Lor blinked, his grin faltering.
"Youā" Heād thought he was subtle.
She cut him off with a small flick of her hand toward the pile of logs, her eyes never leaving her work.
"Carry those. Iāll give you twenty percent of the profit when I sell."
"Twenty?" Lor almost laughed, the absurdity pulling him out of his shock. "Do I look like a pack mule? Forty."
Her brows lifted slightly, just a fraction, the closest thing to amusement heād ever seen on her face.
She adjusted her grip on the axe, tapping its edge into the dirt with a soft thud, her icy-blue eyes flicking to him briefly. "Thirty. And donāt test me."
Lor smirked, sensing a crack in her icy facade.
So she does care about numbers.
"Forty, or I leave. And you can drag all this yourself."
A pause hung between them, the forestās silence amplifying the tension.
Then, "Fine. Forty."
She turned back to the tree, her axe splitting another trunk with a sharp crack, not bothering to look at him again, as if the negotiation was already forgotten.
Lor wandered to the pile, a quiet triumph warming his chest, though the weight of the first log quickly reminded him he might have oversold his bargaining power.
The bark bit into his forearms as he hefted it, the wood heavier than it looked.
"Damn..." he muttered, half to himself, half hoping sheād acknowledge his effort.
She didnāt.
After a few minutes of strained hauling, his muscles burning under the weight, he couldnāt resist breaking the silence. "So... how long have you
really
known I was watching?"
Her reply was immediate, her axe splitting another log with a clean
thwack
. "Since you started following me after lunch."
She tossed the halves aside, dusting frost from her fingers with a casual flick. "You arenāt subtle."
Lor blinked, his hands pausing on a log. "ButāIām pretty good at hiding myā"
"Not to me." She slipped her hand into her pocket, pulling out a single silver coin, and flicked it toward him without looking.
It rang once against his chest before he caught it, his fingers closing around the cold metal.
He frowned at it, turning it over in his palm, the familiar weight sparking a flicker of recognition. "Whatās this?"
"Thanks," she said simply, bending to stack another log, her movements as precise as ever. "For covering me."
Lorās mouth went dry, his fingers tightening around the coin.
She
knew
āabout the gust of wind heād conjured to throw off the short-blade manās strike, the subtle magic heād thought was undetectable.
Heād been so careful, masking it in the chaos of her fight.
"Why didnāt you call on me then?" he asked, curiosity pushing past the shock, his voice low but insistent.
The axe split another log, the sound sharp and final.
Her shoulders rolled with the motion, her braid swaying as she stacked the pieces with meticulous care. "Because I didnāt care."
"Youā" Lor blinked, caught off guard. "Didnāt care?"
Her eyes flicked to him briefly, sharp enough to sting, like a blade of ice grazing his skin.
"I donāt care what you want. I donāt care why you followed. I donāt want to know what your perverted mind thinks, whether you came here to jerk off to something, or just watch me."
Her voice was flat, each word a cold, precise cut, delivered without malice but with a weight that landed hard.
Lorās jaw tightened, a flash of insult sparking in his chest, his pride pricked by her dismissal.
For a heartbeat, he felt exposed, stripped bare by her tone alone.
But beneath that sting was a strange thrillāthe cold confidence, the icy indifference, only made her hotter, her untouchable aura a challenge that stirred something deep in him.
"You really know how to make a guy feel useful," he muttered, hauling another log to the stack, his muscles straining under the weight.
"I said forty percent." She bent again, her blonde hair slipping over one shoulder, catching the light in a cascade of gold. "Youāll get it. Donāt expect more."
He looked down at the coin still in his hand, turning it over, feeling its chill weight against his palm.
"Youāre... a hard woman to impress, Ameth," he said, his voice teasing but laced with genuine curiosity.
"I donāt need to be impressed," she replied without missing a beat, her axe sinking into another trunk with a sharp crack. "I need the logs carried."
Lor grinned despite himself, the sting of her words fading under the quiet thrill of her acknowledgment.
Cold as ice, yet sheād given him the coin, noticed his help, even if she claimed not to care.
He stacked another log, his muscles aching now, sweat prickling his brow despite the cool forest air.
Ameth moved beside him without a word, adjusting the pile, setting it straighter, cleaner, her meticulous nature a stark contrast to the chaos of the fight sheād just won.
For a while, silence reigned againājust the rhythmic
thwack
of her axe, the thud of logs hitting the pile, and Lorās quiet grunts as he worked.
But in that silence, a tension built, heavy and unspoken, not the heat of lust but something sharper, more complex.
The kind of tension that pressed between them, building until it needed somewhere to go.
He risked a glance at herāthe sheen of sweat on her collarbone, the faint frost still clinging to her wrists, the way her tunic clung to her lean frame when she bent.
Her face was blank, but her body betrayed her strength, her endurance, a quiet power that made his pulse quicken.
"Forty percent, huh?" he said, his voice sly as he hefted another log. "You drive a tough bargain."
She gave the smallest shrug, her axe splitting another trunk. "Profit makes more sense than favors."
"Still," he said, his grin widening, "if I didnāt know better, Iād think youāre starting to like having me around."
Ameth didnāt even blink, her icy-blue eyes fixed on her work. "Donāt flatter yourself."