“What?” She feels like she’s about to faint. “Why do they want me dead?”

“No one knows why. Ten years ago, the archmage declared a bounty on your head,” he tells her as if it’s only a matter of course.

Of course, of course, of course.

Her life is one big joke. From the moment she was born, everything was out to get her, and since waking up in this body, it’s only gotten worse.

“I will protect you,” the duke reiterates. “They will not win against me in a fight, and if they saw even a sliver of my battle, they will know to give us a wide berth.”

Her breath hitches as she tries to calm down, but the tears begin threatening to fall. His words are reassuring, but her mind is starting to lose control of this body again.

“Here.”

She unfurls herself in time to catch a small bottle that threatens to slip between fabric covered hands. The bottle is shaped like a fancy perfume and is filled with some kind of liquid, its color unknown with how dark green the bottle is.

“Pour it out on your fingers and apply it to where it hurts,” the duke tells her when she looks at him in bafflement. “Good for everything: bruises, stab wounds, broken fingers, you name it.”

Strangely enough, now that he’s pointing it out, she can feel the sting of her scrapes, the pain of her skin, and the ache in her bones.

Ow, she belatedly thinks.

After a moment of hesitation, she pulls out the bottle’s glass stopper and tips it into her hand. The clear liquid is thicker than water but not quite slimy. The strangest part is that it feels cold yet warm in her hand.

To her astonishment, the dirt on her hand seems to dissolve away into nothing. Through the clear liquid, she watches her cuts and scrapes disappear one by one. None of it hurts; all she can feel is that cold-warm sensation.

“Is this magic?” she asks in amazement.

“Elixir extract. Strange you have not heard of it as the elixir plant is considered to be grown by the goddess herself.”

With the way her skin burns at the slightest touch, the church had forbidden her from going outside into the garden. Plants weren’t considered important in her education either.

Wordlessly, she slathers her entire body with the elixir extract. Pain and dirt fade away with each careful rub. It’s such a big relief that she doesn’t even care if the duke watches as her hands move beneath her dress.

When she’s finished, she hands the glass bottle back to the duke, who slides it back to whatever hidden pocket it came from.

“You don’t believe in the Goddess, so where did this elixir plant come from?” she asks, making a mental note to grow an entire garden of the stuff.

“There is a theory that the plant was accidentally cultivated by magic,” the duke says vaguely.

She struggles to stop from asking further questions. There is so much she wants to know, so much she needs to know, but past experience has taught her that men don’t like nosey women. She’ll have to be careful not to throw too many questions at once.

The ice rain continues to beat against the carriage. The lantern has heated the space to a comfortable level. She can feel her eyes droop.

“Are you hurt?” Her voice is gentle and soft, rewarding him with thoughtful words for being her savior.

“Not at all,” Duke Wulf smirks. “I can take on a hundred demons easily.”

“Someone’s confident,” she teases.

“Years of experience does wonders for a sense of self.”

The cold ground seeps through the cushions and into her bones. Her legs grow numb, and her stomach starts to ache. Despite this, she can feel herself nodding off. It’s a struggle to stay awake and converse to plant seeds for future affection.   

“I’m sorry I wasn’t of much help,” she continues to say softly. “I’m afraid I’m rather useless.”

She waits for a gentle rebuke or words of comfort. What she gets is a derisive huff of laughter from the duke. She can feel her eye twitch.

“You were never going to be useful. Raised in ignorance and unable to fight, you are nothing more than a pig to the slaughter,” he tells her mockingly.

The first thing her brain latches onto is the fact he’s calling her a pig.

“Are you calling me fat?” she asks in disbelief. Her food intake has been restricted to the point she can barely function. With the way this body is nearly skin and bones, fat is something to aim for.

“The opposite,” Duke Wulf smiles, “someone like you would make for a very tasteless piece of pork.”

Well, she can always be the kind saintess tomorrow.

“Wake me up when the sun comes back,” she says irritably, lying down and taking care to stay carefully wrapped in the cloak.

“It might not,” he says thoughtfully.

Ominous, but at this point, she doesn’t care if something eats her while she sleeps as long as it eats the duke too.

The cushions are cold and hard, and she curls up tightly to fit. It’s extremely uncomfortable, but with the heat from the lantern and sound of the ice rain pelting the carriage, sleep comes for her.

“I will keep watch,” is the last thing she hears before her consciousness fades.

She dreams of her apartment, dreams she’s drinking hot chocolate on her secondhand couch. Her fake plants turn into demons, and she watches cat videos while faceless figures in black robes line her walls.

Everything is absolutely normal.

Then she looks up, and the duke is suddenly there, holding her face. His tender gold eyes look at her with love. His mouth opens.

“Constance.”

She wakes up screaming.