Benjera spoon fed her, which was embarrassing. Noa endured it uncomfortably until she looked up into his eyes. His gaze was consuming, and she couldn’t remember a time in her life she had someone stare so deeply into her. He held up a spoonful of broth and vegetable that tasted both sweet and sour with chunks of green plant she couldn’t name and something starchy like potato but with a musky aftertaste. She couldn’t really place the flavor profile, it was all new foods she hoped wouldn’t make her sick.

  Noa was caught in his eyes, lips parting as she took the bite of fake potato and broth, the wooden spoon sliding between her lips as he took the spoon back. He had this crinkle in the corner of his eyes as he smiled and stirred the bowl before getting another spoonful. It was a puzzle. How did Benjera, this stranger, make soup one of the most intimate experiences of her life? Was it because there was no phone to buzz and distract her? No other people around? No distractions between them but the flavor of his cooking.

  He was a stranger and for the moment, her entire world. She was surprised when the bowl was empty. The time, and food, gone before she registered she ate at all. Benjera then poured himself some soup in the same bowl and leaned back against the kitchen island while he ate. She looked around at the sparse counters, the one pot and pan, so empty it almost seemed unused.

  “Don’t tell me you only have one bowl,” Noa said flatly.

  Benjera’s body convulsed with effort before choking down the bite in his mouth, and then he put the bowl down to laugh. He cleared his throat, voice strained, “I also have a plate.”

  Noa laughed and shook her head, feeling a little dizzy from the eye contact and looking out at the empty apartment didn’t quiet her mind. She had so many questions.

  “I’ll go to the market after I visit the temple, I’ll get some essentials,” Benjera promised. Like he knew what she was thinking. When he was done eating Benjera cleaned while she sat feeling useless with her hands on fire. Which meant she had time to think. She pressed her toes into the crease between pieces of white flooring, the seam thin but tactile. Clean floors. His whole home was spartan and the garden was neglected but the floors were clean. Her mind churned this and a million other little observations over and over like taffy being stretched and folded back together. A man with a complicated series of circles for his DIS but a direct, simple personality on the surface.

  “It’s not enough,” Noa blurted out of the blue.

  Benjera paused over the basin where he was cleaning the dishes, “I can’t make you more food right now. We’ll get a good garden going—“

  “Sorry,” Noa said waving her hands. She was still hungry but that wasn’t what she wanted to say. “I meant about skills and classes and magic and everything. I can’t stand not knowing. I can’t not talk about it. I don’t even know what questions I can ask! What about your job, what are you?”

  “I’m an officer of the Watch,” Benjera said.

  She realized that was the extent of his explanation as he continued to scrub the pot he cooked in. Noa couldn’t help the rising exasperated annoyance. Direct. Simplified. There was so much more underneath the surface. Noa felt like grabbing this barely showing iceberg of a man by the shoulders and demanding Benjera reveal to her the depths he reached. She took a steadying breath.

  “And you do what? Stare at bricks all day?” Noa asked and he grinned without turning to her.

  “As a lazilite I serve the law, but I have the black armband,” Benjera said. He realized that also didn’t explain anything and laughed to himself. “I am a Runner class. Runners fight monsters and map the halls between cities so Guards can know where to take the caravans. There are different ranks, and I’m the strongest, remember? I exclusively train new runners and guards, take quests like the one I just finished, and respond to emergencies.”

  “Warrior by day, teacher by night?” Noa mused, “What is Jasreal? Or Rasha? Who else do I need to know?”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Benjera gave her a quick glance as he grabbed a towel and started drying the dishes, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what those are, day and night. Jasreal is a Runner, he wants to be a Priest. Rasha is a Gardener, gausite classes don’t work the same as lazilite classes. Gausites provide, lazilites protect.”

  “So the factions work together?” Noa asked. She pretended not to be sucker punched by the first comment about day and night. She could focus on facts. Usable facts.

  “Well, we couldn’t survive without food and they couldn’t survive monsters,” Benjera said with a shrug. Then he kept going, sounding like he was quoting something. “Without lazilites they can’t travel safely, without gausites we have nothing to trade.”

