"Bartholomew?"

I can't think of what else to say.

All eyes are on us.

And why wouldn't they be? I look like I'm a peasant woman who has spent the day toiling in a hot factory, while this epitome of chivalrous masculinity is striding toward me.

It is a universally accepted fact that Bartholomew is a stunning man, particularly with the setting sun glinting off his golden hair like a halo. His crystal clear blue eyes sparkle with relief and his pink lips stretch in a joyful smile. Even if he wasn't calling out to me in his deep, commanding, and excited voice, he would have cut a path through the crowd.

There's nothing I can say to make the situation better. When he drops down on one knee and bows before me, I realize it can, however, get immeasurably worse.

"Your highness, I've sworn my sword and my life to you and—"

"Haha, drunk again are you, cousin? Let's get you back to auntie's house before you make a scene." I swoop down and tug at his shoulders, my lips hovering by his ear as I hiss in a low voice. "No more of this show and shouting. That's an order."

"Of course, your highness," he says in a low, sullen tone. "But all should rejoice at the news of your safety. Why must we hide it?"

I take his large hand, the rough callouses mapping the exact spots the hilt of his sword digs into during battle. A quick flick of my eyes to his belt reveals that very weapon sheathed in its leather scabbard. I sigh and wonder how far this soldier's loyalty goes, and if he'll turn that blade on Cephias.

"Come, this way."

I pull him down the side street where the grocer's stall is beginning to close for the night. I'll just have to deal with him while getting dinner.

Oh gods, will I have to feed him too?

I run over to the canopied storefront with Bartholomew almost tripping over his own feet with the way he has to stoop to keep up with the hold I have on his hand.

"Excuse me, miss," I call out. "May I have two loaves of whatever bread you still have and a quarter of cheese?"

"Aye, I have a couple of rye and a wheat left. Only cheese is goat's."

"One rye and the wheat. Goat cheese would be wonderful. I'd also like a bag of apples and two of those sausage links."

"Your highness, please don't trouble yourself with feeding me."

Good, I think to myself as I keep my eyes forward on the shopkeeper, because I didn't plan to.

"Bartholomew, I need you to stop with calling me 'your highness.' Just call me Taliyah."

"I could never." He gasps as if I've struck him, and I groan as stress floods my body.

"That will be two silver and a copper, miss."

I reach for the purse tucked in the folds of my skirt, but a thick arm, covered in tiny scratches, faded bruises, and one distinct scar juts out to drop the coins in the shopkeeper's awaiting hand.

"Thank you, sir. Please come again for your foodstuffs tomorrow. We open at dawn every day."

With that she turns back to putting her wares away, and Bartholomew holds onto my package of food with a proud smile on his lips.

"Shall we go to the nearby tavern to enjoy dinner?"

Before I can respond, he heads over to an establishment further down the side street and away from the inn where Cephias is anxiously awaiting my return. I consider purchasing more food and heading straight to our room before Bartholomew notices, however someone has already snatched up the last loaf of bread and several crates have moved into storage for tomorrow's sale.

"Are you coming, your highness?"

Again, his booming voice draws a few eyes and I say a prayer of thanks that at least I'm dressed as a pauper, so everyone will think the way he addresses me is part of some playful jest.

However, the less he says it, the better. So, with frustrated curses under my breath, I storm after him, intending to set him straight as quickly and painlessly as possible.

"There's a corner booth. It shall be quiet over there."

Like a cheerful dog leading its master to the kill, Bartholomew stops every so many steps to make sure I'm following. I keep my head low and my eyes to the floor as I navigate through the dense configuration of ale-stained tables and creaking chairs.

Once I take a seat in the booth, I try to breathe easier, but the air is laden with the acrid and bittersweet stench of cigarettes, pipes, and cigars. It seems everyone in the poorly lit room has some variety of herb lit up and stuck between their teeth.

"I know your highness has just purchased some food for supper, but you can order something hot and filling. I have the coin."

"Bartholomew," I say with some strain in my voice since a nice meaty stew would be wonderful if I had the time, "you must stop calling me that. I told you it is Taliyah and to address me any other way is going against a direct order."

The knight's kind face blanches at my words, and despite his immense size, he looks small as he cowers in the booth.

