Val hesitated as she watched the door to the formal dining room shut, and Dorius’ back disappear behind it. She knew this was his wish, but it felt wrong to leave him so alone.

  Sylus was a proud man, she reflected. His pride had likely been wounded publicly at the tournament, and proud men were unlikely to let that type of thing pass without retribution. But he was not a mad man, or at least she did not think he was. Dorius had deemed that looking vulnerable was the play now, to quietly and subserviently reassure Sylus that he was in control. And to a degree, she agreed that seeing her face was only likely to remind him of that silent threat she had made. Yet… it seemed overly optimistic to her to hope that this all might blow away with the wind and be forgotten.

  Aware the servants passing were giving her odd looks as she hovered in the hallway, she turned and returned to their wing of the keep.

  On returning to Dorius’ room Bastian was gone and Til’wane was leaning on one wall dressed in formal slate blues like her, conversing with his hands to Lee’to, who was cleaning the room and speaking back between handfuls of Dorius’ belongings. Val paused in the doorway, hesitant to interrupt. Til’wane spotted her though, his eyeline turning to her was enough to alert Lee’to and her hands trailed to stillness as she stood to attention. Val looked between them, conscious they had stopped their conversation in her presence even if she could not follow their movements enough to understand any word they signed.

  “Where did Bastian go?” she asked.

  “To the mess,” replied Til’wane simply.

  Val frowned. Bastian - unlike her, Til’wane and Dorius’ closest servants - had already been sleeping down in the barracks in the few beds that were spared for Dorius’ close retinue. He’d been taking every meal in the communal mess used by the serving class since he had arrived. Val, in comparison, had grown used to the luxury of having her meals bought by virtue of being physically close to Dorius. Without Dorius here to attract a servant's attention, she was unlikely to get a meal unless she also braved the communal areas.

  She looked about the room while she considered it. She felt awkward having disturbed Til’wane and Lee’to, but felt no desire to mope trapped in the tiny bedroom that had been allocated to her. Without Dorius to preoccupy her, she really had nothing to do with herself and felt oddly anxious. Normally a break from her duties was welcome, but not here, not now.

  “I’m just dropping this off,” she finally settled on, untangling the gold jewelry and chains she wore on her horns to place on the counter, “If Dorius returns, come get me. I guess I’ll be in the mess too.” She leaned her axe on one wall and left them to their conversation.

  —

  Val glanced irritably around the mess, seeing faces in white and green interspersed with slate blue and the plain leathers of the Company. The buzz of conversation assaulted her ears, and she felt the weight of the cramped and overfilled space that would have been a tight fit for her even with less bodies.

  She followed the lead of the other men, grabbing a bowl and letting herself be served while ignoring the strange looks of the servers as she did so. She glanced about, hoping for a quiet table on her own, and spied Bastian at the center of the crowd. His face was finally free of bandages and his nasal splint. His hair had regrown to a deep chestnut peach fuzz, not yet long enough for his characteristic curl to return. What remained of his peeling burns could be hidden beneath clothing including an upturned collar that appeared a roguish fashion choice. Freed of his injuries, he was making a quick return to his raffish charms.

  She hesitated as she approached, noting he had a group of mixed younger men in Ivory and Company leathers, cards and dice between them in a game. A pair of women sat with them, one in an Ivory officer's lap and another hanging from Bastian’s shoulder, Val recognized their faces as two of the lesser nobles from Sylus’ garden of ladies. So lowly it seemed they were not invited to dinner.

  Both were dressed far above the necessity of a mess hall with soldiers, wearing their delicately embroidered robes and jeweled rings on their fingers. But they laughed and cheered the dice game with the men, their faces free for once of the haughty stiff looks the women wore in Sylus’ company. It was likely they were just seeking innocent fun and attentive company.

  The thought of sitting near the women, almost as if she were a peer, made Val deeply uncomfortable. They had such slim shoulders and fine necks, and waists belted tight to complement their figures and raise their breasts into shapely busts. The lady on the lap of the officer was hanging one handed around his neck, he with both hands at her hips keeping her balanced and steady as she blew for luck on the dice of another man preparing his roll. The one at Bastian’s side had her face close to his neck, her hands touching his arm and shoulder as she leaned into him, lips close to his ear to be heard over the conversation of the mess. Bastian weaved an arm around her waist in turn, turning his own head close to hers to reply, his attention fully on the game before him and his company.

