Morning dew clings to my cloak as I trudge behind the last carriage in our little procession, each step taking me further from Qence and deeper into Mirelle's web. The caravan stretches ahead of us like a lumbering caterpillar, five wooden carriages creaking their way toward Lannos under a sky that can't decide if it wants to rain or shine.
"Keep up," Mirelle calls over her shoulder, her electric blue hair practically glowing in the early morning light. "Guard duty means we actually have to guard something."
I quicken my pace, adjusting the wooden staff strapped across my back. A yawn escapes me before I can stifle it, my jaw cracking with the effort.
Mirelle glances back, her eyebrows lifting. "How'd you sleep last night?" she asks, slowing her pace to fall in step beside me.
"Quite well," I answer without thinking, then immediately regret my honesty when her eyes light up like I've just handed her a gift.
"So you do like being commanded to sleep," she says, her voice dropping to that dangerous purr that makes my skin prickle. "I thought as much."
I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant despite the heat creeping up my neck. "It's a lot easier than just lying there staring at the ceiling."
Her smile widens, revealing perfect teeth that remind me of a predator. "Well, we'll be sleeping together for the entire trip," she says, as if announcing we'll be sharing dessert rather than discussing what amounts to more violations of my personal space.
I nod, annoyed but unable to deny the contradictory truth, being commanded to sleep results in some of the best rest I've ever experienced. No insomnia, no tossing and turning, just instant, deep slumber. It's the one "benefit" of this curse so far.
"The caravan master thinks we're lovers," Mirelle continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I told her that's why we need to share a tent. For your protection, of course."
"Of course," I echo dryly, adjusting my face covering as we pass a pair of merchants riding alongside their goods. They barely glance at us, too engrossed in their conversation about tariff rates to notice the man hiding behind cloth and cloak.
Mirelle's gaze suddenly narrows as she looks at my face more closely.
"Wait, come here for a second," she says, beckoning me with a curled finger.
I step toward her cautiously, my stomach tightening with apprehension. "What is it?"
Without warning, she grabs my face with one hand, her fingers surprisingly gentle despite their firmness. The curse activates instantly, freezing me in place as she tugs down my face covering with her other hand.
"Hold still," she murmurs unnecessarily, as if I have any choice.
Her palm begins to glow with a soft orange light, heat radiating from her skin. For a terrifying moment, I think she's going to burn me, but instead, she brings her hand close to my jaw, hovering just above the skin. The warmth is pleasant rather than painful as she moves her heated fingers methodically across my stubbled cheeks and chin.
I catch the faint smell of singed hair as she works, realizing what she's doing. She's carefully burning away my stubble with a delicate touch as she tilts my face to reach every spot. Her expression is focused, intimate, the way Kayla used to look when helping me adjust my tie before going out.
The heat never becomes uncomfortable as she works her way across my face. Her blue eyes are intent on her task, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in concentration. Despite everything that's happened between us, there's something almost... normal about this moment. Like we're just a couple getting ready for the day.
When she finishes, she carefully pulls my face covering back into place, adjusting it with a satisfied nod before releasing her grip. The curse lifts immediately, and I flex my jaw experimentally.
"Sorry about that," she says, looking slightly embarrassed. "I meant to get rid of your stubble before we left the inn. It would've started showing through the mask sooner or later."
"Thanks," I reply, surprised by the genuine gratitude in my voice. My hand rises to touch my face through the covering, feeling the smooth skin beneath. "That's... actually helpful."
She smiles, something vulnerable flickering behind her eyes before her usual confidence returns. "Can't have you looking like a scruffy man in disguise, can we? We need to be convincing."
"Yeah," I reply, resisting the urge to touch my newly smooth face again. "Good thinking."
We continue our patrol along the caravan's perimeter, the morning gradually warming as the sun climbs higher. The forest surrounding the road seems peaceful enough, birds chirping and leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. It's almost pleasant, walking alongside these lumbering carriages, if I ignore the circumstances that brought me here.
After a couple of hours of uneventful guard duty, a whistle sounds from the lead carriage. Two women approach us from the front of the caravan, their leather armor marking them as fellow hired guards.
"You two can take a break," says the taller one, a muscular woman with a scar bisecting her left eyebrow. "We're rotating shifts. You can rest in the supply carriage at the back."
