The Thief and Prince

Chapter 24: Homecoming

A knock on the door rouses me the next morning and I can't help but squeeze my eyes shut and silently beg for them to go away. Beside me, I hear Crispin's light breathing and know that it must be one of the others giving us a wakeup call. The knocking turns into a rapping and I groan, rolling over.

"Five more minutes," I call out in a groggy voice and feel the raven haired beauty beside me begin to stir.

"It's dawn, Cora. We need to eat breakfast and get back on the road," I hear Laria say in a matter-of-fact tone.

Sighing in defeat, I sit up and pad over to the door, cracking it open half a foot. "Okay okay I'm up," I say before yawning and lean against the frame. The dim light through the window catches my eye and I look out, noticing that the sun has not yet risen. Squinting, I can make out a few falling white flakes and realize that it must have started to snow and make a mental note to dress in extra layers for the day.

Laria—who is fully dressed and clad in her armor—crosses her arms and gives me a knowing look. "Sleep alright last night? Or did something keep you up?" she asks, eying Crispin in the bed for a moment.

Smirking, I shake my head, avoiding her question. "I'll get him up and meet you two downstairs in a few minutes?" I suggest. Just then, Amiri pops his head around Laria's right shoulder and bites into an apple, an audible crunch filling the air.

"Morning Cora. I see our sweet prince is still asleep, eh?" he asks, looking at Crispin's sprawled out form on the bed.

Nodding, I give a grin. "See you in a few minutes. Can you go ahead and order us some breakfast?" I ask, remembering that Harper mentioned that she offers complimentary breakfast in the mornings when we got back last night. Laria gives me a nod and I shut the door, turning to Crispin.

He looks much younger in his sleep, his handsome bearded face taking on a boyish charm. His mouth is slightly parted revealing his straight white teeth while his right hand rests on his abdomen which rises and falls with each breath.

Wishing for nothing else but to lay in bed all day with him, I sigh and walk over, giving him a light shake. "Crispin, wake up. We have to get going," I say in a soft voice. I repeat the action and his eyes flutter open before focusing on me.

"Good morning," he says in a voice thick with sleep.. He pushes himself up and I watch as his muscles tighten and flex with the small movement. I grin until my eyes land on the fresh scar on his forearm and my hand reflexively goes to my own. My index finger grazes over it and I wonder how his father will react to that too. Will he be quick to anger that his son will forever be marked as a slave? A constant blemish that serves as a reminder that he failed such an important task?

"What's wrong?" he asks me, standing up and stretching. He notices me examining my arm and places his hands on his hips, striking a nonchalant pose. "I hear brands are the new tattoos in the West," he lies, a poor attempt to ease whatever is bothering me, "We'll be quite fashionable don't you think? The talk of the town."

Shaking my head, I fight off a grin and walk over, grabbing my clothes. "We'll be the talk of the town alright," I mutter before meeting his gaze. "I guess I'm just little nervous about today is all," I tell him.

He tilts his head and walks over to me, pulling me into an embrace. My night shiv is paper thin, so his warmth radiates through the thin fabric and I shiver. "Don't be," he ensures me, and places a gentle kiss on the top of my head.

Nodding, I reach up and brush my lips against his for a brief moment before getting dressed. I pull on a pair of wool tights and layer it with two of my thickest tunics. Digging towards the bottom of my bag, my hand brushes against a knitted grey modal scarf and I wrap that around my neck, letting it hang loosely.