CHAPTER 40: AN UNEXPECTED REUNION

Arlos had been captured.

Queen Emma’s reaction was nothing short of euphoric. When Oliver delivered the report, her usually composed demeanor cracked, revealing a smile so genuine yet terrifying that it sent ice through my veins.

The way her green eyes gleamed frighteningly made me wonder if Arlos might actually prefer the quick death I could have given him to whatever fate awaited him in the Queen’s dungeons.

Unfortunately or maybe not, my heroic deed didn’t earn me an immediate ticket back to Millbrook. Queen Emma was still neck-deep in negotiations with King Francis Lorendia—something about trade agreements and military alliances that apparently required her personal attention for a few more days.

"For your safety, Harold. Until we’re certain Arlos had no accomplices lurking about, you’ll remain under close protection."

She had said.

And so began my unwilling imprisonment in the capital’s finest hotel.

The first two days, I had grudgingly accepted the arrangement. After all, we’d just captured a dangerous criminal, and caution seemed prudent. The hotel room was luxurious enough—silk curtains, a feather bed that could swallow a man whole, and food that made Millbrook’s tavern fare seem like peasant scraps. But luxury couldn’t cure restlessness.

By the third day, I was pacing the ornate carpet like a caged wolf. The wallpaper’s golden patterns had become as familiar as the back of my hand, and I’d memorized every crack in the ceiling plaster. When the fourth day dawned with the same suffocating routine, and after I read all the books available in the room, something inside me snapped.

"Oliver! I need to get out of here before I lose what’s left of my sanity."

"Harold, you know the Queen’s orders—"

"The Queen’s orders were to keep me safe, not to drive me mad with boredom," I interrupted, running my hands through my hair. "I’m in the capital of the kingdom, Oliver. This might be my only chance to see it properly, and you want me to waste it staring at these four walls?"

Oliver looked at me for a long moment and finally, he had relented. "I suppose a bit of fresh air wouldn’t hurt. But I can’t accompany you myself—too much paperwork from this Arlos business."

"That’s fine, I don’t need a nursemaid."

"Oh, but you do." His tone brooked no argument. "Knight Noah will accompany you. He’s young, but competent."

I wanted to say he was very young himself but kept that thought to myself.

And that’s how I found myself walking through the bustling streets of the capital with a perpetually sighing knight trailing behind me.

"Harold, stay close to me," Noah called out for the third time in ten minutes, his voice carrying the long-suffering tone of someone dealing with a particularly troublesome child.

I glanced back at him. "Come on, Noah. This is your first time in the capital too, right? You should try to enjoy it instead of treating it like a funeral march."

"I am here on duty, not to enjoy myself," he replied stiffly, his hand never straying far from his sword hilt. "And you should address me as Sir Noah. I am a knight of the Queen."

"Currently, you’re my bodyguard," I pointed out, dodging around a merchant’s cart loaded with exotic spices. "Doesn’t that make your primary duty to keep me happy and alive? I’d say enjoying the sights falls under the ’happy’ category."

Noah’s jaw tightened, and he quickened his pace to match mine. "You’re certainly not an ordinary village boy."

"I’ll take that as a compliment."

As we walked, I couldn’t help but marvel at the capital’s grandeur. The buildings rose like stone giants, their walls adorned with intricate carvings and colorful banners that snapped in the morning breeze. The streets themselves were a marvel—actual cobblestones instead of the packed dirt I was used to, with proper drainage channels and even street lamps for nighttime illumination.

The people were just as impressive as their city. Nobles in silk and velvet rubbed shoulders with merchants in fine wool, while servants in crisp livery hurried about their business.

"Here we are," I announced as we emerged into the Grand Market Square. "Now this is what I came to see."

The market was a sensory assault in the best possible way. If Millbrook’s market was a puddle, this was an ocean. Stalls and shops stretched in every direction, their colorful awnings creating a patchwork canopy that filtered the sunlight into dancing patterns on the ground below. The air was thick with competing scents—freshly baked bread, exotic spices, leather goods, perfumes, and the occasional less pleasant whiff from the livestock section.

