to stop it, but it felt like his heart was being pulled from his chest. Some of the deepest scars can’t be seen, and it ached when he breathed.
Obi adjusted the strap of his worn leather bag. It did little to stop the tremor in his hands. He’d left his badge on Zen’s desk this morning. The polished silver bearing the crest of Clarines, a symbol of the first safe place he’s ever known. Next to it, he’d placed a hastily scribbled note.
Unfit to continue as your guard. I’ve resigned. -Obi.
Saying goodbye was impossible. This silent, cowardly retreat was the only way he knew how to manage the heartbreak.
He almost made it out of the grounds when a furious shout sliced through the air behind him. “Obi!”
He winced, the sound a physical blow to his gut, and twisted around.
Zen and Shirayuki stood at the top of the stairs near the main gate, illuminated by the morning sun. Shirayuki’s face looked pale and shadowed by fear.
They dashed down the steps. Zen’s strides eating the distance between them faster.
“Ah, your majesty, my lady.” Obi dipped his head; a gesture of respect that made his mouth taste like ash. He should have fled faster instead of taking one last walk around the palace, as he visited all the places he was going to miss one last time.
Zen’s fists were clenched at his sides. He didn’t shout this time, but the growl of his voice was far worse. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Well… I was thinking East sounded nice this time of year.” Obi said sounding aloof.
Shirayuki stepped into his space, her eyes on the verge of tears. Those same green emeralds he would gladly fall on his sword for. “You’re coming back, right?” she pleaded.
He let out a slow, deliberate breath to steady his mask. A shield he could hide behind. His gaze moved over her head, locking onto Zen’s. The man who he’s been serving for the last few years, and someone he grew to love as a brother.
“Of course he’s coming back.” Zen declared. His voice shifting suddenly into the hard tone of royalty.
Obi raised an eyebrow. He himself didn’t even know where he was going, none-the-less knew if he ever wanted to come back.
Zen continued with controlled fury and desperation, “By the authority vested in the crown of Clarines, I have issued an Edict of Ennoblement. You are henceforth known as Baron Obi of Falone and a Peer of the Realm.”
Obi’s blood ran cold.
That bastard was tying him to them in every way that he can. Like an iron chain setting around his neck. There was no escape without committing treason.
“Every noble must attend the Grand Council’s quarterly meetings; to offer their reports and counsel as a Retainer of the Crown.”
Zen was giving him a new title. A non-negotiable title. Missing a meeting would draw him in as a missing man and they’d have a search party to look for him, followed by disciplinary actions.
“Stop it.” Obi glowered. “I’m not playing your game.” His eyes begging Zen to take it back, to let him be the quiet rogue again.
“I know it doesn’t fix things, but it’s the most protection I can give you. Think of it as an immunity badge, and when you’re ready to come back, I’ll have a list of duties for you to do. So don’t think you’re getting away that easy.”
Obi didn’t miss the fact that he said, ‘when’, not ‘if’. Right now, being near them was damn unbearable. This was too much. He needed to run, to get away.
Zen tossed his badge back at his face, reading Obi like a book and his need to flee. “You forgot something, asshole.” He said without heat. Then, “You’ll need it to come home.”
Wherever he went, he couldn't simply vanish, and now no one could casually kill him without the wrath of Zen’s kingdom. Zen wasn't trapping him; he was ensuring he had to come home whole.
Shirayuki looked like she wanted to reach out to him, but contained herself by clutching her skirts. “Write to us when you can. Please.”
The badge felt cold and heavy in his hands. How does he have a home now, and yet was able to despise it so much? “Sure, princess.” He said with more bite than he meant to.
Shirayuki flinched.
He instantly softened his tone as he berated himself. He knew she planned to marry the prince. It wasn’t a secret. It’s his own fault for falling for her anyways. He just needed some time to get over it. “I’ll write when I get there. Winter is around the corner; I’ll be back before you know it.”
Obi gave his signature wink before heading out. The cost of putting on the facade was killing him, but she’ll never have to know that. He turned his back on the gate, and carried the weight of his new title into the waiting unknown.
Chapter 1
He hitched rides to get to the farthest city East of the castle. It’s technically still within the boundaries of his new responsibilities. Welcome to the small city of Denabold, where the stars are bright and the bread too dry.
