The Princess’s Bodyguard Can’t Say No

✦ One Week Later — The Hut in Red Hill Forest

A week had altered the forest. Redhill's destruction and smoke had receded to the beat of cicadas, leaves murmuring overhead of Van and Varric's makeshift hut.

The scent of damp wood and herbs was strong, moonmint drying from the rafters, the distant tinkle of Varric's complaining voice coming from outside.

Asthia's breath caught before her eyes parted. The pain in her head throbbed like iron struck against stone.

She lifted a shaking hand, fingers grasping at her temple, nails scritching bandages.

Her throat was dry. She moved her head slowly, agonizingly.

Seris was at the opposite wall. Arms crossed, posture relaxed but eyes alert, she was a fixed figure in the faint light. She neither shifted, nor spoke, nor even winced at Asthia's movement. Her expression was neutral, as if the presence or lack of Asthia waking was insignificant.

Asthia blinked against the throbbing ache. Memory hit her—The watchtower's veins afire red.

The shockwave ripping the world asunder. Elenya's shriek and the smell of charred flesh. Creeping through stone, her body crumbling, until Reth's silhouette pierced the smoke.

Her eyes jerked to the side.

Elenya rested wrapped in bandages alongside her, draped in strips of fabric until she resembled a ghost more than a girl. Her lips opened with each breath, pale and unwavering. She was alive.

Relief pounded through Asthia's chest so sharply that she ached to cry. She took a slow, trembling breath instead."…Thanks. For that night."

Unsure of whom they addressed.

Seris's face didn't shift. She didn't nod or frown, simply regarded her.

Asthia's mouth compressed. She cast her eyes down, lashes darkening her gaze. Enemy, competitor, stranger—whatever Seris was, she'd brought her out from the destruction. That reality could not be dismissed, even if her silence cut deeper than steel.

Asthia relaxed back on the mat, pain thrumming in every bone. Her hand crossed close to Elenya's, but didn't touch, just close enough to sense the warmth of life under the cloth.

The quiet stretched. Out in the courtyard, Varric laughed harshly at something Van grumbled. Within, only Seris's calm regard remained.

Asthia's eyes snapped shut once more, whispering barely audible. ".Enemies don't pull each other out of fire."

Nothing yet from Seris—But she was still there.

And that, for the moment, was sufficient.

Asthia's eyes flickered open again after an interminable silence, drooping but firm. Her voice grated, parched with thirst."Where is Reth?"

Seris did not waver. "Don't know."

The response was too swift, too flat

Asthia's eyes rested on her, keen even through the fog of pain. Seris wasn't gazing at her—her eyes remained focused on the wall, arms crossed, as if she could keep the falsehood in position by force of will.

Asthia's mouth twisted slightly, not with humor, but with that bitter acknowledgment only she could manage. "You're a worse liar than he is."

The woods outside buzzed, a cicada's song cutting the silence.

Asthia breathed out slow, and shifted her head away from Elenya's slumbering form. Her fingers quivered closer, touching the fabric. "You took me out of the tower. Both us. I recall." She swallowed thickly, her throat scraping. "I owe you for that."

What she said was not gentle. It had force, a soldier's oath, free of ritual.

But Seris's eyes flashed to her then—cold. "I don't want your debt."

Asthia blinked at her, taken aback by the sudden steel in her voice.

Seris pushed off the wall finally, her boots scraping on the floor as she advanced. Her jaw was clenched, her voice as harsh as a blade drawn from its sheath. "You don't owe me. You don't owe anyone. Keep your favors to yourself."

Asthia gazed at her for a moment, the pain in her head pushed aside. And then, gradually, the tip of her lip curled up—not a smile, exactly, but almost. "So proud. So stubborn."

Seris's eyes grew narrow, unreadable.

Asthia relaxed her head back against the mat, breath shaking with fatigue. Her lashes dropped, but her eyes were still locked on Seris for one final, lingering moment. "Fine. No debt. But don't think I'll forget."

Seris did not answer. Her arms crossed again. Her face went blank again.

But she remained.

Asthia rolled, her hands bracing on the mat. She attempted to lift herself.

Pain sliced through her ribs. Her arms shook, body refusing to obey the command. She clamped her jaw shut, sweat dripping down her forehead as she strained up higher—only to tumble halfway up, windless and gasping, shoulders rising and falling.

