Free Web NovelChapter 17: I Can’t Regret It Just Because She’s a Spoiled Girl
"Liaraen," Nathan said carefully. "Can I tell you something?"
"You can try."
"I just killed six people and four hunting dogs on the road to keep you from ending up where they were taking you. I faced a coordinated encirclement by two organizations that are apparently connected through a symbol I still don’t understand. I decided to open this box despite the contract being explicit about the consequences of doing so. And I chose not to continue with the original delivery because, in my assessment of the situation, a living person is not merchandise."
"Which was the correct decision. I acknowledge the correctness of your decision."
"Thank you. Honestly. But I want to clarify one thing before we continue." Pause. "I am not your dog."
She looked at him.
"It’s a common expression in my culture to refer to the—"
"I understand it. I understand the cultural usage. And still, I am not your dog."
"You’re my rescuer. That is functionally equivalent to a temporary service position."
"No. It isn’t. It’s functionally equivalent to someone who made a risky moral decision and is now trying to figure out how to handle the consequences alongside you. I don’t have an owner, and you’re not my employer. If we’re going to work together to resolve this, we’re going to do it as two people in a complicated situation—not as noble and commoner."
Liaraen raised her eyebrows.
"You have a surprising number of opinions for someone of your rank."
"I have exactly the appropriate number of opinions for someone who just saved your life."
She was quiet for a moment.
She looked at him with her head slightly tilted, this time with an additional component that was neither contempt nor calculation.
Something closer to curiosity—though processed through several layers of aristocratic pride so it wouldn’t be too obvious.
"Fine, human," she said finally.
"I will moderate my language during this conversation, exclusively as a gesture of recognition for your intervention. This does not establish a precedent for future conversations."
"I accept the terms."
"But I still expect you to take me back to the Northern Kingdom."
"That’s a longer conversation we’re going to have once we’ve resolved some immediate problems. For example: we’re in an alleyway. You have no footwear. Your clothes are torn. There are at least two organizations that are probably actively looking for you. And I have approximately half a pouch of silver coins that I got this morning, along with several outstanding logistical decisions."
"You mentioned silver coins. How many, exactly?"
"Does that matter?"
"It matters for evaluating your capabilities as a temporary rescuer."
*Of course it matters to her.*
"Enough to handle the immediate situation," Nathan said evasively. "Speaking of the immediate."
His stomach, at that moment, chose to express its opinion on the situation. It did so with a growl loud enough to echo faintly off the alley walls.
There was a silence.
Nathan looked at his stomach with passive resignation.
"That was eloquent," Liaraen commented.
"Yeah. I have a pending matter." He sighed. "Are you hungry?"
"No."
"Sure?"
"Nobles of my rank can go several days without food without any significant effect. The sedation they applied prolonged that period. I do not require food at this time."
"Alright."
Nathan stood up. Brushed the dust off his pants. Began mentally searching for the best way to buy something to eat quickly—without leaving the elf alone but without making her too visible.
And while he was thinking, Liaraen’s stomach growled.
It did so at a volume that clearly suggested Liaraen’s opinion on her own level of hunger and her body’s opinion on the same subject differed significantly.
She didn’t move.
Didn’t change her expression.
She sat in the box with her aristocratic dignity perfectly intact.
Nathan looked at her.
She looked back with a serenity that had clearly cost generations of social training to achieve.
"That wasn’t what it sounded like," Liaraen said.
"That was exactly what it sounded like."
"My body is still reacting to the sedation. Don’t interpret the sound as evidence of actual hunger."
"Liaraen."
"Yes."
"I’m going to buy some food. I’m buying it for myself because my stomach made the same sound two minutes ago without aristocratic pretensions. If you, considering the situation, decide to accept some of what I buy, I’m not going to record that as weakness or as a concession. I’m only going to record that we ate."
She was quiet for a moment.
Her face maintained perfect composure.
But something in her eyes softened slightly.
"If you insist on buying food for yourself," she said, with the careful intonation of someone building a way out of a compromise without admitting they’re building a way out of a compromise, "then perhaps it would be reasonable for you to acquire an additional portion. As a gesture of courtesy. Toward me. Considering we are temporarily sharing space."
"An additional portion for you."
"As courtesy."
"Which you, generously, are going to accept."
"If you insist."
"Alright."
"But let it be clear this does not establish a precedent."
"Let it be clear."
"And that the commoner pays."
"*Liaraen.*"
"It was a joke." Very brief pause. "Partially."
Nathan stared at her for a second.
Then he laughed. It wasn’t a big laugh. It was a short laugh, almost a snort—the kind of laugh that comes out when you’re processing such an absurd situation that your body needs to express it physically.
*This girl is insufferable.*
*This girl is literally sixteen years old, just came out of a box where she was being transported as merchandise, is wearing rags, and is negotiating the social dignity of eating food I offer her as if this were a diplomatic transaction between kingdoms.*
*And on some level that I’m going to have to examine later, this is exactly the energy this situation needs.*
"Alright," Nathan said.
"I’m going to step out. I’m going to buy food. I’m going to come back. You’re going to stay in this alleyway. You’re not going to draw attention. You’re not going to talk to anyone who passes by. You’re not going to leave from behind that box for any reason. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Are you going to obey?"
"*Obey* is a word I would reserve for different circumstances. I am going to comply. The distinction is important."
"I accept the distinction."
Nathan checked the box’s position, made sure Liaraen remained hidden behind it relative to the alley entrance, and walked toward the main street.
Before stepping out, he stopped.
Looked over his shoulder.
"Liaraen."
"Yes?"
"What do you like to eat?"
She looked at him.
And for the first time since she’d opened her eyes, the aristocratic contempt expression softened slightly—replaced by something closer to surprise, as if no one in quite a while had asked her that specific question.
"...Warm bread," she said after a moment. "With something sweet. If possible."
"Done."
Nathan stepped out of the alleyway.
He walked toward the nearest market with his head full of the questions he was going to have to start answering tonight.
And in the alleyway behind him, Liaraen Sael’thoryn of House Sael’thoryn, fourteenth generation under the Seal of Yeva, second daughter of one of the oldest families in the Northern Kingdom, waited sitting on the edge of the box without moving, without making a sound, exactly as she’d promised to comply—hands folded in her lap, gaze fixed on the opposite wall, trying with all her might not to think about the fact that this was the first time in her life anyone had asked her what she wanted to eat.