"As...as you say, Tali..." He pauses, swallowing hard and shaking himself out. "Taliyah."

"Thank you," I sigh. "I appreciate your loyalty and dedication, but going about using that title will only cause a fuss. Which is something I don't need right now."

"I understand you must be tired and lost after escaping the dragon. You look so much thinner than you did at the castle."

I think I should also request words like "dragon" and "castle" to disappear from his vocabulary, but I decide to be content with his informality when addressing me.

"How did you escape, your hi—" He shakes his head, tossing the words from his lips and then remaining silent. Choosing to not address me at all is apparently preferable to using my name. That, however, is fine by me.

"We can discuss that later. First, I must know why you are here. You are not in your uniform. Are you scouting undercover? Is your battalion stationed nearby? Are you here with the permission of the Davesh government?"

Instead of wearing the emerald green tunics symbolic of our vast plains, or the armor engraved with the interweaving rivers that form our insignia, Bartholomew wears a plain shirt and a leather vest.

"I'm sorry to say that there are no other Akarnan forces here to make your trip back home easier."

His eyes are cast downward with his guilt and shame at what he assumes is disappointing news. However, his diverted gaze means he can't see the sheer relief that brightens my face.

"You see," he continues, his voice and eyes dropping even lower, "I deserted."

Shock stretches my face, wiping my contentment away in an instant.

"What...what do you mean?"

Bartholomew had been assigned to my guard because he was not much older than me. Growing up beside each other allowed him to understand me in a way that my older and more experienced guards couldn't. I knew him to be loyal to a fault and unabashedly proud of his position in the army. That he would desert is unfathomable.

"I failed you," he says, finally returning his sad, watery eyes to me. "I swore on my life to protect you until death claims either myself or, gods forbid, you. Yet I allowed you to be taken as a sacrifice."

"My parents ordered you to," I say, my heart breaking for the guilt my friend must have been carrying with him these past two months.

"Yes, but the ones who ordered me weren't the ones I swore my life to. You are. I vowed to protect you from all that threatens you and that should have included your parents."

"Oh, Bartholomew." I reach across the table to grab his hand and give it a squeeze. "It's okay."

"No, it wasn't," he said, pulling his hand away and shaking his head. "I started planning my escape the moment I saw your limp body flying away in that monster's clutches."

My muscles tense at his description of Cephias and I have to bite back the animal inside me that wants to defend my lover. I thought he was a monster too when we first met. It's not Bartholomew's fault he doesn't understand. I know he would see them differently if he knew how all dragons are so much more than we ever imagined.

"About a week after you were taken," he continues, ignorant of the tension coiling inside me, "I was able to slip away while patrolling the outer walls. I've been searching for you ever since. And had it not been for the reports of the two dragons fighting close to here, I likely would have never thought to come out to the far reaches of Davesh for you."

I sigh, his kindness and dedication touching my weary heart. Bartholomew is one of the finest swordsmen in our army, but has a soft gentleness to him that prevents him from being a proper soldier—one that my parents can mold and command as needed.

No, Bartholomew is instead the best kind of knight. The kind you can trust with your life without a shred of doubt about where his loyalty lies.

"Why?" I ask with a faint smile. "Why would you do this when I could very well have been dead?"

"Because I can't know you are until I find proof of it. Until I found your body, or died trying, I would not give up." He then pauses and his boyish grin is back. "And clearly I was right to do so because now you are here. It's as if the gods scripted it themselves."

I'm still uncertain whether Bartholomew's presence is a gift or a curse, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the fierce kindness he has shown me.

I take his hand again, this time clasping both of mine over his. I lean in, so he can see the sincerity in my eyes.

"Thank you, Bartholomew. You are truly a knight in both word and deed. I am eternally grateful for your loyalty."

His smile is warm, and his eyes are bright.

"Of course, Taliyah. You are my life and I will not give up on it."

There's a loud scrape of chairs against the floor, as well as several hollered curses. I pull away from my companion and turn to see what has caused the racket now filling the smoky tavern. It only takes an instant for my mind to register what has happened, and my heart drops into my stomach.

I see a man, muscular and lean, pushing through the tavern door, his mane of shaggy red-brown hair trailing after him.

Cephias saw us.