Perfect Strangers

The king's men were hot on his trail.

Cold air whipped against the thief's skin as he ran deeper into the forest, ducking beneath a few loose branches and switching his direction multiple times in attempts to shake them. Despite struggling to see in the darkness, the man ran faster, a smile crossing his slightly-chapped lips.

All of this for a lousy necklace?

Breaking into the palace was arguably his most difficult challenge yet. He had spent weeks researching the castle's every possible exit and charting the times it would be easiest to take a few little trinkets. One of those times happened to be 5:39 A.M.

It was difficult, of course, but far from impossible. The man loved the adrenaline rush that came with these heists, and this was a pretty good one. He had arrived at the right time and gotten in and out nearly undetected.

He had everything under control. That is, he did until he quite literally ran into someone in the middle of his getaway.

The woman yelped as they knocked each other to the ground. She said something to him that he couldn't quite understand—he was too focused on the fact that the enemy was still chasing after him. He swore under his breath at the sound of knights in the distance, hastily grabbing her hand and running off the trail. Dirt and leaves tangled in her hair as he pushed her to the ground.

"Excuse me-" She let out a muffled sound of protest when he placed a hand over her mouth.

The stranger’s voice was barely above a whisper, his breath tickling her ear as he spoke. "Hush or they'll hear you."

Before she was able to argue, the ground began to rattle beneath them. Her eyes flickered back to the dirt road just as several pairs of footsteps thudded against the trail, light from foreign torches flaring in the darkness. Both of their heads quickly dipped behind the bushes at the sound, sitting in heavy silence until the stomping faded into nothingness. He let out a sigh of relief once the light vanished along with it.

She cleared her throat.

"Oh, right," He moved his hand, promptly standing after he realized what she was trying to say. “Sorry about that. Just didn’t want to get sentenced to death or anything.”

The man extended a hand to help her to her feet, but she waved it off, stubbornly standing on her own. “Who were those people?”

“The royal guard.”

Something about his tone seemed chillingly dismissive to her. He reached into his satchel, grabbing two rocks and a piece of cotton. The perfect strangers stood in the dewy forest, the sun refusing to rise and a cold morning breeze biting their skin.

The woman huffed when she tried to brush off some of the dirt on her dress, only to accidentally smear it deeper into the fabric. “Why were they chasing you?”

He snapped a low branch off of a tree and wrapped the material around it. "They don't take kindly to stealing."

She paused, taking a step back. “You’re a thief?”

He struck the side of one stone with the other, causing a flicker of light to illuminate the darkness.

However, it vanished quicker than it appeared—leaving the two in the shadows again.

He made a noise of frustration. “Do you only speak in questions?”

“No," The woman crossed her arms, surveying her surroundings. Crickets chirped and branches crackled beneath her feet as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. The darkness began to feel suffocating.

He tried once more, finally getting another spark and reaching for the stick to light it. ”What's your name?”

She paused, considering whether or not she should answer him. After a moment of hesitation, she cleared her throat and met his gaze. ”I’m Fayla. Who are you?”

“Atreyu,” He muttered under his breath, smiling at the newly-lit torch in his hand.

She blinked, taking a single step back. “As in, the wanted criminal Atreyu?”

“The one and only,” He turned around to face her, his smirk growing, and his blue eyes piercing into hers—the torch between them cast a soft glow on their features. “I take it you're a fan.”

She scoffed at the thought. “Far from it.”

He sharply inhaled, holding a hand up to his chest in mock offense. “That’s too bad, darling. I’m such a likable person.”

“Do you even know who I am?”

“Enlighten me.”

“I’m the princess of this kingdom.” Fayla straightened her posture to make herself look more intimidating—unfortunately, she was still a foot shorter than him.

The smugness of his smile only grew. “You’re a long way from the palace, your majesty.”

She crossed her arms. "Do you doubt me?"

"No, no, I just-" He laughed to himself, causing her to narrow her eyes. "It's just a little underwhelming, that's all."

"Underwhelming?"

"Well, yeah. You look much taller in your paintings."

The woman marched up to him, jabbing a finger to his chest. “I might be far from the palace, but I can assure you my guards will rush to my aid at a mere call. Don’t think for a moment that I wouldn’t throw you in our dungeon for provoking me.”

He leaned closer to her. The dying embers of the torch illuminating the gloom just enough to see the expressions on each other’s faces. “You’re not going to.”

She swallowed, letting out a shaky breath. “What makes you so sure of that?”

“Because if you were going to call for your father's men, you would have done it already.” Atreyu reached his hand out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You might only be a maiden, but you’re not naive.”

“Because you know me so well.”

"Perhaps you're more transparent than you wish to be, princess."

"At least I'm not an obnoxious fiend that thrives off of the vexations of others."

He opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of the king's men echoed through the forest once more. Another smug smile crossed his lips. "I suppose that's my cue to leave."

She narrowed her eyes. “I wish I could say you didn’t overstay your welcome."

“It’s been a pleasure, your highness,” She nearly burst with anger when he gently grabbed her hand, laying a kiss on her knuckles. “Until we meet again.”

Oh, that would never happen; she would make sure of it.