Charmaigne slowly stopped dead in her tracks, feeling out of breath. She felt as if she were broiled alive despite the thick tree shades that coated around her. Almost no light, except needle-like rays, came through the wildly overgrown forest. It also meant that hardly any breeze could bypass the thickness of the plants. It did not help her respiration that she wore layers upon layers of satin and velvet. By now, most of her dress by her ankles had torn or ripped away by the sharp objects during her hike. She was covered in a combination of sweat and dirt and dried blood.

She had never felt so miserable before, being dehydrated, famished and exhausted at the same time. She ate close to nothing for the past three days, save the tidbits of bread she packed away at the beginning of her “journey.” The only drops of water that touched her lips were sparingly given to her by Dante, who kept telling her to conserve for more imperative uses.

Without warning, Charmaigne collapsed. She had hardly slept for the past three days. It was taking a toll on her body.

Further up ahead, upon her thud into the realm of semi-unconsciousness, Dante turned around. He gave a tiny scowl, but backtracked to retrieve a tattered and defeated pile of Charmaigne.

He lifted her head, took from his waist a leather-brown pouch and poured the last of its content into her parted chapped lips. When she could not hold the drink on her own without some help, Dante took a couple mouthfuls himself and fed it to her straight into her mouth.

Charmaigne gratefully accepted the water, each time enjoying deep sips from his lips, and savoring the sweetness up to the moment she opened her eyes. Seeing Dante on her, she panicked and instinctively slapped him on the left cheek. Surprised by the sting, he released her and she fell back to the ground. They stared at each other, unspeaking for an instant. Finally Dante, giving a curt laugh or scoff, pointed at his chin, indicating the water, like drool, still dripped from her cheek. Embarrassed, she smeared it off with a dirty sleeve, along with his watery kiss.

“I’m s-sorry,” said she, who was not very good or keen on apologizing, “I did not intend to slap you.”

He dismissed the apology and said instead, “The sun’s ready to set, we must make haste.” He unfolded himself and stood up to his maximum height.

Charmaigne always noticed his conspicuous presence. It wasn’t because his physique was so grand or anything, though he was average height. It was more about the overconfident and commanding atmosphere he exerted, and the specific positions he controlled his body to hold up. He was muscular, this Charmaigne had to admit. He was built to withstand brute force, unlike her puny self. She had had weak health since birth and all royal treatments further softened her.

“Can you walk?” he asked somewhat coolly. She resented the tone he was using to her.

“I…I think. I suppose…”

Dante barely nodded and before she even stood up, he left to clear a path.

His effort had gone to waste, however. Every five step, Charmaigne would trip over low ankle-shrubs, or the hem of her dress would get attached and she had to disentangle it every time. At one point, with the sky’s lid closing fast on them, Dante walked back to confront Charmaigne.

“You need to get rid of that dress. It’s hindering us, Princess.”

“I cannot do that!” Charmaigne was indignant of his haughty command. The night was turning colder. Everywhere she turned, insects and bug-eyed creatures were crawling. Nor did she have another change of clothes. His suggestion was completely absurd. She gave him the cold shoulders and aimed to pass him.

Dante’s right hand reached out across to her left shoulder and pulled her back.

“It’s hindering us,” he said very sternly.

“You are hindering us,” she stated boldly and immediately regretted it.

He treated her to a silent sneer and stooped down.

“You will not—! Keep away!” she ordered in a frantic. “What are you trying to do!?” But he wasn’t listening to her highness screaming. He grabbed the end of her dress and cut it with his knife until it reached a bit higher than her knees, revealing a pair of white lanky legs. He threw her the cut pieces and left without apologizing.

Charmaigne’s back was pressed against a tree and she dared not stir, her eyes etched into Dante’s back. She was breathing hard. That cold man! He was merciless. He scared her greatly, too. There was no telling what went on in his mind.

After a minute or two of wavering, she trailed a great distance after him. There was no advantage to being left behind in a forest with the sky settling in to darkness. Yet, Dante was alert to her every movement despite the gap between them. For when she fell down again and did not seem able to get up, he returned to her side once more.

“I am too fatigued. I am famished as well,” she responded truthfully, hoping to spend the night on the spot she sat on, however unwilling she truly felt inside. She missed her feathery mattress back home. “Cannot we just settle here?”

“No,” was all Dante’s resonating voice said, indicating that they must not stop at all cost until he finds a safer spot. He approached her, to which she shrunk back a little, and ordered her to climb on his back. His chilly gray eyes made her obey.

Charmaigne felt extremely uncomfortable when she at last successfully got onto his broad back. She blushed furiously. Her entire body was adhered to his, causing awkward intimacy and rubbing sensation every step he took. He was as sweaty and hot as she was. His short ponytail got into her face, too. He supported her by the knees, her arms around his neck. Still, the arrangement gave her an insecure sensation that she might slide right down and he would not even—

“Would you relax a little?” Dante felt her completely rigid behind him. “As if you’re not bony enough, you’re jabbing at me,” he said dryly. “You can trust me. I’m not the one who exiled you so I will not hurt you.” Dante picked up speed. It would be troublesome for both of them to see once the light completely slipped away. They still had a far trek to accomplish and they must not halt until dusk, when a short nap would be permitted. They would move again when daybreak returned.

“W-where are we going?” she asked like a scared child.

“Out of this jungle, firstly. If I’m not mistaken, we should make by the border of a friendly country. A friend of mine resides there in between. We shall pay him a visit—that is if we survive.” His tone was sardonically playful.

“But if he helps either of us, he’ll be branded a traitor! Death would be ensued upon his head! What of his family then?” She hissed in his ear. His neck snapped around so fast that their lips almost touched again.

“Caleb is not a coward.”

“But…”

“If you persist on interrupting me, the royal guards would catch up to us. Then we’ll both be killed in a second. Can’t you be a bit more positive, Princess?” That shut Charmaigne up for quite a while. Eventually, her strength-worn body led her off to sleep on Dante’s broad back, a complete stranger who shared the same fate as hers. She was acquainted with him for three short days, and already her life depended on this man, who was six years her senior.