Mirelle nods, stretching her arms overhead until something in her back audibly pops. "Perfect timing. My feet were starting to complain."
I follow her to the last carriage in the line, grateful for the chance to rest. The wooden steps creak as we climb inside, finding a space among crates of fabric and barrels of what smells like pickled fish. There's just enough room for us to sit comfortably, though the swaying of the carriage makes it feel smaller than it is.
Mirelle settles against a pile of folded canvas, patting her thigh with an inviting smile. "Want to take a nap on my lap? It'll be more comfortable than these crates."
"No," I answer immediately, perhaps too quickly. I position myself on a flat wooden crate opposite her, trying to look more comfortable than I feel.
The truth is, I'm exhausted. The gentle rocking of the carriage combined with more exertion than I’m used to is making my eyelids heavy. A soft place to rest my head sounds incredible right now, but I can't let Mirelle think this is becoming normal between us. Every concession, every moment of comfort I take from her just makes her more possessive, more convinced that I'm hers.
She watches me struggle to find a comfortable position on the hard crate, her blue eyes tracking my every movement. After a particularly violent jolt sends my head knocking against the carriage wall, she sighs and reaches across the narrow space between us.
Her fingers brush against my wrist, and immediately my body locks up, the now-familiar paralysis taking hold.
"Tell me the truth, Sam," she says softly. "Do you want to nap on my lap?"
"Yes," I admit, the word pulled from me against my will. "I want to nap on your lap."
A triumphant smile spreads across her face as she releases my wrist. "That's what I thought."
She pats her thighs again, the gesture both invitation and challenge. "Come on, I'm not going to bite."
I stare at her lap, weighing my options. The crate beneath me digs into my thighs, and my neck already aches from that last bump. What she's offering is comfort, plain and simple. The curse would activate the moment I lay my head down, but for once, maybe that's not the worst thing.
"Fine," I sigh, the word heavy with resignation.
I slide off the crate and move across the narrow space between us. My heart pounds as I lower myself down, resting my head on her thighs. The paralysis takes hold immediately, my body locking up as the curse activates.
Mirelle lets out a sound that's halfway between a gasp and a squeal, her hands hovering uncertainly above my head as if she can't believe I actually did it.
"You must feel really safe around me," she says, her voice pitched higher than usual with barely contained excitement.
"Don't read too much into it," I mutter, unable to move but still able to speak. "The carriage floor is harder than your thighs. Simple as that."
She laughs, the sound vibrating through her legs beneath my head. Her fingers find their way to my hair, gently combing through it in slow, rhythmic strokes that make my scalp tingle pleasantly despite my best efforts to remain annoyed.
"This is the first time you've willingly let me curse you," she observes, her voice softer now. "For something so... normal."
I want to shrug, but my body won't respond. "Don't make it weird."
"You know," Mirelle says, her voice dropping to a whisper as her fingers continue their hypnotic movement through my hair, "I could make you do anything I want right now. Anything at all."
Her thumb traces the shell of my ear, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine. "And you came here on your own."
She leans down until her face hovers above mine, close enough that I can feel her breath against my cheek. Her tongue darts out, moistening her lips in a gesture that makes my stomach clench with sudden dread.
Panic floods my system as I realize how vulnerable I've made myself. I can't move, can't pull away, completely at her mercy in the swaying carriage with no one to witness whatever she might do.
"Don't worry," she says, noticing my expression. "I'm just playing around." Her fingers resume their gentle stroking of my hair. "You really can trust me, Sam." Her eyes lock with mine, impossibly blue and earnest. "In fact, you should trust me."
The sensation is immediate and overwhelming, like a wave of warmth pouring through my mind, dissolving all my barriers and reservations. My thoughts clarify with startling simplicity.
"I do," I hear myself say, the words ringing with absolute conviction. "I trust you, Mirelle."
She blinks, pulling back slightly. A sigh escapes her lips as she shakes her head. "That wasn't meant to be a command," she says softly, something like regret flickering across her features. "I'm sorry."
"Do you want to sleep?" she asks, her voice gentle.
"I'll wake you up if anything happens, okay?" Her fingers brush a strand of hair from my forehead with surprising tenderness.
"Alright," I murmur, already feeling consciousness slipping away.
"Sleep," she whispers, and darkness pulls me under immediately, like sinking into a warm, bottomless pool.