LILTHENEEL

A cool breeze flows through the half-open shutters, touching your shoulders like a weightless mist. You sit on the bed, slowly running a comb through a soft lock of hair.
For several days now, a vague anxiety has not left you; it is so deep, as if fate itself is trying to reach you, whispering about the coming changes.
*
A heavy, calloused hand covers your mouth, and a hoarse half-whisper reaches your ears. —"Quiet, Yatohime. Your emperor is dying, his nephew will take the throne by dawn, and his first order of business is to execute all the concubines. I have been ordered to take you away." — when the man is sure that you will not make any unnecessary loud sounds, he straightens up, removing his hand from your lips.
—"You have three minutes to get ready, all questions later."—

• *
  The first three days of the journey pass in a fog. Nile barely speaks, his presence feels like a blade at your throat. He eats standing, sleeps sitting, and never puts down his sword. You are a burden to him. Nothing more.

On the fourth day, there is a landslide. —"We'll have to go through the pass, the trail is old. That will add at least five days to the journey."—
—"Is there another option?"—
—"There is. Go back and die."—
—"Can you handle it?"—
—"And if not?"—
—"Then I'll carry you. Let's go."—
*
A couple of days later, horsemen catch up with you. "Run up the path and hide behind a large boulder. Don't come out, no matter what. I'll catch up." He lies, but you do as he says.

You don't see the fight, only hear the clanging of metal, screams, and the dull thud of bodies hitting stone. Nil appears from around the corner, his sword sheathed, but a scarlet drop trickles down the blade. Your gaze drops to his forearm: the edges of the wound have already begun to darken—a sign of poison.
—"Just a scratch, let's move on."—
-"It's not a scratch."—
—"I said, let's move on."—

The next day, it starts snowing. You barely notice a slanted roof among the trees—an old hunting lodge.
-"There"-
It's dark and cold inside. While you're starting the fire, the guy sits down by the door, leaning his back against the frame. His breathing is heavy and ragged.
—"Take off your coat, I'll look at the wound."