“Wait! I have a plan!”

The bandit halted his sword. The clearing fell silent as thirty pairs of eyes darted around, before settling on Meya.

Meya tried in vain to stifle the shivers as she stared into those cold, ruthless eyes.

“You—you want nothing but the dowry, right?” She held up both hands; a sign of compromise. “We don’t know where it is. We really don’t. But please don’t kill us yet. We can help you find it.”

For a moment which seemed to stretch on forever, the bandit locked his emotionless gaze on Meya, the tip of his sword inches from the redheaded maid’s bowels. Meya saw the calculations going on in his eyes, and she willed hers to show only confidence in her proposal, even as she thought up each sentence as she went.

“We’re only a day away from Hadrian Castle. And we have—” Meya cast a reluctant, swift glace at the bloody corpses lying nearby, “five—vacancies in our entourage. We’ll take you into the castle disguised as our guards. That way, you can search every nook and cranny. If it’s handed over at the wedding, you’ll be there to see.”

After another sickening pause, the bandit lowered his sword and loosened his fist, leaving redheaded girl to collapse onto the ground, coughing and sputtering. The other maids reached out to pull her back. They fell into each other’s embraces, rocking with hushed sobs.

The bandit remained focused on Meya. With one stride, he covered the distance between them and crouched down on one knee, driving his curved sword into the ground beside Meya, who jolted.

“Young maiden, are you suggesting that five of us infiltrate Hadrian Castle and surround ourselves with Hadrian’s men while we turn over every brick, instead of just forcing the truth out of your Lady here and now?”

Meya cowered, but she couldn’t help noticing a peculiar detail in that vicious statement.

Turn over every brick. So, it wasn’t gold or land. Must be something small. Something unusual. Something specific. Were they actually regular thieves? Or did someone hire them to steal something in particular?

“I reckon if Lady Arinel knew, she would’ve said something long since. What’s more important here than her own life? You’re right, we may or may not have it. If you kill us and find it, then that’s that. If you don’t, then you’ve lost yourself the only lead you were never meant to have. Haven’t you just said you’d improvise?”

As half of her brain mulled over those words, Meya plowed on with the negotiation, firing out anything and everything that came to mind without caring for coherence or meaning.

“If you couldn’t find the dowry with us, you’d have to infiltrate Hadrian Castle anyway. You found one decoy. How can you be sure there isn’t more? If I were Lord Crosset and the dowry were that dangerous, why would I send it with my daughter? I’d send out ten fake Lady Arinels and send the real thing with the pony post. What if it’s already reached the castle? What if you kill us now and the Hadrians grow suspicious when the Lady isn’t there on time? Your best option is to go with us.”

Meya could barely feel her lips. The bandit was now studying her glowing green eyes, and she pleaded through them. Had she been any less desperate, Meya would know to avoid calling any sort of attention to her eyes in such a delicate negotiation. Yet, the bandit did not seem put off by her eyes. Rather, he seemed...sympathetic?

Meya peered into the bandit’s eyes. They were dark, emerald green. The same color as her dimmed eyes when she put her collar on. Could it be...?

The bandit remained silent for a long, excruciating moment.

“What is your name, young maiden?” He finally asked. Meya blinked.

“Meya Hild.”

She went with honesty. Everyone here had seen her eyes with no collar on, anyway. Lying would be pointless at best and disastrous at worst.

The bandit frowned as if trying to recall something, then he seemed to give it up and simply nodded. His expression remained neutral, something that could not be said of any Crossetian upon hearing her name. Despite herself, Meya felt an unwitting drop of camaraderie towards the murderous bandit before her.

“Your argument is solid, Meya Hild, but you still haven’t figured out how I could be sure you would not betray us to the Hadrians once we’re there.”

Meya wrung her brain for a solution. The bandit was relenting, but having a jagged-edged, bloodstained sword sticking up in front of your face wouldn’t serve to speed things up, no matter how desperately one wanted it to.

“You could poison them and withhold the antidote, Gillian. That’ll make sure they’ll cooperate with us ’til the end.” Suggested a thin, rat-faced bandit who had his place on Gillian—was that his name?—the head bandit’s right hand side.

Meya found herself innately saluting Rat-Face. It was a brilliant suggestion, but she must make sure the playing field was level. As Gillian raised his eyebrows at his subordinate, Meya vigorously nodded her support,

“Right. A slow poison. One that kills us in a week or something. We’ll give you ours, too. For obvious reasons. Then, after the job is done, we arrange an antidote drop.”

Gillian unfurled a slight smirk. Feeling sure of the way the negotiation was proceeding, Meya turned back to her companions, who had stayed silent throughout the exchange.

“I don’t like having to work with them, or the feeling that my days are numbered, too. But I can’t think of any other way.” She met eyes with the remaining guards and maids one by one, apologetic. “And since it’s your lives as well, you all had better say something, too.”