He’s not physically lost, but his insides feel like a mess and he hasn’t even started drinking yet! It’s like he’s falling through the cracks as he watches the world go by.
He paid for a room in a shitty inn where he could just lay there in peace and pretend that he doesn’t exist.
He sleeps on and off all day. The mistress of the inn knocks on his door once a day to see if he was hungry, since he never leaves the room. He knows she thinks he’s strange. But he paid her well, almost three times what the room was worth, for a month of self-loathing, and he plans to soak it in until he can’t anymore.
By day six he’s learned every sound of his new surroundings.
4am The mistress goes out to the barn.
6am breakfast is set and it gets loud between the children and the town wakes up
7am the sun starts to peak through the curtains
Noon the bell tolls at the local church
He usually takes a nap until the afternoon until Mistress Viera knocks on his door with dinner.
Then it gets loud again: Music, laughter, like a party every night in the lounge. He only went down there once, on day three, on the mistress’s insistence. Only to be whispered and stared at, making him go back upstairs. He wasn’t ready to put the mask back on. Not yet.
When it gets dark, he climbs up to the roof to feel the cool air on his skin. The cool fall weather sharpens his brain a bit, and then he goes out to stretch his legs. His body wound up like a spring and no target to take out his frustrations.
There’s a port nearby. Every day, he thinks about getting on a ship, and every day, he knows that if he does… he wouldn’t return.
A shadow dashed through the night, down near the docks. If he wasn’t looking in that direction, he would have missed it. He watched as a figure leaped off the edge, and latched onto a thick rope, pulling themselves up onto one of the larger ships.
He now had a Target.
Even though he was off duty for the next few weeks, he couldn’t help himself.
He made his way to the ship the same way the thief did. Once onboard, he scanned the deck for signs of movement. He crept along the perimeter of the deck. Behind a crate, an unconscious sailor laid there. He must have been one of the ship’s nightshift patrols. No stab wounds. Still breathing.
Five feet away were stairs that led down below deck.
Obi stealth down the stairs. There were three doors, but only the far one was cracked open.
He slid into the room. It was the cargo hold. The thief was pulling out hay from a barrel. Obi slid behind them, his dagger out, and pressed to the man’s throat.
The thief raised his hands in the air. Surprised to find it wasn’t a man, but a woman, with a soft accent he couldn’t place. “I can explain everything.”
“Please do. Normal people don’t usually board ships by the stern line unless you’re extremely fast… and by the looks of it, this wasn’t your first time.”
Her voice was low with a dangerous hint in the darkness. "Well, aren’t you a smart cookie, and that voice... it doesn't quite carry the stench of brine or sweat, and the vowels are too refined.” She hummed as if she was thinking. “You speak with a Clarinesian drawl, the kind that was bought, not earned.” She mused then, “You're no part of this crew's grubby payroll. Who are you serving?"
She tried to turn around, but he pressed the dagger deeper.
She pointed to the barrel as she tried to move away from him. “Tch. If you’re some guard, check the barrels. It’s stolen weapons from a merchant two clicks from here. I was hired to find the missing products. Just look!”
Obi hesitated, peering inside. Small clay spheres, the size of grapefruits, laid within the hay.
“And how exactly were you going to return it?” Obi asked dryly. Not believing a word she was saying.
“Fucking hell… release me so I can show you the paperwork. Then you should go and find back up.” She muttered.
“You didn’t bother to go find the dockmaster during the day?” Obi asked curiously.
“Have you met the guy?” she responded. “He probably took payment to keep quiet. No thanks.” She padded down her outfit. “Oh, jamb and hammers. Ah, well… this is awkward. I don’t have the papers with me.”
Obi grabbed her arm and begin to guide her off the ship.
“No, really. I need this job.” she said trying to get a look at him again, but he knew she was not to be messed with and kept guiding her up to the docks.
A door opened on their way up and then shouting. Someone came out of the crew quarters and was now attacking Obi and the thief.
The man was a massive figure in the dim hallway, swinging a crude cudgel wide and loud. Obi didn't even turn his head. His focus was entirely on securing the woman, whose sharp intake of breath was the only warning he needed.
