Chapter 3

It was fortunate that the tavern grew busier by the evening; Ophelia barely had the time to stop to catch her breath, or let her mind wander where it shouldn't. Once or twice Felicia caught her worried look and promptly reassured her that Phobos was more than capable of looking after himself. It was not enough to comfort her; as she laid in bed that night, she wondered equally about the prince's whereabouts and her strange worry for him. She hoped, perhaps, that he would be spared the fate of the rest of his party, and that the next morning the sun would not rise dripping in red.

The cock had yet to sing when she slipped into the kitchen to make some breakfast; Felicia and Lucio were only just getting ready as the noises of their toilette made evident. She heated some milk and added cinnamon and honey; this was, as Felicia had demonstrated to her the previous day, the closest thing they had to a morning coffee. She had moved to retrieve the warm porridge when she heard movement in the main room of the tavern.

She moved swiftly, expecting to see one man but finding another. Aristides was sitting on a bench, his shoulders slumped. As if every line had been carved, his face was hardened into a scowl, his eyes showing the deadened gaze of someone who had spent the entire night awake. He noticed her, and motioned for her to approach him.

"Death has laid its hand," he said, almost guiltily. "Where you're from, princess, whether that's Hybernia, Elysium or Byzantium… do warriors stop their sword before killing men from their motherland? And if they don't, what do they do to chase the nightmares away? As old as I am, I haven't quite figured that out yet."

"They live with it, I guess," Ophelia replied, confused. "If they care enough, that is. I can imagine a lot of people don't care. But regardless, there's nothing about it that will undo taking someone's live. It's a burden to bear."

The warrior hummed; he showed no particular agreement or disagreement with her response. Somewhat anxious at the topic at hand, Ophelia asked "Where's Phobos?"

"He's upstairs."

She took one look at him before darting towards the stairs, her footsteps light and quiet. She felt a sense of foreboding thinking that, merely a day before, that had been the place where the betrayal had been laid out. Would the steps of the conspirators have left marks on the wooden floor, as if to signify that something wicked had taken place? Or perhaps it would be a stench in the room, or an eerie feeling of being watched…?

She felt strangely calm when her eyes laid upon the empty beds. At the end, the sole occupier of the room slept peacefully on top of the bedsheets. He had only taken off his boots; everything else was as it had been when he'd sheathed his sword the previous afternoon. He'd left ghostly footsteps behind; shadowy imprints onto the wood, specks of black onto the sheets. His scabbard was immaculate; the sword was lying on top of the desk, placed with such care and devotion it made it hard to believe that it had been brutally slaying his foes all night.

Ophelia closed the door behind her and went down to make breakfast for the morning crowd; seven of them had arrived to the tavern and only three remained, the blood of the traitors spilled over the floor like a strange consecration.

-

The sun rose to the tune of screaming and crying. The pillars of the temple had been desecrated: from each hung a body, and piled onto the steps were the rest. Their clothes had been torn, exposing to everyone that could see the intricate designs that only Phrygian men were said to imprint on their skin. The city was no stranger to violence, but it seldom saw anything of that gruesome nature. Mothers shielded their children as they rushed their steps; the orphans watched and murmured in fascinated awe, mimicking in a more open manner what the older and most decadent part of the populace were doing as they gathered around the scene.

Caudiceum whispered; soon, the magistrates of the city and its governors had descended upon the plaza, all wearing sombre expressions. To those in the know, this was a reflection of the troubled times of some of Caudiceum's neighbours, and put the city in an awkward position. Being a free city, it had a certain level of authority and taxing rights while still being under the protection of the Iberian kingdom, which was a tributary and close ally of the Elysian Empire. But like any land that was given the right of self-governance, it also showed significant tolerance to those who were considered undesirable by both courts. Ports flourished on trade; those that stood far from the capital, did so mostly on illicit activities. Caudiceum, while certainly not one of the most lawless places in the kingdom, was tolerant of certain level of strange activity, as long as it brought business.

It was a well known fact that the Phrygian court was still undergoing a power struggle; the crown prince had recently gone into exile, and rebels and loyalists were both clashing to decide the future of their country. The massacre of the Phrygian men would certainly be a conversation topic in their hometown within the day; the governors in Caudiceum knew that they'd soon hear from the current king, as well as the Elysian ambassadors who had a stake in Phrygia's civil war. That, everyone knew, would not be a pleasant conversation.

