7. Hungry #2
But this was the realm Faren served. It was a privilege to tend to its citizens.
There were moments when Lord Haron’s short temper and fickle humor grated on Faren, but though the ruler controlled his Oath, his Order was loyal to the people, the land, Fenrir itself.
There was nothing he loved more than feeling like he was an essential part of the realm’s function and protection.
He’d decided long ago that if he were to die from his charge, he would not run from his Fate, but endeavor to make his life matter.
Faren wanted nothing more than to leave a mark before the end.
Mariana, on the other hand, was practically invisible to the revelers.
She scoffed when folks praised Faren’s splendor, rolled her eyes when he responded in kind.
But there was a tightness around her eyes, and he didn’t miss the way she curled her fingers in her horses’ mane as if to ground herself amid the hubbub.
As the city gate came into view, the crowd thickened, a bottleneck forming where guards were letting folks pass in or out. Faren and Mariana’s horses angled closer, causing Mariana’s leg to brush his, their stirrups knocking. Her grimace deepened, knuckles paling as she gripped her reins.
Faren did not mind the commotion, but his stomach was starting to grumble about the breakfast he’d skipped. Catching sight of a blue checkered awning down a side street, he swung off his horse and handed Mariana the reins.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
“I’m getting us breakfast.”
She gestured toward the gate. “We’re almost through.”
“It’ll take another ten minutes at least,” Faren said. “Plenty of time.”
“But—”
“Do you want breakfast, or not?”
“Not,” Mariana said through clenched teeth.
Faren knew better. His sisters were monsters when they were hungry, and while he had no reason to extend Mariana any kindness, there was no point in suffering on the first day of their journey. “I’ll be right back,” he repeated, then made his way through the throng.
Inside the bakery, the air was hot and smelled—decadently—of sweet buns and sausage and yeast. The line was long, snaking through the narrow shop, but when folks caught sight of his armor, they let him skip to the front.
There were many privileges of being a Mighty Knight, and expedited baked goods were one of them.
After insisting to pay the baker—no matter how much she tried to give him a free breakfast—he returned to the crowd outside to find Mariana almost to the front of the line.
By the time he made it back into the saddle, the guards were hailing them through.
The moment they were clear of the worst of the crowd, in a burst of frustrated energy, Mariana urged her horse into a trot, skirting around the wagons and carts that clogged the city’s entrance.
Ten minutes later, once they were fully free of the hustle and bustle, Mariana slowed Simon to a walk. A soft rain began to fall, hissing on the puddles that made up the muddy road leading south. Faren lifted his hood and dug through the baked goods he’d acquired.
“Here,” he said, riding close enough to pass Mariana a bundle wrapped in paper.
She eyed it warily, jaw set. She wore a cloak, but had not lifted her hood, and tiny droplets of rain beaded in her hair like diamonds. “I told you I didn’t want anything.”
“I know,” Faren said, “but I got you something anyway.”
She snatched the bundle from his hand and unwrapped it. Biting into the flaky crust, her eyes fluttered briefly closed.
“My favorite bakery in the city,” Faren said, handing her a second bundle.
Mariana raised an eyebrow, her mouth full.
“Pastry,” he explained. “For dessert.”
She took it and tucked it between her pelvis and the front of her saddle.
Faren busied himself with his own hand pie, relishing the richness of the sausage, the balanced flavors of fennel and thyme, the fluffy chunks of potato. He scarfed it down in four bites. When he looked up again, Mariana was still only halfway through her breakfast—not eating but watching him.
He almost made a snide remark, but she had an odd look on her face, almost like…sincerity, mixed with suspicion. “You’re welcome,” he said.
“I didn’t thank you.”
“I could read it on your face.”
“Do not mistake disdain for gratitude,” she replied with a huff, then refocused on her meal with renewed gusto. She made quick work of the hand pie, then unwrapped the pastry, sighing when she discovered that it was filled with jam and cream.
All the while, Faren stole glances in her direction, wondering when she’d last indulged in…anything. It occurred to him that, perhaps in addition to her surprise at his kindness, she was also thrown by it. Much as he was thrown by her presence in general.
“Stop watching me eat,” Mariana said over a huge bite.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” he teased.
“Why do you care?”
“Just want to hear you admit that breakfast was a good idea.”
“I won’t,” Mariana said, but her curt tone was undermined by the look of pure ecstasy as she licked a glob of cream off the side of her hand. “I don’t like owing people.”
“You don’t owe me,” Faren said, perplexed. “Why would you owe me?”
She shrugged. Their horses’ hooves made a clapping, sucking sound as they tromped through the mud, filling the silence left by Mariana’s non-answer.
Faren blinked back to the road ahead of them, staring off into the mist, where riders and wagons were mere silhouettes in the gloom.
If Mariana was primarily accustomed to transactional relationships—her faction’s strict hierarchy, her Oath—then it made sense that she’d be suspicious of his generosity. Off balance, even.
A smile formed on Faren’s lips as he realized that his amiability and humor unsettled her.
Fighting her fieriness with his own had only made their interactions more explosive, but this…
This could be fun, he thought. Thanks to his sisters, he was adept at using teasing remarks and smothering affection to get under someone’s skin.
Finally, he felt like he had an ounce of leverage against Mariana, and though it was an unorthodox tactic for uncovering her secrets, it was something.