Merchants called out their wares in voices that carried over the crowd’s constant murmur. "Fresh fish from the Northern Sea!" "Silk scarves from the Eastern Provinces!" "Finest steel in the kingdom!" Each vendor seemed determined to outshout their neighbors. They were annoyingly loud though.

I reached into my pocket, feeling the weight of the ten gold coins Queen Emma had gifted me. It was more money than I’d ever possessed in my life—a reward for my role in capturing Arlos and risking my neck in the process.

I needed to spend them wisely, but I also deserved to enjoy this moment. And I couldn’t return to Millbrook empty-handed. I had bring something for my lovely mother and big sister and also Lisa.

As I was mentally cataloguing potential gifts, a familiar voice cut through the market’s din.

"Harold?"

The sound stopped me dead in my tracks. It was a voice I hadn’t heard in months.

I turned around.

There she was—Rumia Brennan, but not as I remembered her.

The girl who had once worn simple village tunics and practical braids now stood before me transformed. Her gown was a masterpiece of royal blue silk that complemented her eyes perfectly, with silver embroidery that probably cost more than most villagers saw in a year. Her blonde hair fell in carefully styled waves around her shoulders, and her skin had the pampered glow that came from regular access to expensive cosmetics and treatments.

She was still undeniably Rumia, but she looked every inch the noble lady she’d been born to be. She was certainly very beautiful for a thirteen years old girl. Still too young for my tastes though.

"Hal!" Rumia exclaimed, her face lighting up with a joy. Before I could react, she launched herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck in an enthusiastic hug that nearly knocked me off balance.

The impact brought with it a cloud of expensive perfume—something floral and sophisticated that probably cost more per bottle than my family’s cottage was worth. It was intoxicating and foreign, so different from the simple lavender soap she’d used in the village.

"Hey, calm down there," I managed, steadying both of us while trying to ignore how perfectly she fit against me. The embrace was drawing stares from passersby, and I could practically feel Noah’s disapproving gaze radiating from behind me.

She pulled back just enough to look up at me, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. "When did you arrive in the capital? How long have you been here?"

"A few days ago," I replied.

Her expression shifted, joy giving way to something that looked suspiciously like hurt. She narrowed her eyes in a way that reminded me of a cat preparing to pounce. "A few days? And you... you didn’t even think to visit me?"

"I was planning to," I said quickly, which wasn’t entirely a lie. I had thought about seeking her out, but other matters had taken precedence. "I just had some business to handle first."

"What kind of business?" She pressed, stepping closer. The move was subtle but effective—close enough that her perfume enveloped me again, close enough that I could see the faint freckles across her nose that her cosmetics couldn’t quite hide.

"Official business," I said evasively. "Nothing that concerns you. Now, could you maybe step back a bit? We’re attracting attention."

It was true. Several nearby shoppers had paused their browsing to watch our reunion with obvious interest. More problematically, the two young women who had been accompanying Rumia were staring at us with expressions of shock and barely concealed curiosity.

"Hmph." Rumia stepped back with obvious reluctance, her lower lip jutting out in a pout that was probably meant to be endearing. On her, it actually was.

"R...Rumia," the dark-haired girl stammered, her cheeks flushed pink as she stared at me. "Who is this gentleman?"

Her companion, a girl with light brown hair styled in elaborate ringlets, was equally flustered but trying to hide it behind a facade of aristocratic composure. Both were clearly from noble families, if their expensive clothing and carefully practiced postures were any indication.

"Oh!" Rumia’s mood brightened instantly, apparently forgetting her earlier irritation. "These are my friends from the academy. Harold, meet Lady Lucy Fairfax, daughter of Baron Fairfax." She gestured to the dark-haired girl, who managed a shaky curtsy. "And this is Lady Regina Ashworth, whose father is Viscount Ashworth." The brown-haired girl’s curtsy was more polished, though her face remained pink.

