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Chapter 81: Noble Escort (I)
Zayn blinked, processing.
That was not what he expected.
"You have work to do," he repeated flatly.
She nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes. Work. The guild doesn’t run itself, you know."
There was a pause. Then another. Then —
"Right now?" He squinted at her. "At this very moment?"
She exhaled sharply, visibly flustered, and sidestepped him. "Yes, right now."
He stared at her. n𝚘vp𝚞𝚋.com
She walked to the door, avoiding his gaze like it physically pained her.
When she reached the handle, she hesitated just for a second — long enough to almost make him think she’d change her mind.
But instead, she gave a small wave, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Goodnight, Zayn," and left.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Zayn stood there in silence, still slightly dazed from the alcohol, still buzzing from the adrenaline and heat.
He stared at the door. Then at his own hands.
Then back at the door.
It took his sluggish, alcohol-hazed brain a full three seconds to come to a single, undeniable conclusion.
He had just been cock-blocked.
His eye twitched.
After all of that — after the tension, the flirting, the heat, the kissing — she just... left?
His lips parted, a breath of disbelief escaping him. "Are you serious?"
He ran a hand through his damp hair, half tempted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
He’d been right there. Right there.
And she walked out.
"Unbelievable," he muttered, rubbing his temples.
A groggy sigh left his lips as he dragged himself toward his bed.
He flopped onto the mattress, exhaling sharply as he stared at the ceiling.
The candlelight flickered.
His mind replayed the moment, over and over again.
The warmth of her lips, the press of her body against his, the way she’d almost — almost — let him have her.
And then she left.
"Work," he scoffed. "Who the hell prioritizes work over sex?"
Zayn turned his head, narrowing his eyes. "Don’t judge me."
He could swear something was looking at him, but then again, it was high. It could be a figment of his imagination.
Zayn groaned, covering his face with an arm. This was ridiculous.
With blue balls.
Zayn exhaled heavily, glaring up at the ceiling. "This better not become a habit."
Because if this world was going to keep teasing him this much and then pulling the rug out from under him at the last second...
He was going to lose it.
...
Zayn woke up to the soft glow of morning light spilling through his window, painting golden streaks across the wooden floor.
A cool breeze filtered in, rustling the curtains, carrying with it the sounds of Timberstead waking up — chatter from the streets, the distant clang of a blacksmith’s hammer, and the rhythmic steps of early risers moving about their day.
Surprisingly, he had no hangover.
He blinked a few times, sitting up slowly as the events of last night flickered in his mind.
His lips twitched.
Zayn exhaled through his nose and flopped back against the bed.
"Cockblocked, huh?" he muttered to himself.
The words hung in the air for a moment before he scoffed.
"Whatever."
Still, the memory clung to him as he rolled out of bed, stretching his sore muscles with a quiet groan.
He cracked his knuckles, then made his way to the bathroom.
...
The water was hot, steam curling against his skin as he let it wash away the grime and fatigue.
He ran a hand through his damp hair, working soap through the strands, scrubbing away the remnants of alcohol or saliva that still clung to him from yesterday.
By the time he was finished, he felt awake.
He dried off quickly, throwing on a fresh set of clothes — dark trousers, a fitted shirt, and his usual boots.
His sword rested against the wall nearby, he carried it along though he wasn’t planning on fighting this early in the morning.
Once dressed, he took a deep breath and headed downstairs.
The guildhall was quiet at this hour.
A few adventurers lingered near the bar, nursing morning drinks.
Others were cleaning up the mess of yesterday, some used brooms the good old hard way while others used wind magic, the whole place was cleaned up quickly.
Then, standing by the counter, was her.
The half-elf.
The nice one of course.
She was arranging papers, fingers moving absently over the parchment.
But the moment he stepped into the room, she looked up.
Their eyes met.
She hesitated, shifting her weight slightly as if debating whether to speak.
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
For a moment, she looked almost... shy.
Zayn didn’t wait to find out why.
He brushed past her, moving toward the door.
Her breath hitched— he heard it, but he didn’t stop.
He could feel her gaze on his back, lingering, watching, waiting for him to say something.
But he didn’t look back.
He didn’t have anything to say, things were already as awkward as they were.
The morning air was refreshing as he stepped outside.
Timberstead was already coming to life — merchants set up their stalls, calling out their wares, children darted between wooden carts, and guards patrolled the streets, nodding to familiar faces.
Zayn reached into his pocket, pulling out the note from last night.
The edges were slightly crumpled from how carelessly he had shoved it into his pocket before bed.
He unfolded it and read the words again.
"If you take the job, be at the town square early."
He sighed.
No other details. No name. No explanation. Just instructions.
He was interested in which noble had hired him though, he was going to find out nevertheless.
He stared at the note for a few more seconds before stuffing it back into his pocket and setting off toward the town square.
...
The town square was the heart of Timberstead and also where the marketplace thrived.
Even though it was early, Farmers sold fresh produce, street performers juggled knives for small crowds, and workers moved in and out of nearby shops.
Zayn scanned the area, looking for anything that stood out.
Then, he saw her.
A woman dressed in fine noble attire, standing near a black carriage with golden embroidery.
Her eyes found his almost instantly, as if she had been waiting.