The maids glanced at each other, then turned as one to the guards, who again threw responsibility to their leader. The head guard looked at Meya, his expression a rough mixture of fear, uncertainty, and thankfulness, then he settled on a resigned nod.

“I’m at my wit’s end as well. So long as it keeps our lady alive, I’m in, little lass.”

At the tired go-ahead, Meya turned back to Gillian. He stood with arms crossed, patiently waiting.

“Trunt, you’ve heard her. Do we have anything of the sort?” His gaze was still locked onto hers. A stocky bandit skulking near the maids perked up at the sound of his name, cocked his head in thought, before answering eagerly.

“Dun think so, commander. But we can stop by Old Angus’s on the way. Sure he’ll have somethin’ that does the job.”

“Then we go with Dockar’s plan.” Gillian nodded in satisfaction, then turned back to his hostages.

“Very well, Crossetians. It seems you’re going to live for another few days thanks to little Meya Hild.” He carelessly indicated Meya with his sword, sending a few drops of blood spattering her face, then swung it towards the five dead guards.

“Do what you must for the dead, but make it swift and bring us clean uniforms. First light tomorrow, we move out.”

As the head bandit turned away and made to order about his men to set up camp, and the guards toddled uncertainly towards their departed comrades, muffled noises sounded from the white carriage behind them. Perhaps it must have gone on for a while, but no-one noticed due to the high-stakes negotiations unfolding before them.

“Lady, no you mustn’t—it’s dangerous!”

“Let go of me—I said, let go!”

After a final screech, the carriage door burst open, revealing the young Lady of Crosset, flanked by her two trusted servants. Though she had been sheltered from the battle outside from the start, she was red in the face and panting hard, her golden curls tangled and lopsided and her face shining with sweat. The nurse and the masked maid were in no better shape. There must have been another fight going on inside that carriage.

“Lady Arinel!”

The maids gasped in fright as the Lady swept down the steps. Some shot covert looks at Meya in apprehension. They had forgotten about the Lady and went ahead with the bargain without her consent. From the fury flaring from her emotionless blue eyes, she wasn’t too impressed with the outcome, either.

“I am the one who will have to open my betrothed’s home to these lowlifes. Have you forgotten?” Arinel snapped, cold fire spitting from every word. Her eyes scoured the clearing for that insolent maid who had volunteered her whole entourage for a castle heist.

“Do you not consider it necessary to consult my opinion beforehand?”

“Your Grace, we—” The head guard stepped in to pacify his charge, but Meya cut him off by standing up, declaring herself the culprit and calling Arinel’s glare to her.

Meya wasn’t sure what had driven her to do so. Perhaps it was the fear that Arinel would derail the fragile pact they had made, that the bandits would revert to their initial plan, slaughter them all then root through their corpses. Perhaps she couldn’t trust the head guard to handle Arinel by himself. Perhaps she was insulted that Arinel had watched from the sidelines then came gliding in by the end just to speak her mind. Whatever it was, it was making her entire body tremble trying to keep it in check.

“Thank Freda you’re finally out for some fresh air, Your Grace.”

Meya greeted through gritted teeth as Arinel’s eyes slanted to her, injecting an extra dose of venom into that last word.

“Before we hear your opinion, would you care to heed the voices of the living whether they still want to die in the rotten name of Crosset?”

Meya had barely finished when something slammed into her bleeding cheek so forcefully it sent her staggering. She spun back in confusion and anger, and found Arinel with her hand raised, shaking and panting.

“How dare you.” Her whisper trembled with fury. “How—dare—you!”

“If even you don’t know where that dowry is, then tell us what else we can do.” Meya ignored the stinging. She rolled her lips to drink the blood trickling into her mouth, shouting,

“You’re our lady, for Freda’s sake. Do something!”

Arinel simply stared, her lips so tightly pursed they became mere lines.

“I choose death.” She drew back, her steps faltering. “Do whatever you want. I’d rather die in this forest than bring shame upon the name of Crosset.”

“My lady, no!”

The old nurse threw herself at her beloved charge in despair. Arinel looked as if she had been cursed into stone; she stood rigid and pale, staring resolutely ahead. Meya was at a loss. If only for a beat, before anger crashed back in and expanded to test her constraints. Her heart thundered and she clenched her hands into fists, hoping to temper the coursing, boiling blood.

“You choose death, you say?” She said coolly, then cocked her head. “Well, that’s typical of you blue-blooded folk. You don’t give two farts, do you, what will become of us so long as you got off easy?”

Arinel bit her lip, reaffirming her choice with silence. Meya gnashed her teeth.

“These people died so you can live. And you said you choose death?”

She jabbed her finger at the bloody corpses now in the arms of the living guards. The healthy blush vanished from Arinel’s cheeks, leaving behind stark white. She gaped at the dead men and met eyes with the remaining guards, some of them with silent tears streaming down their cheeks, and finally the truth dawned on her.

“They’re...are they...dead?”