I fell into the courtly manners I’d been practicing, taking Lucy’s gloved hand and bringing it to my lips for a proper kiss. "The pleasure is entirely mine, Lady Lucy."

Lucy went scarlet and looked like she might faint. Regina fared slightly better when I repeated the gesture with her, though she couldn’t quite meet my eyes afterward.

"Hey!" Rumia’s mood shifted again as she noticed how her friends were still staring at me with obvious admiration. She grabbed my arm possessively, her fingers digging into the fabric of my sleeve. "What exactly do you think you’re doing, charming my friends like that?"

The jealousy in her voice was clear as day.

In the last years and because she had been apart from me, she had grew quite obsession with me if I had to say and it had only seem to be grew stronger.

Building connections—precious ones—was something I had always excelled at. In my previous life on Earth, I’d learned the art of charm and timing, how to wear a smile just wide enough, how to hold a gaze just long enough. That talent had followed me here, into this world, like a shadow that refused to leave. It served me well again and again. Of course, I wasn’t about to say that out loud.

"I was just being polite," I said, the picture of innocence. "Isn’t that what nobles expect from us commoners?"

"Y..You’re a commoner?" Regina blinked in surprise, eyes flicking down to take in my fine dress and obviously features.

I tilted my head slightly and offered a sheepish smile. "I apologize... I hope I didn’t overstep in any way with my gesture."

The soft guilt in my voice hit just as it should.

"N...No! Not at all," Regina said quickly, waving her hands in front of her as if to bat away the awkwardness. "I was just surprised, that’s all!"

I smiled again—gently, warmly. "That’s a relief. I come from the same village as Rumia. I just hoped we might become friends too."

Before Regina could respond, a hand seized my arm.

"Come with me," Rumia said under her breath—and without waiting for my reply, she dragged me behind a row of market stalls and into a quiet, shaded alley where only dust and distant chatter followed.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

But she wasn’t in the mood for playing games.

"That should be my question," she snapped, folding her arms as she turned on me with a look that could pierce armor. "What were you saying to Lucy and Regina back there?"

"I was being kind," I replied. "I am a commoner, Rumia. Isn’t that what they expect from—?"

"Don’t take me for an idiot, Hal," she cut in, her voice tight. "You never cared about things like class or status. That’s not you—not really. You weren’t being ’kind.’ You were being... you."

I let out a breath.

Of course she saw through me.

Rumia had known me since we were children. She was one of the few people I had never truly hidden myself from—her along Lisa. Around them, the masks didn’t always hold.

"Alright," I admitted. "I’m just trying to build good connections with your friends. They’re nobles. And I... I don’t plan to stay in Millbrook forever. It might be useful to have powerful friends."

"Befriend them?" Rumia’s brows drew together. "It looked more like you were seducing them."

I gave her a lazy, half-smile. She wasn’t wrong. Of course I was seducing them. Drawing people in—especially women—made them easier to work with, to manipulate when necessary. Get them emotionally invested, and the rest came naturally.

"Yeah, maybe I was. But why are you upset abou—?"

Her lips pressed against mine before I could finish.

My eyes went wide. It wasn’t graceful, or skilled—it was clumsy, rushed, and far too forceful. She gripped my shirt tightly with trembling hands. Her lips were warm, unsure, unpracticed.

I raised my hands slowly, placing them gently on her shoulders, and pushed back, parting us with care.

"What... what was that?" I asked her seriously.

"A kiss," she said, cheeks burning, eyes stubbornly locked on mine. Her voice was soft, but her expression was serious.

Dead serious.

This girl...

She had always been bold, but now—now I began to see what kind of woman she was growing into. And honestly, it scared me a little.

Not because I didn’t like her, far from it.

But because I had no idea what she’d become... once she stopped holding back.

She was only thirteen and she showed this level of obsession I had seen only in adult and mature women in my previous life.