All of this went on without Ophelia's knowledge. She heard from the men in the tavern that a gruesome discovery had the city aghast with horror; she knew who was the culprit, and what had led him to do it, but she could only catch glimpses of its potential ramifications. Phobos had slept all morning; it was early in the afternoon when Felicia gave her a bowl of fish soup and told her to bring it to his room.

"Don't worry," Felicia said, noticing her nervous expression. "He won't be mad at you. And if he tries anything, well, remind him that you can do much worse."

"How do you know him so well?" Ophelia asked before she could think, and realised too late it sounded almost accusatory.

"I've grown up in this tavern, and before it belonged to me it belonged to my parents," Felicia winked at her. "There are certain secrets of the trade, if you will, and one of them is that you become very adept at reading your customers. And in reality, as handsome as he is, he's not that complicated of a man."

Ophelia decided to take her word for it, and accepted the bowl and the bread she was given. If Aristides' lack of anger at her meant anything, perhaps there were bigger problems in the warriors' minds than her origins.

As she walked up the stairs, she looked down and thought about the strange powers she was able to wield. As if it was a dream, she held up the bread in her left hand and let it go. Instead of falling, it hovered just below her palm obediently. She grabbed it again before walking down the hallway of the second floor, thinking that perhaps she ought not to be so afraid of Phobos' sword after all.

"Uhm, I'm coming in," Ophelia eased herself into the room like someone who was afraid to wake up a sleeping monster.

The exiled prince was sitting on the bed, filing away the edges of his sword. No bloodstains had been left on the floor, and the only signs of violence were the specks of blood on the sheets.

She left the bowl and the bread on the table. It was clear he was ignoring her: he didn't look up from his task.

"You should eat it before it goes cold," she didn't know why she bothered; he was clearly not in the mood to talk. Something, perhaps slivers of compassion, prompted her to reach out to the brooding man.

"You don't need to pretend to be nice to me."

He looked up, eyes sharp and voice curt. "We'll be gone before nightfall. We'll never see each other again."

Ophelia failed to see the connection. "And? You look like you're not feeling well. Why should I not be nice to you?"

"It's unnecessary."

"I disagree," the man huffed. "And anyway, where are you going? I thought you had been waiting to hear back from your contacts…?"

Phobos' gaze hardened. "There never were any contacts; it was Ilmarinen who brought us here, only to put us in the hands of some loyalists."

"Can't you go into the port and find someone who can take you to that city… Arqa?" Before the other could respond, however, Ophelia reminded him of the food she'd brought by putting the bowl right before his eyes. He sighed, put the sword to his side, and took it.

"After this? Not likely. Two Phrygian men asking to be let on a boat is almost an admission of guilt, is it not? We'll have to find another way out of the city."

Ophelia pursued her lips as she watched the other eat. "You can't stay, either?"

"There are many after me, princess. I must keep moving."

He finished the bowl and held it out for her. His eyes and hands were immediately back on his sword the moment she took it back. She walked a few steps before she turned back.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Phobos paused. "No," he said, after a minute.

She left him alone. Later, as she was washing the blood off the sheets in the backyard she saw Aristides come in, cloaked and with a dejected expression in his face. Throughout the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening the conversation from the tavern's patrons would keep her updated with the latest rumours: she heard about the magistrate taking the bodies into the court, of the initial speculation that it'd been some zealous Iberian nationalists taking out the enemies of their allies, of the city's watchmen patrolling around, questioning everyone who had a story to tell. Felicia and Lucio said nothing of it all, clearly content to let the matter run itself into the ground at the hands of the city's drunks.

When night had fallen and she was tasked to bring the two men dinner, she didn't bother acting coyly. "I thought you'd be gone by now."

"There's no point running into closed doors," Aristides said, gratefully accepting his plate. "The watchmen are not letting anyone out of the city for now, and all the usual exits are being monitored. Only the fish can get out."

"Are you going to stay here until you can leave?"

"It makes no difference," Phobos replied, resigned. "Even if we wanted to move around, it will only take them a single look at their gate records to start looking for two Phrygian men who are suspiciously alive."

"And then…?"

"We'll have to argue our innocence in court."

"You need an alibi…" Ophelia murmured, the last word coming out in her native English. Aristides frowned, and asked for clarification. "It's something that proves you were somewhere else at the time of the crime."

"Is this something you do often in Londinium? Helping criminals avoid their punishment?"

Ophelia blushed. "Not really, but I have seen enough movies to get an idea. Uhm," she clarified, noticing again she had thrown a foreign concept at them. "Movies are kind of like plays that you are able to watch whenever you want."