The mat groaned underneath her as she leaned back. Her jaw clamped harder, forcing the frustration not to betray itself in a sign of weakness.

Seris did not stir to assist. She merely stood there, immobile and taut as a pulled string.

Asthia took a shallow breath, pushing the heel of her hand into her thigh like that pressure would be enough to balance her.

Her voice was soft now, but constant. "You've been there long enough. Don't you ever get tired of staring?"

"Not my business," Seris said, flat.

A soft huff slipped from Asthia's lips. Her head canted a little to look at her. "Then what was your issue in Redhill?"

Seris blinked, but only for an instant. "Trade negotiations," she replied.

Asthia's eyes narrowed. Her mouth twisted slightly, though the effort drained her strength. "Trade negotiations. In Redhill." She let the words sit, savoring them like sour wine. ".You're a worse liar than I supposed."

Seris's arms wrapped tighter around her chest, her face not changing. "Believe what you want."

Asthia narrowed her eyes open once more, just a sliver, to watch the woman there, rigid as a stone, arms crossed like a shield.

She nearly smirked.

That was enough to keep the idea smoldering: perhaps the seed had been planted. Perhaps her "little plot" hadn't been a failure after all.

Asthia released a low sigh, covering it with prettied-up pain, and muttered, "Odd. how things go."

✦ POV — Reth

The axe chopped into the log with a muffled crack, splinters flying into soggy grass.

Reth yanked the haft back up again, sweat gluing to his bandages, shoulders crying out. Each blow should have dropped him flat on the ground. Truth was—without the talent he'd just discovered, he would have been.

He halted, chest heaving, eyes raised through the leaf cover. The sun was high in the morning, its rays slanting between the trees, hot on his skin. He closed his eyes, basking in that warmth.

Convert.

The System flashed at the periphery of his vision:

[Energy Conversion: Solar Energy → Internal Energy]

[Efficiency: Low]

[Warning: Overuse may destabilize host.]

The pain in his arms faded just enough. His breathing steadied. The hum of strength seeped into his veins like water spilled into a broken cup—never full, but enough to keep going.

He tightened his hold on the axe and swung once more. Crack. Another log cleaved clean.

He breathed hard, cursing himself. "If not for this, I'd be on my back already."

Every time was the same: swing, convert, push beyond the limit. Time and again, until his body conformed through sheer defiance of falling. The sun was a skimpy meal, scrawny and searing, but it kept him on his feet.

He laid another log, jaw clenched. More. Harder. Can't afford to stop.

The image of Asthia, white on the mat, and Elenya bound head-to-toe in bandages, seared brighter than the sun. If he couldn't hold the line the next time, there would be no one to rescue them.

The axe swung again. Crack.

The ring of the sound in the clearing was like a promise.

Reth rested the axe against the stump and allowed the panel to unroll once more, pushing his eyes beyond the haze of weariness.

[Energy Conversion Skill — Lv. 1]EXP: 62 / 200Effect: Transfer one form of energy into another at a distance of 10 meters. 1 use per minute.Peril: Overuse injures host.

A laborious breath escaped him. So it did follow. Each swing, each frantic instant of pilfering heat from the sun or converting a blow into force—it was accumulating.

"Sixty-two," he grumbled, lips parched. "Still far to go."

The panel shuddered, projecting over another.

[Class: Black Vow — Lv. 1]

EXP: 350 / 1000Sync Rate: 42%

Reth scrubbed sweat from his forehead with the palm of his hand.

"Well," he grumbled, gazing down at the glowing panel. "Still a ways to go."

The figures glared back at him.

[Energy Conversion Lv. 1 — EXP: 62 / 200]

[Black Vow Lv. 1 — EXP: 350 / 1000]

It seemed infinite. All of the progress was achieved through suffering—swinging that axe until his arms trembled, pulling warmth from the sun until he was scorched, forcing himself when he wanted to fall over.

No easy road. No blessing. Only work.

His fingers wrapped more tightly around the axe. Then I'll persevere. For as long as necessary.

The panels dissolved. The clearing grew still once more—only cicadas in the trees, the whisper of leaves, and the insistent thud of his heart.

He raised the axe again.

And hesitated.

A noise emerged from the bushes at his back. Not wind. Not a small creature. Something larger.

Reth froze, shoulders bunched, axe poised in his hands.

The noise repeated.

Nearer.