  Val felt a hard turn in her gut. She didn’t have the emotional energy for whatever Bastian had going on here. And they would likely not welcome her anyway. She knew from experience how conversations faltered when she joined, how games had a way of coming to an end and everyone had an excuse to retire. It was not hostile, but it felt cold, and she’d rather just avoid it. Besides, Bastian was either at work coaxing information from the women, or in his off-hours enjoying their company. He didn't need her disturbing. As Bastian laughed at some comment from his companion, Val turned her gaze and continued down the periphery of the mess hall to one of the few half filled benches at the back.

  As she settled on an empty end, purposefully avoiding any eye contact, she felt the others at the other end of the table draw closer to their side without comment. Grimly and mechanically she ate in silence, eager to return to the keep. Then with a sigh, she thought of Til’wane and Lee’to and realized she didn't have any place to go there either, and couldn't help rubbing her eyes as her black mood grew. She wanted to slump into her own arms and cry, a feeling of overwhelming loneliness suddenly washing through her. It was not helped by the knot in her stomach as she thought of Dorius on his own, or her imagination playing Bastian's easy laugh in the noise of the crowd. Instead she leaned on her fist, and found her appetite weaker with every passing moment.

  Without warning she was knocked from her shoulder from behind, her fist slipping on her forehead. She barely caught herself from knocking her bowl, but her spoon slipped free, spattering a mouthful that did not quite make the journey on the table.

  “You shouldn't be here,” said a voice firmly behind her.

  Val turned over her shoulder slowly, cautious of the width of her horns in these cramped quarters, and looked up to the face of a Viridian captain.

  The man repeated himself, “You shouldn't be here, bodyguard.”

  Val met his eyes, then skimmed the faces of his three companions around him. She took note of their uniforms, the fabric crisp and clean like new recruits, the captain’s feather still plush. Finding them no physical threat, she dropped her eyes and turned to resume her meal.

  The captain caught her shoulder as she turned with an open palm and made to push her. Val tensed, and he bounced slightly when she did not give way like he expected. She sighed, of all the days to be dealing with a green captain who thought he might elevate his rank or respect by pushing her around.

  Her sigh only served to aggrevate the man, who planted his hands on his hips and demanded again, “Go back to the keep Fae. Leave the men here to their meals.”

  Val turned to look at him again, and his gaze was not what she expected. Instead of haughty eyes and a look down his nose, she saw his eyes were wide with a hint of worry or even panic. Before she could react further, he grabbed a horn one handed.

  Val surged to her feet, knocking his arm off her with her own. The bench she sat on toppled backwards, knocking over three men further down with it who almost dragged down the row of seats behind them as well. Raised voices began and cut short as quickly as faces turned to see her standing over the Viridian captain, nostrils flaring as she looked down at him in sharp anger. The crowd in the hall silenced, and Val felt her emotional control slip. Not even waiting for the man to threaten her again, she tossed her spoon into her bowl and it bounced violently, sending the bowl tipping and what remained of her stew slopping over the table.

  She shrugged herself free of the man and his companions, and made the long walk down the edge of the mess to the front door again, conscious of the stark silence and turning heads that followed her. In one final fit of anger, she slammed the door behind her and stormed across the inner bailey.

  In the cold air of the night and darkness, she allowed herself a choked sigh, just barely holding back her tears, and contemplated where she could go.

  Childishly, she wanted to flee to the stable or some dark corner on the edge of the keep. She could sit in the darkness, her head in her hands, and wait out her feelings till she found the strength to return again. But, she was painfully aware Til’wane or Lee’to or some other servant may come looking for her after Dorius was done with his formal meal. He would be stressed and tired, and likely wanting to talk through the evening to a trusted ear. She needed to be somewhere she could be promptly found.

  The thought of returning to the mess was too much, so she decided the tiny room assigned to her in Dorius’ wing was the best compromise between solitude and somewhere she could be located. She sighed again, and stared at the dark sky for a moment, clenching and unclenching her fists, then made her way back inside the keep.

  ---

  In the solitary cell walls of her bedroom, Val sat, head in her hands on her too-small bed in the darkness. The overwhelming loneliness she felt was not new, it was a familiar feeling she had worked through many times before. She was tempted to pick at it, to wallow in her self-loathing, but was desperately aware she may be called for at any moment and had no desire to be found like this. Tonight though, it resisted being packed away for another time. There was a fresh wound that had begun to fester since meeting the Laons, making the pain hard to ignore. Despite supposedly finding her own kind… she had never felt so alone, so brutish, so inadequate. As she reflected on the past few days, she only found herself lacking at every turn - not even her strength and competence to console her after realizing how skilled Til’wane had been. The only solid thread she had to grasp onto was Dorius' reliance on her, and he was not here, and she desperately tried to piece herself together to be ready for him.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  She heard the gentle creak of her door, and the barest knock as it was cracked just wide enough for a single beam of light to break on the wall.