"And what did people do in these… moo-vees for an ah-lee-bye?" Aristides asked slowly, trying to get through the foreign pronunciation.

"Well, they'd get someone else to claim they were with them when the crime happened, for example. Like a wife; to defend her husband, she'd claim that he spent the night with her."

That seemed to brighten up the old warrior, who gently turned around to Phobos with a pleased smile on his face. "The gate records! What a fantastic idea, princess!"

The prince's scowl appeared in full force. "What are you talking about, old man?"

"The gatekeepers must have recorded her entrance as well, and as your wife! Perhaps, she can make this ah-lee-bye for you. We should hide your sword. We can claim you were in the midst of your moon night."

"Moon night?" Ophelia asked.

"In our country, certain marriages are only valid if the groom and the bride do certain things on the first night together," Aristides explained. "They must consummate their marriage, and keep vigil during the night to make sure the spirits of their ancestors don't appear to bestow them with bad luck. They also require a chaperone, which is what I will be playing."

She was more than happy to go with the lie, yet the blush still came onto her cheeks. She wasn't alone; Phobos didn't seem to share his mentor's enthusiasm.

"They will think she's my wife after that; and once we go, what about her honour?"

"They are Iberians, my prince! They see their women in a different way. For them it is more natural that the men will wander and the women will seek other men."

Phobos wasn't convinced. He locked eyes with Ophelia. "We'll find some other way."

"It's fine, I don't mind lying."

"But your honour…!"

"I haven't had a boyfriend in twenty-seven years, I don't think I'll have one any time soon. My honour has never been an issue."

The two of them stared at her, mouths open. Everything about their impending capture and trial had been forgotten for a moment.

"You're twenty-seven?" Aristides exclaimed. "You're older than Phobos!"

Ophelia regarded the prince with a confused stare, looking him up and down. He certainly seemed to be her age. "I'm twenty-two years of age," he confessed. "Why are you so fresh-looking?"

Aristides quipped in. "Is this how people age in Byzantium?"

"What you eat and how you live make a difference, I imagine. Life at home is very different from this."

The older warrior seemed fascinated by it, and was ready to keep interrogating her. Downstairs, however, tavern work had piled up. Ophelia heard her name being shouted from the backyard and knew it was time to get back to help Felicia. She bid the two men goodbye, promised they would talk later, and slipped downstairs.

She was forced into an early start on the following day. Lucio was supposed to cover some of the preparations for breakfast to give her a bit more time to sleep, as she'd ended up getting into bed quite late due to all the cleaning and washing up that had been left to do the previous night. The banging and shouting from the city watchmen, however, soon made her lie-in impossible.

"We are looking for two Phrygian men named Golgotas and Demora," said one of the men. "We have been told they're staying here."

"What is this about? Are you rounding up all Phrygians in the city?" Felicia, still in her under tunic, was scowling at the group.

"They entered the city with the men who were murdered. We simply want to take them to the magistrate to help clarify what happened."

Ophelia silently moved towards the landing of the stairs, so that it would seem like she'd come from Phobos' and Aristides' room. "Felicia," she said with affectation, faking a wide yawn, "can I grab some milk from the… oh, apologies, I didn't know you were with customers."

If the inn-keeper found anything strange about her actions, it didn't show. Instead, she explained, "they're watchmen. They're looking for clues on the Phrygians' murders."

"Ah yes, the men we travelled with," Ophelia walked closer to the group, hugging herself as if to make up for the lack of warmth after leaving her bed. "We were all staying here, but we had our own business, and they had theirs. My husband and I… we spent our first moon night yesterday, you see, so the whole day before was spent preparing for it. It's been quite strange, to be honest. One of the men was murdered the day before the rest of them, another went missing… They seemed to be bad news."

"You are the woman they came into the city with, correct?" Ophelia nodded. "Why didn't you come forward to the magistrates?"

Ophelia looked at Felicia, pretending to be confused. "Do Iberians not celebrate their wedding? I was with my husband, observing our rites as newlyweds, in the Phrygian fashion."

The men murmured, but their leader seemed to be unconvinced.

"So you were here the last two days?"

"Correct."

"I can vouch for that," Felicia replied. "They eloped and were hoping to make some money to make their way towards Hibernia."

"Where is your husband now?"

"I'm here," Phobos and Aristides made a timely entrance, both clearly having made it out of bed moments before. The sight was surprising and made Ophelia think it should be illegal; Phobos' auburn hair had been hastily arranged, his green eyes still heavy with the weight of a good night's sleep, and his bare torso seemed more at ease in an underwear advertisement than as a real thing to be looked at in real life. She tried to look away, and respect the other's modesty, but she couldn't stop the blush from creeping onto her cheeks.

