Chapter 9
Rhaevan.
Of all people.
Of all possible encounters in a city full of perfectly avoidable strangers-
I meet the one person who is directly responsible for my future downfall.
Wonderful.
Absolutely wonderful.
Because apparently my survival strategy is not avoid danger, but personally escort it into my life and offer it food.
I exhaled sharply, dragging the cloth harder across the surface in front of me.
Because yes-I was cleaning.
Not in a metaphorical sense. Not in an emotional, soul-searching, life-changing sort of way.
I was cleaning actual furniture.
Tables. Shelves. Cabinets. Decorative objects that served no purpose other than existing and collecting dust with quiet dedication.
This, according to Martha, was the consequence of "disappearing without notice."
Which, in my opinion, was a disproportionate response to a very necessary act of self-preservation.
"And why," I muttered under my breath, scrubbing with increasing aggression, "do I keep running into all the important male characters in this story? Is there a system? A pattern? A tracking device? Do they just... appear?"
No answer.
Of course.
"I don't even want them," I continued quietly. "I would very much like to be left alone. Peacefully. Safely. Preferably alive."
I moved on to the next surface and started over.
I wiped, scrubbed, pretended it looked clean. There was a growing conviction that furniture multiplied when no one was looking.
Either way, the cycle continued.
"And Rhaevan," I added, my jaw tightening slightly, "of all people, I had to meet him early. Not even properly. Just-here, have food, follow me, reveal your name, ruin my mental stability."
I sighed deeply.
Then kept cleaning.
At some point, without fully realizing it, I wandered.
From one corridor to another, then into a hall I didn't recognize, still muttering under my breath, still scrubbing whatever surface happened to be in front of me like my continued existence depended on it.
Which, at this point-
it might.
"Miss No Name."
I froze.
Then I turned around so slowly it could have qualified as a geological process.
Lucien Viremont was standing there.
Looking amused.
History suggested that was not good news for me.
"Oh," I said, blinking once. "It's you."
He tilted his head slightly. "That is one way to greet someone."
"I'm consistent," I replied.
His gaze shifted from me-
to what I was doing-
then back to me.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing," I said immediately. "I'm just cleaning."
He looked again.
Longer this time.
"...You're cleaning that?"
I followed his gaze and looked down.
There, in all its yellow glory, sat the source of my humiliation.
A banana.
A perfectly innocent banana resting in a bowl and minding its own business.
And I was aggressively scrubbing it.
I stared at it for a long moment.
Then I looked back at him.
Then back at the banana.
My brain scrambled for an explanation, an excuse, or ideally a portal to another dimension.
The situation was not helping.
"Yes," I said calmly. "The banana was dusty."
There was a pause.
A long one.
"I see," he said.
I nodded. "Hygiene is important."
Another pause.
He did not look convinced.
I straightened slightly, placing the cloth down with a level of dignity I had not earned. "What are you doing here?"
He looked mildly puzzled. "I am a guest in this palace."
"That explains your presence," I said. "Not your location."
He glanced around briefly. "I was walking."
"Dangerous habit," I muttered.
His gaze returned to me, sharper now, but still carrying that same trace of amusement I was beginning to dislike on principle.
"You," he said slowly, "are either very dedicated to your tasks..."
A slight pause.
"...or dangerously attracted to food."
I stared at him.
Technically, he was correct.
I, however, had decided to reject that reality.
"I prefer to think of it as survival instinct," I replied.
"Does your survival frequently involve... fruit maintenance?"
"This is a special case," I said. "High-risk banana."
That almost made him smile.
Almost.
Which was arguably worse.
Because now we had a joke.
A shared joke.
Those tended to lead to conversations.
Conversations led to familiarity.
Familiarity led to patterns.
And patterns had a disturbing tendency to become habits.
I did not intend to become anyone's habit.
I took a careful step back.
Then another.
"Well," I said, nodding once like this had been a completely normal and necessary interaction, "this has been... informative."
I could feel his gaze on me.
Ignoring it seemed like the mature response.
Unfortunately, he spoke first.
"You're leaving again."
"So it would appear."
"And yet I still don't have a name."
"A tragic oversight, I'm sure."
"After entering restricted areas and cleaning fruit."
"I wouldn't say entering," I corrected. "More like... misplacement."
"And the garden incident?"
"A misunderstanding."
"With food."
"A recurring theme."
There was a brief silence.
Then he asked the question.
"Who are you?"
Direct. Simple. Extremely problematic.
I held his gaze for all of a second before deciding that was quite enough eye contact for one day.
"No one," I said. "I've been remarkably consistent on that point."
His expression suggested he had several follow-up questions.
I had no intention of staying for any of them.
So I turned and walked away.
Again.
At a noticeably faster pace than before.
Because once is coincidence.
Twice is a problem.
And I was not staying long enough to find out what three would be.
"This is getting out of hand," I muttered.
The evidence was becoming difficult to ignore.
In the span of a few days, I had met the prince twice, fed the future traitor, and developed an entirely unnecessary professional interest in banana hygiene.
None of this had been part of the plan.
Admittedly, the original plan had been rather vague.
Still.
I stared at the ceiling.
After a few moments, I came to the only reasonable conclusion available.
"I need a better plan."