Chapter 22: A Dance of Blade and Fate

Right when the wind howled through the valley, carrying flakes of snow that thickened with each passing moment, they stumbled upon a cave nestled in the jagged cliffs. Without hesitation, they hurried inside, the biting cold nipping at their skin. The cavern was dark and narrow, but it offered them the one thing they desperately needed—shelter.

Liria wrapped her arms around herself, her body trembling. She barely had the strength to stand. The air inside the cave was damp, but at least it shielded them from the relentless storm outside.

"It's freezing tonight," the assassin muttered, pulling off his cloak. He held it out to her without looking. "Here, put this on."

She hesitated. Accepting anything from him felt like conceding defeat, but the icy wind cutting through her dress forced her pride aside. She grabbed the cloak and draped it around her shoulders. The fabric was worn but thick, and the scent of pine and steel clung to it—his scent.

"Thank you," she murmured.

The assassin said nothing. Instead, he crouched down, striking flint against stone, coaxing a small fire to life. As the flames flickered, their warm glow illuminated the cave's rocky walls. He leaned back, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his face.

"Come closer. Warm yourself." His tone was firm, almost commanding.

Liria clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to snap at him. Instead, she scooted closer to the fire, stretching out her hands. They sat in silence, the only sounds being the crackling flames and the distant howling of the wind outside. She stole glances at him, studying the man who held her fate in his hands.

He removed his sword belt and dagger, placed them beside him, then laid back, resting his hands beneath his head. His gaze flickered upward, lost in thought. Seeing him so relaxed, so unarmed, stirred something in Liria. An opportunity.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she slowly reached for his dagger. With a swift motion, she snatched it from its sheath and pressed the blade against his throat.

Yet, he did not move.

He didn't even flinch.

The assassin's breath remained steady, his expression unreadable. The firelight flickered in his blue eyes, calm as still water. The lack of reaction sent a chill through Liria—not of cold, but of fear. He wasn't afraid of her. Not in the slightest.

A slow, knowing grin curled his lips. "Are you done playing warrior, little fox?"

His voice was maddeningly composed. He reached up, his hand closing around her wrist—not with force, but with an almost teasing gentleness. His fingers were calloused, warm against her skin.

Liria's breath hitched. He was right—she hesitated. She had the chance, but she couldn't bring herself to drive the blade into his throat. Her grip on the dagger trembled.

"You think it would scare me?" He murmured, his gaze locking onto hers. "Your eyes give you away. You don't have the heart for this kind of thing."

Liria swallowed hard. "You… you're wrong about me."

His face moved closer, his breath warm against her cheek. "Then prove it."

He guided her hand back to his throat, pressing the tip of the dagger to his skin once more. "Now. Do it."

Liria froze. The moment stretched into eternity. Her fingers clenched the hilt, but her resolve crumbled. Her hand slowly lowered, the dagger falling from her grasp. It clattered onto the cave floor between them.

He leaned back, a quiet scoff escaping his lips. "Thought so."

Liria's gaze flickered downward, frustration and shame twisting inside her. Her eyes landed on the dagger, and for the first time, she noticed the markings on its hilt—deep blue ink etched into the leather handle, forming letters that intertwined with intricate black designs.

"Dastan," she murmured. "Is that your name?"

His jaw tensed. "What do you care?"

"It's a… a beautiful name."

He said nothing, merely turning his back to her as he laid down once more. The conversation was over.

Liria sighed, pulling his cloak tighter around herself. She laid on the cold ground, exhaustion dragging her into restless sleep.

… … …

The dim light of dawn filtered into the cave, casting long shadows along the stone walls. Dastan stirred, blinking against the brightness. He stretched his limbs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Then, he noticed it.

The fire had long since died down. But more importantly—Liria was gone.

He shot up, his pulse hammering. His cloak lay abandoned where she had slept. His eyes darted to his weapon—still there, untouched. That meant she wasn't far. He rushed to the mouth of the cave, ready to track her down.

But then, a familiar scent drifted toward him—roasting meat.

Dastan slowed his pace, gripping the hilt of his sword. He stepped outside cautiously, his sharp eyes scanning the area. There, just beyond the cave's entrance, sat Liria beside a small fire, carefully roasting a rabbit skewered on a stick.

She glanced up at him, unfazed. "You're up."

Dastan narrowed his eyes. "You—"

"Here." She held out his dagger. "I borrowed it. Don't worry, I cleaned it."

He took it from her, inspecting it briefly. "Where did you—"

"I set a snare after you slept." She turned the rabbit over, the meat sizzling over the fire. "I figured you'd be hungry."

Dastan scoffed. "You could've run. You should've run."

Liria's expression was unreadable. "And go where? Into the snow? Into the hands of the other assassins waiting to collect on my head?"

Silence hung between them. Dastan sheathed his dagger and sat down beside the fire, watching her carefully. She had changed—just slightly. Something in her demeanour had shifted, as if she had come to terms with her fate.

"You're still my bounty," he reminded her. "Today, I'll arrange a meeting. Once I hand you over, I'll be rich."

Liria lowered her gaze. She nodded, but there was no fight left in her expression. No pleading. No desperation.

"If that's what you want," she said quietly.

Dastan frowned. He had expected resistance, anger, maybe even an attempt to flee. But this? This eerie acceptance unsettled him more than anything.

They ate in silence.

As the fire crackled between them, Dastan found himself glancing at her—just once, just for a moment. And for the first time, he wondered why something in his chest felt uncomfortably tight.