"I'm Demora, and this is my foster-father Golgotas," Phobos said with a scowl. "Why are you inconveniencing my wife?"

The prince stood next to her, wrapping his arm around her in a protective gesture. Ophelia tried to remember the grave situation at hand, but found it difficult: it was not every day she was in close contact with a man so handsome, and it was understandably something she wasn't prepared to deal with. It all worked in their favour, however, as her bashfulness helped to support their lies in the eyes of the watchmen.

"The three of you ought to come with us to the magistrate. You're suspected of having murdered the Phrygian men you travelled with."

Aristides argued, "I wonder what kind of aurelian miracle you think we're capable of; a man and his chaperone observing his first moon and sneaking out to murder ten men."

"You can make your case to the magistrate, wise man. Now make yourselves presentable and hand over your weapons."

Phobos seemed ready to argue but stopped when his old teacher put a hand on his arm and shook his head ever so slightly. Aristides turned then to Ophelia, and motioning to Felicia to listen in, he said, "put on your Hibernian attire, my lady, so that the magistrate understands the nature of those he's dealing with."

"It should be dry by now, my lady," Felicia continued the game. "You can go upstairs to get changed, I'll bring it to you."

Ophelia understood immediately they were referring to her modern, Byzantine clothes. She followed Phobos to the room he shared now only with his teacher. The two men readied their clothes while she sat on one of the empty beds, with her back to them.

"What we'll tell them," Aristides whispered as they clothed themselves, "is that you're a high-born, yet a little eccentric, hibernian princess who eloped with a Phrygian mercenary after being kidnapped for ransom. I'm the chaperone who's travelled with you to the port to bear witness to your marriage. You came here hoping to make some money to travel back to Hibernia."

The older warrior's eyes strayed towards the spear Ilmarinen had left, which was resting innocently against the wall. "We've put away our swords. We can give them the seaxes and the spear and claim those are our only weapons; since they've seen the sword cuts on their bodies, we'll have another argument to rest on."

Felicia brought Ophelia's clothes, all neatly bundled together. "They're all quite restless downstairs. They've got more watchmen outside of the building; it'd be impossible to try and slip by."

"We'll argue our innocence at court," Phobos said as he looked outside the window.

"You'll be a sacrificial lamb, I'm afraid. The magistrates will love that this is a Phrygian issue; they only need to wait until the envoys get here and they will hand you over to them."

"Yes, but this is not merely a Phrygian matter anymore, is it?" Aristides pointed towards the clothes Ophelia was holding. "They will have some memory of the last Hibernian raid. That'll be enough to give us some wriggle room."

Felicia bit her lip and slowly nodded. "Princess," Aristides said turning to Ophelia, "the Hibernians are known as savage, war-like people who hold grudges for long. They've attacked this port before, burnt it to the ground. The magistrate will likely not try to tempt fate."

Ophelia nodded, growing more anxious by the minute. She just hoped they would be able to pull it off. Felicia took her then to the neighbouring room. As she changed from the simple linen dress and apron she'd grown used to in the previous days, a strange feeling overcame her. It was as if her skin had forgot the embrace of the synthetic fabrics; zippers and plastic buttons looked foreign, capricious inserts of someone else's imagination into what was otherwise a familiar shape. Each detail that she'd never paid mind to suddenly turned into an ugly highlight. The perfection of the machine stitching, the elaborate cuts and shaping of the garments were reminders of a time and place she was glad to leave behind.

As budding as her relationship to that strange world was, she had felt embraced by it; she had met people she was comfortable with, had been given a role to play. To be reminded in such a physical way that she was from elsewhere was almost insulting; she felt afraid of perhaps, by donning her modern clothes, of calling forth the world she'd left behind.

She'd take the risk, however, because she wanted to help. She couldn't quite call Phobos and Aristides her friends, but she felt compassion towards their situation, and was grateful that they hadn't left her stranded in the wilderness to fend for herself.

The three of them made their way downstairs, and were promptly escorted out and into the busy Caudicean streets. The presence of the watchmen had garnered the attention of the populace and as they walked to the central forum they were pelted with the curious stares of men, women and children who had stopped their day's labours to take a look at the proceedings. Some of them shouted expletives towards them; it was clear that in the court of public opinion certain matters had been resolved the moment someone had been singled out by the magistrate. The ironic thing about the situation is that they were right, and the object of their tirades was guilty of what he was accused off, but there was no proof they could see other than the elaborate drawings on their skin, which linked them to the victims.

