Chapter 3

I finally walked out of my private tent, having chosen the perfect outfit. It wasn't formfitting, or attractive in any way; a plain white shirt and soft, worn pants that made the necklace that Ethan had gotten for me shine in its glorious, expensive way. I had tamed my hair so it waved gently down my back, but wasn't elaborate or attention grabbing in any way, before I put up my illusion of a Medic with soft lilac streaks in black hair and amethyst purple eyes, the same one as before. I couldn't go out in public with my unorthodox marks.

The camp was buzzing with activity, but it all slowed when everyone saw the necklace dangling from my slim neck. My brothers stood with cold judgement on their faces, tongues waiting to crack with whiplike intensity.

I guess you can't please everyone.

I walked towards the last two, bracing myself for a tirade. I didn't get one. Instead I got a hug, and a rushed whisper to be careful and come back to them. I gave them a confident smile, and walked out of the camp with an arrogant sway of my hips.

Time to catch myself a soldier.

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Ethan smiled when she came around the corner. She was wearing simple clothes, but the necklace he had bought her shone, making her beauty even more prominent. She was smiling, but it faded when she saw his face. Mentally, he winced. He probably should have washed it better. It was starting to swell.

"I ran into a wall," He lied. "I'm a klutz." He felt awful, but it couldn't be helped. He had to get her away from the station. And Rowan. Ethan offered his arm to her. "Shall we be off?"

She gave a shy, eager smile, and took the offered elbow. They walked down the street, gazing at everything. Well, she was, at least. He watched around carefully. He didn't want a fight, but the streets were dangerous for women at night, both from criminals, and the soldiers that were supposed to protect them.

He needed to watch out for her. She seemed so innocent, but one accident could change that.

He snuck a glance at her to see if she could guess at his thoughts, and found her studying him. He smiled. "What? Do I have something in my teeth?"

"No," She said, surprisingly serious. "I'm trying to figure you out. That bruise obviously came from a fist, and is the scratch tells me anything, it's that it came from the ring I saw on your partner's finger, and the hit was made while he was off-balance and sloppy, maybe even drunk. Anything you want to tell me, Ethan? Anything… Important?"

I sighed. She was smarter than I gave her credit for. "Okay. You're right, Rowan is an alcoholic. I haven't told the Grand Marshal yet because I want to handle it myself. The Palace wouldn't do anything anyway, so I won't tell them yet. Not until it gets too far."

"Ethan, no. How far is far enough? Until he tries to kill you? Or until he tries to hurt someone you care about?" She said, concerned.

"He won't do anything of the sort. His drinking works well as leverage. I won't let him hurt y-," He stopped, then restarted. "I wouldn't let him hurt anyone. I'm strong, I can take care of myself, and anyone else I need to."

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Boys. Masochists, all of them. Just letting themselves be hurt. I mean, look at Ethan. He's taking the fall for his commanding officer's bad decision on purpose. It's just insane. After a bit, I realized that I wasn't mad at Ethan. Ethan had been nothing but kind to me. No, I was mad at someone else. I was mad at Rowan. What kind of sick person would hurt someone like Ethan?

After I got over my temper tantrum, I had a nice evening. Ethan took me to dinner. My soup was to die for, and when Ethan let me have a bite of his food, it was fantastic. Ethan noticed my appreciation, and ordered another plate of food to take home to my family. I started to wonder just how much cash this guy had. He had to be rich to have this much extra money to burn. After dinner, we settled down with some coffee and pastries (also delicious). He asked me about myself, and I (mostly) told the truth.

"My adoptive father died a couple years ago, so I'm the leader of the family. I never knew my real family. After Dad passed away, I was left in the care of my older brother, Mason."

He smiled sadly. "My mother died when I was three, my father died last year, and my brother and I….we don't get along. He was trying to stop a rebel attack."

"What are you talking about? The rebels would never- I-I mean, I thought the rebels didn't kill." I said, puzzled and concerned. My forces have never killed anyone that I know of, they just wound or disarm. So why would his father have died during one of my attacks?

"Technically, it was after the attack. Someone had to be punished for the damage. We didn't have any rebel prisoners, so the Palace took out their wrath on my father, who was in charge of keeping the rebels out of the city. He failed, so he paid the price. Fifty lashings in the castle courtyard. The wounds got infected with some sort of bacteria, and we weren't able to get treatment. He slowly lost use of every muscle in his body. In the end, he couldn't even swallow. I don't blame the rebels. I blame the Palace. If I was given a chance to join the rebels, I would be sorely tempted." By the end of this rant, he was shaking, though I couldn't tell if it was from anger, or sadness. I don't even think he knew.

I walked over and sat next to him on the bench. To my surprise, he put his arms around me and pulled me to him. Even more surprising; I let him, telling myself that it was only because I needed him to trust me. Then, I told myself to just shut up and enjoy it while it lasted. After ages, he let me go, causing a rush of cold to come over me, so strong that I almost pulled him back to me. Get a grip, I thought sternly, He's breaking down your defenses, don't let him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to break down like that. I just miss him. After my mom died, it was just me and him. He was so proud to see me rising through the ranks of the army. He would have scolded me for the demotion, but it would be half-hearted. I like to think he would be proud of what I did." I looked at him, confused again. He sighed. "Would you like to hear my story?"

I wasn't sure anymore. Ethan was becoming more than an informant to me. He was becoming much more, a friend, even. He had been through alot, and I felt sorry for him. Sympathy is not an emotion the leader of the resistance should feel towards the enemy. And that is what Ethan was. An enemy.

Right?

I nodded. "Yes. I would like to hear it."

This is the worst idea ever, I thought glumly, but I can't seem to help myself.