  Val drew a shuddering breath, and gulped down her instinct to tell the intruder to leave. She rubbed her eyes and barked a curt, “What?” She wasn’t ready to face the Laons or Dorius.

  “It's me…” replied a familiar voice, quiet with concern.

  Bastian cracked the door a little further and paused, letting the light from outside intrude on her misery. She covered her face to hide any evidence about her emotional state the light would reveal.

  “Go away,” was all she weakly managed. She did not want to discuss this.

  Instead, Bastian entered and closed the door behind him, returning her to merciful darkness. “Can I sit?” he asked.

  Val stiffened her shoulders but did not say anything, she felt too weak to tell him no now he was here. She knew he’d find some soft words to chip at her resolve, and of all people, she didn’t want it to be Bastian that this flood of feeling in her came out to.

  He hovered, and instead took her silence as a yes, and came to sit at her side on the bed, his thigh just brushing hers. “This is a pretty small room,” he began gently, a try at humor. When she gave him no reaction he continued, “Can I ask, why you are upset? Did those guards say something?” There was genuine sincerity and concern to his voice.

  She felt her shoulders shake, before regaining her control. She rubbed her face with her hands, miserable with herself that she felt this way. Bastian waited, in the dark and silence, hands gently folded in his lap and staring at the floor.

  Finally, giving in to him, she pulled her legs up onto the bed, wrapping her arms around them and rocked back to lean against the wall. “I want a thing I will never have,” she offered and then reassured, “They didn’t do anything, not really. I’ll be fine.”

  Bastian stiffened slightly, but did not move, his fingers in his lap fidgeted as a sign of his hesitation. Somewhere, she found herself surprised that he seemed anxious at all.

  “What do you want?” he asked, but his voice was rough and the question seemed like a struggle.

  Val barely knew how to answer, all the words she tested sounded so incredibly stupid in her head. Like things a child would say, not a grown woman. How to voice years of being an outsider looking in? Jealousy of human women and men alike with their elegant hair, pretty clothing, thin necks. And the easy way they all just… invited each other in without saying, the shared companionship of their same-ness.

  She had attended grand affairs at the palace and stood at the sidelines watching women dance in fine silks and glittering jewels, skipping from the hand of one partner to the next. In the swirling music that caused her mind to buzz and reel, they danced and spun carelessly. She had watched scullery maids put flowers in their hair when the weather was fair, and boys chased with little favors and stolen glances. In the low roofs and close walls of human spaces where she could not comfortably fit, they found quiet moments of closeness and companionship. She had heard the mercenaries bring partners to their tents, and tried to block the sounds of tenderness or passion from her mind. In the still nights of the road and the comfortable warmth of a fire where she existed on periphery, they found vivid life.

  Even the most formidable female soldiers of the Company who rode with the men as equals, the closest she could compare herself to, had a place - maybe not that dance floor or simpering in a man’s lap, but a place. None of it was for her, she was completely caged in the one role this world would accept her in - monstrous bodyguard.

  She was apart. Too large, too horned, too everything. At least when she was Fae-touched, there was a part of her that still might still be human, some half-bred creature she might have been that grounded her in some connection to humans. Now she felt disconnected to even that, and there was a new word to add to the list of things that othered her - Alate. Not human, not Fae, and not anything.

  “It’d be nice…” he voice tripped, betraying her, “to be pretty maybe…”

  Bastian’s hands stopped moving. Val buried her face into her knees, she wished she could just dissolve, take back her traitorous voice. Of all the thoughts in her head, what a stupid one to give words, what could Bastian possibly think of her?

  “Is it because you want someone to see you as pretty?” he eventually stumbled out, his usually smooth voice strained, “Dorius maybe?”

  Val suddenly sat bolt upright, and turned to face him incredulous. “Dorius, why?”

  Bastian looked just as shocked back, “I thought maybe…”

  “No, why? Cause I'm around him all the time?” Despite her mood she laughed brusquely, “No, I’d be horrified if he knew I felt this way.”

  Bastian seemed to be processing a million thoughts, “What way then…?”

  Val sighed, and untangled herself a bit, the jolt of where this discussion had suddenly gone giving her some brief control. “It’s not actually being pretty, it’s just like… the idea of it. It’s just to everyone, I’m the wrong species or something, humans just see horns and muscles, not… another human. Laon see this expectation, Alate, and I don’t know what they want from me. And I’m just tired and lonely…” she trailed off.

  Bastian remained looking at the floor. “You saw me with Sylus’ retinue?”

  Val watched him in the dark for a moment. Assessing the side of his face and posture for mockery or insincerity, unsure of exactly how vulnerable she already was before him and what his comment implied his own thoughts to be.