The central forum was much like she'd imagined Rome would've looked like in its glory days. It was mostly enclosed by sandstone walls; its gate was permanently open, prepared only in case of an attack. Once past the entrance a complex of buildings and courtyards would open to the eye, all built in the same sandstone. It was jarring when compared to the part of the city she'd been staying in so far: this looked like an insert of some zealous governor, built all at once rather than organically and over a number of years. Palm trees were numerous, planted like pillars to cut streets in two.

The actual forum and main feature of that district was a circular building surrounded by rows of pillars as tall as three stories. It shone bright and warm under the sunlight, forcing her to shield her eyes from the brightness. As if to underline its significance, those who went in and out of the forum were of a different breed to the populace outside of the walls: the clothes were made of fine white cotton, mostly airy tunics that were embellished with shawls and stoles of fine, colourful silk. These were the elect, the wealthy citizens; although for all intents and purposes the difference was only skin deep, as they regarded them with the same vacant curiosity that the rest of the Caudiceans had offered them.

Inside the floor was divided into two by a ring of pillars. Marble tribunes surrounded the inner circle, with four entrances to the speaking area. Those who had a seat gathered in the stepped tribunes, sitting in plush pillows. Those who didn't tried their best to see what was happening from the other side of the pillars, piling onto the entrances like an audience looking for the best seat in the theatre. In the centre, stood the magistrate.

The man was in his mid-fifties, was fairly rotund, and at first looked elated when Phobos and Aristides emerged from the swarm of watchmen. His open mouth, ready for his initial speech, swiftly closed when he saw her: the giddiness disappeared, replaced instead by cautious weariness.

"My apologies for not being able to meet you in more private settings," he said, addressing her directly and foregoing any acknowledgment of the other two. "Given the circumstances of the crime, and the gravity of its repercussions, this had to be brought to the forum."

Ophelia looked at Aristides, unsure if she was meant to answer. "That's quite alright," she said, clearing her throat after the older warrior arched an eyebrow at her. "I'm just hoping we can get this over with quickly."

She figured she could imagine she was talking to any other bureaucrat, and that made her feel slightly better. The magistrate was about to speak in response, but as an accident of time she spoke over him, "What exactly do we need to argue here? You know our identities; our acquaintance was casual. My husband just happened to be from the same country."

The man was taken aback, yet didn't seem offended. "May we take your names and position for the scribe?"

"I'm Ophelia Luccieni Ascot of the Iceni" she turned around towards her companions as she couldn't quite remember their made up identities. They picked that up fast enough.

"I'm Golgotas of Lyre, and this is my foster-son Demora of Palmyra."

The magistrate nodded.

"What brought you here to Caudiceum, lady Iceni? And in such company?"

Ophelia looked around the room, and felt slightly nauseous at being the centre of attention. "I was kidnapped in Hibernia; then carried to Iberia to be sold off. Demora and my father-in-law were both working for my captors. We fell in love, and we escaped; we thought of making our way to Hibernia to announce our marriage, but decided to do it in the Phrygian way with my father-in-law as our chaperone."

Murmurs exploded from silence into echoes around the forum; she saw mocking smiles, disbelieving stares, and some surprised expressions. "Your Iberian is impeccable, lady," the magistrate commented. "Is that a custom among the Hibernians, to teach their princesses the languages of the continent?"

Ophelia felt a bit naughty.

"It's so we can better understand their screams when we raid them, your honour," she said. The older man chuckled a bit nervously.

"Conversations with Hibernian merchants sure are difficult; they are, however, nothing compared to a princess," he commented. "So what is it that your husband and your father-in-law were doing on the night the men were murdered?"

"We were performing the rites of our moon night. Are you familiar with how the Phrygians celebrate their marriage, your honour?"

"I'm afraid so; strange as they are, I've seen quite a few in my time. Is there anyone else who can vouch for you?"

"The tavern owner, and her helper."

The magistrate then turned towards Phobos. "You are a mercenary, where are your weapons?"

Two of the watchmen approached the man, carrying Ilmarinen's spear and the long knives. "Fairly light for a warrior from Phrygia. And your sword?"

"I sold it to pay for our travel here."

The magistrate's eyebrows shot up. "I wonder if that's a mark of love, or untruth. That a warrior would be without its sword, that is hard to fathom."