Obi released the thief’s arm, not to let her go, but to shift his grip to the small of her back, shoving her hard toward the railing. The move put her outside the arc of the weapon, but kept her tight to his side.
“I’m not here to fight you.” Obi announced, but the man swung again.
Obi dropped his dagger. His left hand shot out and intercepted the cudgel, catching the wooden handle and wrenching it with a sharp, controlled pivot, sending a jarring shockwave up the attacker's arm. The brute roared in pain and surprise as his weapon clattered away on the deck boards.
Obi slammed his elbow into the man’s jaw with precise force. The sailor crumpled instantly, like a heavy sack of salt falling to the deck.
Obi sighed. “The paperwork for this is going to be hell.”
Obi retrieved his dagger, never taking his eyes off the unconscious sailor. He then looked down at the thief, who was now pinned between him and the railing, breathing heavily.
"See?" Obi said, his voice a low, cold promise. "No back up needed."
The thief pushed off the railing, her eyes glinting in the dock light. "You could have warned me, Clarinean." She didn't sound grateful, only annoyed.
Before Obi could tighten his grip, she suddenly twisted, dropping low and driving her elbow straight into his ribs, then sliding out from beneath his arm like an oiled eel. She was already at the top and shifting the gangplank ramp to the docks before he could fully recover from the unexpected, sharp blow.
She turned to look at him, as if she was going to lecture him, when a shadow came alive beside her.
Obi moved without thinking and intercepted, pushing the thief away from the railing and met the new attacker in the cramped space between the mast and a line of barrels. The clang of steel-on-steel was sharp in the night air as Obi caught the first wild swing on his dagger.
The thief, seeing her chance, didn't run. Instead, she dipped low, grabbing the cudgel dropped by the first sailor.
"Out of the way, Clarinean!" she hissed, swinging the wood hard, not at the fighters, but at the rope securing a stack of cargo nets. The hemp snapped with a high-pitched thwack.
The second sailor, momentarily distracted by the sound, lunged forward with a sharp, downward thrust meant to end the fight. Obi cleanly deflected the blow outward and landed a punishing kick to the man's knee.
The attacker dropped his knife in a gasp of pain. He stumbled back toward the first sailor, who was now slowly rising to his knees, blinking.
The second man, enraged and disarmed, did the only thing he could: he snatched the discarded cutlass from the deck where it had fallen and aimed a desperate, slashing blow.
It wasn't aimed at Obi, who was already repositioning. It was a vicious, sweeping slice meant for the thief’s lower back as she finally turned to flee down the gangplank.
Obi saw the movement; it was a fatal, dishonorable blow aimed at a person who was disengaged. His training, his code, took over completely. He didn't think, he reacted.
Obi spun, dropping his center of gravity and throwing his body between the sweeping blade and the thief. He expected the cut to land on the heavy leather of his armored coat…. the coat he wasn’t wearing… because he was on vacation.
The speed of the cutlass was greater than his counter-move. The blade, dulled by time and sea salt, drove a scorching line diagonally across his left side, just above his hip.
A searing, unexpected pain erupted. The cut wasn't deep enough to disembowel, but it was a vicious, shocking slice that tore through cotton and muscle.
Obi let out a sharp curse.
His forward momentum carried him into the armed man, delivering a stunning punch to the chest that sent the sailor tumbling over the low railing and down onto the water with a loud, wet splash.
Obi straightened, breathing shallowly, his left hand pressing instinctively to the throbbing wound. He had secured the area, protected the unarmed.
He looked down at the thief, who was now halfway across the gangplank, having watched the entire bloody exchange. Her eyes were wide and unnervingly bright as she assessed the damage. Blood had begun to blossom against his side.
She looked back up to his face. "You're bleeding, Master Guard," she noted, her voice void of emotion. She was off the ship now, back on the relative safety of the small town's dock.
"The job is done," Obi said, his voice level, despite the cold sweat starting on his brow. "The cargo is secured."
The thief frowned. Between one blink and the next, she was by his side and guiding him off the ship. “My camp is too far away. Where does the healer live?”
“I don’t know.” Obi exasperated.
“You don’t know?” She asked skeptically. “Are you living on the streets, fearless knight?” she teased.
