“Several hours by transport.”
Her fingers ease slightly on the frame.
“Into the wild lands.”
“Yes.”
She looks back out the window. “So this is the last city I’ll see for a while.”
Not a question.
I study her for a moment before answering. “Yes.”
She nods once. I can scent the shift in her again. Not panic. Grief. Thin and controlled, like the rest of her feelings. Leaving one world. Entering another. The body knows the cost even when the mind has already chosen.
I want to tell her something useful. That she will be fed before nightfall. That she will be given rest. That the camp will not touch what is mine without permission. That her room, my tent, her clothing, all of it is already being prepared. That I will not let her be handled roughly. That I see the fear and do not despise it.
The words gather and stop. Too much.
So I give her one truth instead. “You will not be harmed on my road.”
Her gaze lifts sharply to mine.
There. That matters. Not because she fully believes me yet. She does not. But because some part of her needed to hear me define the road as mine. Safe because it is mine. Protected because she is under me now.
Her mouth parts slightly. “I didn’t think I would be.”
No. That is not what she means. She means she did not know enough to think one way or the other. I can hear the difference.
“Now you do,” I say.
Silence settles again, but not the same silence as before. My words live inside this one now.
The city thins. Stone becomes lower walls, outer compounds, supply yards, transport enclosures, then long roads bordered by tall grasses and dark trees. Even the air through the filtered vents changes. Less layered city scent. More open ground. Sun-warmed earth. Water somewhere in the distance.
Once, through the side panel, I catch a small herd enclosure beyond a low wall, broad-backed animals moving in the dust. Not drenak. Smaller city stock. Keandra notices too. Her face turns slightly toward the vent, like she is trying to sort what she smells.
“Different,” she says under her breath.
I should let it pass. Instead I answer. “The city smells wrong.”
That startles something close to amusement across her face before she can hide it. It is small. Quick. Gone almost at once.
But I see it.
My whole body stills at the sight. That expression belongs nowhere except my camp. My furs. My morning light. It should not happen first in a transport leaving the capital.
Desire hits low and hot. Not because she smiled. Because I caused it.
I say nothing and force myself to look away for one long breath.
Dangerous. Every small thing with her is dangerous.
The transport hits a rougher section of road and jolts. Keandra catches herself against the side brace, but the movement throws her slightly off balance anyway. My body reacts before thought. I lean forward, hand half-lifted.
She freezes.
I stop.