"We don't treat women as passing fancies like Iberians do, my lord," Phobos said with a scowl. "Warrior or not, in our country we believe that a good wife is worth a hundred oxen. What's a sword to compare?"

He earned himself a couple of laughs from the men in the forum. The magistrate, clearly amused, said, "I shall wish you luck; that two nations so opposite in character and customs should meet in marriage is certainly an augury of something."

A few more questions followed, but it was clear their argument had worked in some way or another. Ophelia was addressed primarily as the one who presumably held the highest rank; it was clear that just as Aristides predicted, the Caudiceans were afraid of inciting the ire of 'her' people, and thus no outright accusations were made. The suspicious stares never disappeared; as they left the building, there was little the watchmen could do to shield them from the murmurs and the speculation of those around them.

When they were about to step into the large courtyard that led to the forum, Ophelia saw a group of men to the side, clearly watching with interest the proceedings. They wore strange tunics of a light blue colour. The fabric was very thin, almost transparent, and was layered gracefully on their bodies. It shimmered golden every time the wind made it move.

"Elysians," Aristides explained to her.

The two warriors and her were escorted back to the tavern along with a scribe. She witnessed with great interest how the petite woman, one of the officials working in the forum, wrote down Felicia's and Lucio's statement on a wax tablet the size of her forearm. They were warned against leaving the city until the Magistrate allowed them to do so, and finally the watchmen left.

"I've got good news," Felicia announced later in the evening. The four huddled together around empty bottles of wine that Aristides had procured to ease off the tension after the hearing. "A servant came over earlier to ask after what had happened. He belongs to a Chaldean merchant, one I've seen before in the city. Apparently he arrived yesterday and is looking to set sail in the next fortnight. This man, he's rich enough that he's got this entire city in his pocket; in a blockade like this, his are the only ships going in and out of the port."

"A Chaldean?" Phobos asked. "He's got to have come with a pretty big retinue."

"Do you think we could sneak in as servants? Or perhaps offer our services as bodyguards?"

Felicia shrugged. "He's an elusive one. I would not think it's as simple as showing up and offering your services. You ought to have an invitation before being able to meet him."

"However, they say he loves to frequent oriental brothels," she offered.

"I wonder," Aristides murmured. "While the city is closed like this, should we ought to try and find a space in one of his ships?"

It was too late in the night and they were all too drunk to come up with sensible plans. Soon Felicia and Aristides retired, leaving Phobos and Ophelia in a comfortable silence. The prince cleared his throat at some point, clearly after a long process of trying to find the right words for her.

"I… want to thank you for what you did today," he said, finally. "We couldn't have gotten away with it if it wasn't for you. I also realise this is probably confusing since you're… not from here. You've done something very brave, and I want to thank you for it."

In the dim light of the candles, Phobos' face looked softer; his intense stare was glazed over with warmth. "I also want to apologise for what happened the other day; I thought you were an Elysian and with everything that was happening… I was unfair to you."

Ophelia nodded, trying to look away from the vision in front of her. "It's alright. I wanted to help."

"I also intend to take responsibility," his voice became more serious. "In everyone's eyes you're a married woman; to be seen without your husband is very shameful. It would be dishonourable for me to take advantage of you like this and then throw you away."

"I don't understand," Ophelia confessed.

"We don't need to carry out the rites," Phobos blushed. "But I intend to accompany you as your husband."

Ophelia held up her hands.

"Uhm, I think this is a bit rushed. You don't need to; really."

"If you were younger perhaps some men would turn a blind eye to it, but you're twenty-seven already… It will be difficult for you to find a good family to marry into…" The man seemed lost in his own thoughts, "unless maybe there are some Phrygian families I could present to you once I take back my throne?"

"Uh, it's fine, Phobos. I'll be fine," seeing that he was not listening to her, Ophelia took one of his hands. The gesture startled him, and he blushed more deeply. "Marriage is not something that I can say I worry about."

The man pursued his lips. "As long as we travel together, I'll assume responsibility for my part. It'll be safer for you, I assure you."

"Travel? What if I want to stay here?"

"The authorities believe we're married; it'll be strange for a husband to leave without his wife."

It then dawned on Ophelia the consequences of her little white lie. In Caudiceum, her fate was tied to Phobos'. The realisation shook some of the tipsiness out of her. She had already grown used to the tavern and had taken a liking to Felicia and Lucio; while not easy, she enjoyed her life there. "But Felicia…"

"She understands."

"Very well," Ophelia licked her lips. "I am in your care, then."