“The Denabold Inn.”
She guided him into a dark alley.
“This isn’t it.” Obi rasped. “Are you trying to mug me?”
She leaned him against the wall, then softly patted a hand on his chest twice, “Shh, they’re coming.” She said before turning to face the opening.
He saw three men run past, and then she disappeared after them. He closed his eyes for a moment. He was such an idiot. Clarines has made him soft. He wondered if he had the proper stitching equipment in the pack Ryuu gave him before he left.
He hoped so. Obi held his side as he hobbled towards the inn down the alleyway, sidestepping trash. The thief popped up at his side again, near the end of the alley. “There’s my savior. You still alive handsome? The inn is up ahead.”
She helped him to the inn and up to his room.
Climbing the stairs hurt, walking hurt, bending down hurt. “You know, you never answered me.”
She hummed, her voice turning sarcastic as she lit one of the candles. “Right… because I enjoy taking things from people. I told you I’m not a thief.”
Obi grunted as he tried to reach for his bag and failing. She lifted it up and handed it to him.
“I’m a spy.” She said simply.
Obi rolled his eyes as he fished out the kit from his bag. “Of course you are.” He said still not believing her. He tucked his bag into his side as he sat down on the bed, cringing.
“You know you’re bleeding all over, right?”
“Yeah, you mentioned that earlier.”
She disappeared again.
Obi could finally breath as he fumbled with his kit. Thank you, Ryuu. It took him three tries, but he managed to fit the thread through the needle.
“Here, drink this first.” Said the woman, who appeared again with a half-finished bottle of whiskey and an orange. “I’m serious. You drink, I’ll stitch.”
“What? is this part of spy training 101?”
“Oh, you’re so funny when you lose pints of blood. We should do this more often.” She said chipperly.
This woman was crazy.
But he took the bottle regardless, uncorked it, and took a long swig. He hasn’t had a proper drink in two years. He promised Shirayuki he wouldn’t drink again after showing up at the herbalist med room, drunk off his ass, from drinking too much the night before.
She hummed a song to herself as she pulled up his shirt. It made a gross wet sound. She wiped up the blood with an apron of all things.
“What did you do? Raid the kitchen?”
“Yeah, and the other two rooms beside you. That’s where I found the whiskey.”
“I thought you weren’t a thief?”
“Lay down.”
“I don’t even know you.” He tried to argue.
She gave him a dead stare. “I’m Dex. Now, do you want my life story or do you want me to stitch you up? And yes, I’m over qualified, but I owe you one. Drink.”
Obi met her gaze, his own eyes hardening with a mix of fury and acceptance. He saw no deception in her stormy grey eyes. Her intent was simple, pragmatic, and unyielding. She was extremely blunt, and he respected that. Instead of answering, he took another drink of the cheap fire liquor to help dull the edges of the pain.
The alcohol hit hard, carrying with it a sharp wave of guilt. Shirayuki would be furious right now. He could almost hear the herbalist's lecturing tone. But Shirayuki wasn't here. That life, that service, was days away in a place he was actively running from. He dismissed the thought, shoving the guilt down with the burning liquor.
He had no choice but to rely on this stranger.
Dex’s calloused hand, surprisingly steady, settled lightly on his left side, inches from the slice. She used the worn-down apron to wipe the blood away, her motions quick and without hesitation. She took the needle and thread from his grip, splashed it with the alcohol, before handing him the orange.
“Bite. This may hurt.”
Her white, nearly silver hair, pulled back under her hood, glinted briefly in the dim light of the inn room. Her breath was warm on his skin as she leaned close, focusing entirely on the wound.
The first stitch was sharp. Obi’s back arched an inch off the mattress, and he let out a choked sound, gripping the orange tightly.
“Hold still, Lord Swordsman,” Dex murmured, mocking, and low, like a private secret. “You’re too expensive to mend poorly.”
The only sounds in the tiny room were the high-pitched whine of the thread being pulling through wet skin, and the ragged rhythm of Obi’s breathing. He didn’t trust her, but as the heat of the whiskey spread through his chest, he realized he didn’t have a choice.
He was, for the first time in years, completely and utterly dependent on the one person he was supposed to have captured.