  Noa wanted to know why he thought someone wasn’t capable of farming and fighting at the same time. Was that really what mattered in this conversation? She frowned, looking up at the skylights, all four of them. Fours again, like the four eyes in a square on his armor painted in blue. That had to be Lazil. With the dishes dried Benjera sighed and set his hands on his hips, giving her an expectant look.

  “What?” she asked, which made him smile.

  “Go on.”

  She blushed, “Is your job tied to your class, or does your class help you get a job?”

  Benjera scowled at her, “What?”

  “If Jasreal wants to be a priest, what’s stopping him?” Noa asked instead.

  “All classes run through a bishop’s hands at some point, he can’t become a priest without a bishop offering it to him. Usually, picking your bishop is a big decision. I have my father’s bishop, though, I haven’t seen him much since he became the High Bishop. I hope to see Ilusro before I go to market, he’ll want to hear the news.”

  She did not miss the faint, proud smile forming.

  “So this Ilusro is the one who decides if you get a different class?” Noa asked.

  His smile faltered at the question though, pulling him back into a scowl, “Technically, he can only offer me a class. I don’t have to take it. Bishops… if I break the law, or pose a danger, a Bishop could just [Lock] or [Remove] my class.”

  “But,” Noa said and paused. She realized that with a class like Champion, which sounded important, it was possible none of this would apply to her.

  “Ask.” Benjera said scowling again. Like she was doing him a disservice by holding back and it made something in her feel quietly delighted.

  “So bossy,” she teased and he smiled again, and tried to hide it by turning away to hang up the drying towel with his back to her. “If a bishop gives you priest and you say no, do they have to keep you as a Runner in the Watch? Are they mutually exclusive.”

  Benjera squinted, as if she were asking a trick question he was puzzling through.

  “It’s an old joke,” Benjera said, finding his answer. “What do you call a Runner that isn’t an officer?”

  “I don’t know, what?” Noa asked.

  “Broke.” Benjera said and laughed. She smiled, politely, wondering if it was funnier in whatever language he was speaking. Because it couldn’t be English. She let herself be distracted by her thoughts and big yawns as he disappeared into the room closest to the entry door, with all the equipment. He returned to the main room in a crisp dark blue uniform and she noticed the black armband this time. He looked larger, the clothes and scowl hiding how skinny he was, cutting an imposing figure as he fiddled with the clip on his cloth belt.

  “That’s the eighth time you’ve yawned,” Benjera noted, “You should sleep.”

  Noa nodded, still mid yawn, using her arm to cover her open mouth.

  “It’s the middle of the night,” she said. Then remembered again he didn’t know what that meant.

  Benjera hesitated by the door, about to leave, and gave her an uncertain look. Noa blinked away the tired haze descending over her, trying to figure out what he was waiting for. He seemed to stiffen slightly, straightening up before striding across the long, empty space between them with boots clipping against the tile. Or was it wood? Both? When she looked up from his boots he was standing over her.

  There was no hesitation but caution in his expression. That same intensity in his eyes. Noa blushed as he pet her hair once before cupping her face closer. She had a nose full of clean uniform with an almost too sharp citrus and pine like scent as Benjera kissed the side of her head.

  “What was that for?” she asked even more flustered than if he had just kissed her on the lips.

  “You only ask questions,” Benjera observed with his head tilting to the side and admiration in his voice.

  Noa shook her head, “I also argue, I just prefer to know what I’m arguing about.”

  “Mmmm,” Benjera said with a satisfied rumble. “I see. I am prepared to lose. I can already tell you are too smart for me.”

  “Shut up and kiss me,” Noa said, uncomfortable with how easily flattered she was by that and he smiled bigger. Benjera obliged, hand scooping her chin up so his lips could press into her. He took in a deep breath, and when he pulled away he let out a happy sigh.

  Oh he liked her. Like liked her. He liked that she was his wife. Noa watched Benjera leave having gained whatever he was looking for from that kiss. She was left wondering what would happen when he realized she wasn’t nearly as affectionate as he was.