  She buried her face into her knees, and breathed. “No, well yes. But it's not that… It's not about being pretty. It was a stupid way to start.” She was silent then, she wanted this to go away again.

  Bastian waited in the dark, she wasn’t sure if it was for her sake, or if he was wrestling with his own thoughts. But time passed, and she began to feel his presence easing her again. He didn’t get up and leave, something was important enough about this that he stayed.

  “I look at other people, and see everything they have with each other. And I know it will never be that for me. That’s the thing I’ll never have,” she finally offered.

  More silence. Gentle, quiet silence.

  “I just…” she felt a sob, just at the back of her throat, threatening now, “I get seen as… just what I am. And I don’t know how to be anything different.” The tears came finally, slow with misery that was a regular companion. She had felt this too many times, and was so exhausted by it. She had no dramatic sobs or cathartic release, just quiet, gentle tears for what could not be.

  Bastian reached out, then hesitated, fingers stretched in the dark. She glanced at him between the strands of her own hair coming loose, and only caught the slightest glint of his golden eyes catching the light that came under the door. He looked pained. It could have been guilt or pity?

  He tentatively laid a hand on her knee, and she tried to pull away, she wanted no pity. Touch threatened to break her. This was a wound she had picked at too many times to count, she knew how to pack it away again, leave it unhealed for another day. Somehow knowing he pitied her made it worse, threatening to leave her to bleed like she hadn’t in a very long time. At her movement he seemed to grow more resolute, and wrapped his hand around both knees, his other arm coming round her shoulders and pulled her sideways into him.

  She couldn’t help herself, and she unfolded, grasping for him. She tucked her forehead against his shoulder, just enough room for her chin horns to fit against his chest and buried herself, desperately hoping he wouldn’t pull away. And he didn’t, he welcomed her in and shifted a little against the wall to keep himself steady and take her weight. She heard him soothing her between her sobs, one arm cradled the back of her head, the other around her torso patting her back. She felt his chin resting on her forehead, nestled between her horns. She realized how much she could smell him - leather and sweat and the stink of bulls. She sort of liked the sweat, it was a little sweet and a little musky, and added to the close comfort she found in human touch.

  “I’m sorry,” he eventually said into her forehead, hand gently stroking her back. He paused for a very long time, weighing explanations or questions or sympathy, she was not sure. Then eventually, he just added gently “I hope I’ve not made you feel that way.”

  She was quiet, enjoying feeling small against him for once in her life. “Not you,” she said into his chest, “Or, I know you’d never intended it that way.”

  “I can try and be better,” he said, “Or do something different?” he asked, still soothing.

  She shook her head, gentle, aware of how close her horns were to his face. “No, be the same,” she asked.

  He hesitated, his patting stopped. The hand on the back of her head gently lifted and began to lightly touch a horn, tracing the lines of her braids against the base of it. She had no feeling directly in the horn, but the movement could be felt on her scalp and head, a gentle pressure from touch.

  “Can I be different?” he asked quietly. It was her turn to hesitate, unsure what he was asking. She raised her head and drew back from him slightly, and he let his hands drop away from her as she retreated.

  Her mind suddenly came to a complete halt. He took the silence as confusion and continued, trying to clarify himself, almost hopeful, “That is… I was never certain where your interests were. I didn’t want to be somewhere… do something… that wasn’t welcome. I see maybe, that I might have been waiting for a sign you were never going to give… considering” he sighed, and scratched the back of his neck.

  Val steadied herself, pulling back fully to relieve him of any of her weight. She felt significantly more in control now she’d had the chance to let some of her emotions out.

  “It wouldn’t be unwelcome…” she tried. Bastian's eyes caught hers, burning golden in the dark. She felt herself shrink beneath the expectation she saw there, and tucked her head between her hands again. It would be unfair to him and the hope she saw there, for her to go on as she was and he the only one in pursuit. It would be unfair to Dorius, for her to shirk her duty instead of striving for more as he did. It would be unfair to herself, to not fully grasp the opportunity the Laons could offer her.

  “But… I cannot be the same, I have to change too…” Her voice gave life to the resolution she’d been searching for. The drone she’d been unable to hear for days after her exhaustion summoning the beacon in the mountains flickered to life, and she felt a flame in her chest steeling her.

  “Please,” she continued, more sure of herself, “Give me time to change.”

  Bastian did not respond, and raised a hand to cup her chin, fingers and thumb wrapped either side of her chin horn, accommodating it in the gesture so gracefully. He coaxed her head to face him, and Val raised her eyes to meet him. Bastian slowly grinned, his usual confidence coming back to him, “I look forward to seeing it. Don’t change too much.”