Her voice was barely a whisper, but the head guard heard her nevertheless and nodded sympathetically.

Arinel stumbled back to the carriage stairs, sinking down in horror, her eyes unfocused and distant. Meya rolled her eyes at the darkening sky.

Great. Now she was unresponsive from shock. They probably wouldn’t be getting a comprehensible yes or no out of her for a while. A while they did not have. Worse, once she recovered, she might just choose to die out of guilt anyway.

It was through sheer desperation and annoyance that Meya heaved a dramatic sigh, then sucked in another deep breath.

“Fine. I’ll be Lady Arinel myself.”

She declared. A solid silence undercut by the shrill song of early crickets followed, broken by the astounded cries of the head guard and the old nurse.

“What?”

Meya spared them a swift glance, then turned her attention back to Arinel. The Lady remained wordless, but the prospect of Meya assuming her identity have knocked her back to reality. At her incredulous glare, Meya shrugged,

“There’s no need to worry. If we failed, I’d confess to my crimes. Your family’s honor would be preserved. You can die rest assured.” She added drily, then shrugged once more. “My father has six decent children back home. I’m sure he could spare one Greeneye.”

Meya kept up her bravado, even as the bitter taste of her own words seeped onto her tongue. Arinel blinked a few times as she digested it.

“And...what if you succeeded?” She frowned.

“Then I’d just continue being Lady Crosset. Isn’t that the reward I deserve?” Meya braved yet another shrug, striving to look as insulting and aggravating as she dared. Arinel was too distracted to take offense; her eyes grew even wider.

“You’ll marry Lord Coris in my place and be me for the rest of your life?”

Meya almost jolted. Chione’s Ninnies! How could she have forgotten? The sole purpose of this ill-fated journey was for Arinel to get married! But she couldn’t stop now. Arinel must believe she was going through with this.

“Of course.” Meya cocked her head as if it was the most obvious thing in the three lands. “You chose to die, but your name is still useful. You threw away a name thousands would kill to have. I’d be the biggest fool to leave it here.”

Arinel bit her lip, then rose to her feet, glaring at Meya with cold fury in her eyes. Meya couldn’t resist a grin.

Good. She’s getting roiled up.

“I’d even say it’s my right. After all, I came up with the plan, not you. Everyone alive here is alive thanks to me, not you. I protected the people of Crosset, while you hid behind the corpses of your people. Doesn’t that make me worthier of being Lady Crosset than you?”

Anger disappeared from Arinel’s eyes at her words, to be replaced with something Meya had not expected—guilt and shame, and, even as Meya called her bluff, she found herself starting to believe in it.

Meya did something she had never done before; she had done something useful for other people. And they had appreciated it. She had, for once in her life, succeeded—or, at least, didn’t fail that spectacularly.

“I spent my life fattening pigs for my family. Since my family couldn’t eat my meat, I have to make myself useful some other way. And I need your name for that.”

Silence fell amidst a clash of ice blue against glowing acid green. Arinel surveyed Meya in thought for an excruciating moment, then her lips finally moved.

“Glowing green eyes. You’re Meya Hild, aren’t you?”

Meya blinked, taken aback by the unexpected query and Arinel’s incredible calm. Frowning, she eked out a reluctant nod. For obvious reasons, Meya didn’t like revealing her name to a fellow Crossetian. Arinel hitched up a slight smile.

“My name is Arinel Crosset.” She continued. “You take it, and I take yours. Until that day you’re worth more than a pig, and I’m worthy of carrying my name.”

It took Meya a moment to register all Arinel had said.

“What?” Meya croaked, eyes bulging. Arinel nodded.

“Seeing as you’re so confident that you can make more out of my prestigious name than myself, I’ll let you borrow it. Keep it forever if you must. I hope you use it well.”

“Lady!” The nurse exclaimed, aghast, but Arinel was unwavering, her eyes never leaving Meya’s.

“I have been humbled by shame. But I shall not let any insolent peasant girl insult me twice.”

Arinel reached for her necklace and tugged, snapping the brittle chain. She tossed the silvery emerald-studded crest into Meya’s hand. As Meya stared, mouth open in utter disbelief, Arinel pulled off her jewelry one by one then deposited them in her overflowing hands.

All she had meant to do was persuade Arinel to cooperate with the plan. Never in her wildest dreams did Meya expect Arinel to take her bluff word-for-word, and throw away her name in favor of Meya’s stupid, worthless (not to mention infamous) peasant girl’s name.

Though it may have all been for the Lady’s own safety, for the first time, Meya couldn’t help feeling something akin to respect for the proud, noble lady before her, but it was soon engulfed by fear.

She was going to become a lady. And she was marrying a lord. Not just as a mistress, but a fully-fledged, lawfully-wedded wife.

And, no matter the outcome of this heist, regardless of whether her life would end in less than a week or in twenty years—she would be spending a large part of it as Lady Arinel Crosset.