The Red of the Writing

Two | Maliha

There is no situation I can't get out of.

I've seen it all, from jealous young women with a penchant for petty revenge schemes, to kidnappers who think that when faced with a knife to the throat, I'll break down and come with them obediently, like any other woman would. Like any sane woman would, really.

Unluckily for them, I'm not any other woman. I never claimed to be completely sane.

The fact that I've met my match in an arrogant, clumsy, spoiled man who's at least five years older than me is, quite frankly, humiliating.

I resist the urge to sigh as I briskly stride through my village, a mostly-filled basket hanging from my arm. The bumbling idiot that's stuck to my side all afternoon stumbles slightly as he tries to keep up.

He's persistent, I'll give him that. Usually, a firm no from me to whatever they're suggesting is a good enough kick to their egos. They slither back to their homes, wherever they are, heads hung low in shame.

Some aren't shaken so easily. There are those who pull sad faces, trying to get me to feel sorry for them, so I marry them out of pity. It's quite laughable, actually, to watch them dramatically wail about being rejected by "the loveliest woman in Rinas" (their words, not mine).

Others refuse to let my first rejection deter them, and continue asking, over and over and over again, annoying me to no end. But I am nothing if not patient, and they all get bored, eventually.

Except Alexios Grell, apparently.

He's lasted longer than any other man, hounding me for close to three moons, now. I can't seem to get rid of him, and my usually unyielding patience is wearing dangerously thin.

"Maliha," He pants, seemingly too tired to even use his regular address, "My Lady." Not that I'm complaining; The address is archaic and long outdated, but, for some reason, he insists on using it. "How... much further... do we have to... go?"

I roll my eyes, sure that Alexios can't see my expression. We've hardly been walking long, and although the basket he's carrying is decently heavy, it shouldn't tire him so much. I could carry both and make it home without breaking a sweat.

But hey, if I have to deal with suitors day in and day out, the least I can do is make them help me with my responsibilities. It's only fair that they suffer too.

Clearly, he's not used to any sort of labor. He's likely had servants all his life to do those things for him. And he has the audacity to claim that he once bested one of the king's - well, former king's - guards in a sword fight. I had had to fight to hold back a snort when he first narrated the story to me. Ronak just started learning sword fighting a year ago, and even he would have a better chance in a fight against the royal guards than this wimp of a man.

"Not much further." I keep my reply short and direct. Somehow, men tend to interpret a woman's attempts at polite conversation as interest, and I'm anything but interested in Alexios. I learnt that lesson the hard way, back when I first started getting suitors.

"Stop. I'm done with this."

The words catch me slightly off guard, but I don't intend to turn around; there's nothing I want more than for him to leave me alone. And if he thinks I'll beg for him to come back or something, he's sorely mistaken.

But his voice is closely followed by the soft thump of the basket hitting the dirt, and that's what makes me look back.

The basket lays on the ground, with the fresh produce spilling out of it. The bright oranges, reds, and greens of various vegetables contrast sharply with the dull brown of the dirt.