The tray-holder scowled as he marched over to the picnic for two.

“Don’t spill a drop,” he mumbled bitterly.

The tea sloshed. He had half a mind to spill it, but angering the Saint was suicide, and he rather liked living.

He blew out his cheeks as he picked his way through the people sprawled out on the grass.

He had been walking at the back of the caravan this whole time. He had been breathing the dust of the wagons for hours. Where was his rest?! Instead, when they stopped, he was handed a tray and told to get to work.

“Prim ladies always needing their tea…” the man plastered on a fake smile as he neared. He bowed before the mossy-haired Saint who had beckoned him. “Here you are, Lady Syrce.”

He had heard the name enough times in their journey. She was some great and powerful hero who would save humanity. To him, Syrce looked more like a lazy princess at a picnic with her blonde lady-in-waiting.

The Saint waved him forward to accept the tray.

“Titus, you made it. And not a moment too soon. Bel cannot wait another moment!”

“Blondie?” The servant’s smile faltered as he regarded the blonde companion. Two violet eyes stared back at him, laughing.

“That’s Lady Bel to you!” Syrce frowned.

“Hello, Titus. Fancy meeting you here,” Noble tried and failed to suppress her grin as she watched Flint’s face pale.

The man pulled at the orange streak in his hair. “How is this fair? I become a servant while you are royalty!”

“I am not royalty. Lady Syrce is just a close personal friend.” Noble could feel the man’s indignation, and that only fueled her desire to tease them. “I just dropped in to see her.”

For all his high and mighty talk about others being inferior, Flint was now a servant in a caravan. The Spell had seen fit to humble him.

Perhaps it was wrong to find pleasure in that fact, but Noble didn’t mind being a little petty this time.

“Y-you are the one they said fell from the sky?” Flint rubbed his temple. “I should have known you would be the one to make a dramatic entrance.”

“It’s good you think so highly of me.” Noble’s smug smile widened. “I am glad to see you, too.”

“You know him?” The grey-eyed Saint interrupted. She glanced between the man and her friend.

‘Oh, right…’ In her amusement, Noble had almost forgotten that Syrce wasn’t in on the joke.

“I know it is going to sound strange, Lady Syrce.” The floating Master paused. “But this is one of the people I lost.”

Syrce frowned. “How can that be? Titus has been serving me for years.”

“I am not sure how to explain.”

Could constructs of a Nightmare even understand that something existed outside of it? Noble wasn’t sure. She didn’t want to try out that theory just now.

“He’s an old friend,” she answered.

“An old friend? Titus is not your dearest friend, though, right?”

Was the Saint feeling insecure? There was certainly some jealousy in the words.

Noble shook her head, but it was Flint who spoke.

“Ha, I am barely an acquaintance. Imagine me being friends with a fairy!”

“A fairy?” Syrce’s eyes widened. “Bel, are you a fairy?”

“What? No!” Noble held the bridge of her nose.

Syrce squinted, looking the other woman up and down. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am positive.” Noble inhaled deeply. “Excuse me, My Lady. May I have a moment alone with my acquaintance?”

“I’ll make sure your tea is the right temperature when you return.” The Saint nodded, and Noble dragged Flint to the edge of the group.

She glared at him.

“What?” Flint shrugged. “Don’t tell me I hurt your feelings. It’s nothing personal, I just think I would have been a better choice for a royal confidant. But if you are going to be so sensitive, I’ll keep my insights to myself. Wouldn’t want to upset you, Your Highness.”

The man bowed mockingly.

Noble blinked at him before rubbing her face.

“And here I was almost feeling bad about leaving you in the back of the caravan…”

Flint’s eyes opened wide. “You knew I was back there?!”

Noble scratched the back of her head.

“I sensed you when I did my emotional sweep. But I was waiting until—”

“You just left me back there in the dirt with the dregs? What kind of cohort member are you?”

“Cohort member? I guess that is a step up from an acquaintance.” Noble rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. I was keeping an eye on you to make sure you didn’t wander off. I would have come to help if you had been attacked.”

“Well, isn’t that comforting,” Flint crossed his arms. “I bet you wanted me to get into trouble so you could rescue me, and I would owe you one. “

“What are you going on about?” Noble couldn’t believe her ears. “Seriously, Flint. Does your flaw have to do with always running your mouth? I think you could pick a fight in an empty house.”

“What do you mean?” Flint seemed genuinely confused. “I am delightful.”

Taking a deep breath, Noble got to the point of why she had pulled the Legacy aside.

“I mean, I need you to find it in yourself to just be polite. I am building a rapport with Syrce, and you came in insulting me and talking about fairies. We don’t know what fairies are in this land, and by Syrce’s emotional spike, they are not viewed well. If you sabotage these efforts, we might end up with enemies instead of allies.”

“So you want me to charm these people?” Flint furrowed his brow.

“At the very least, I would like for you to keep the snide remarks to yourself.” Noble countered.

“That seems…reasonable.” Flint nodded.

“Really?” Child of Promise had expected more of a fight.

“It doesn’t make sense to sabotage us. I will turn on the charm.” Flint smiled widely, causing Noble to grimace.

“Maybe just turning off the sarcasm will be enough. No need to push yourself.”

Flint blinked. “I’ll have you know I am the most sought-after bachelor in all of Valor.”

‘Clearly his flaw isn’t being forced to tell the truth.’

The floating Master chewed her lip.

“Be that as it may, I don’t think Syrce is looking for charming. Just kind.”

“You are right.” Stroking his chin, Flint nodded. “Otherwise, she would have chosen me over you.”

Noble’s eye twitched.

“I can see why the ladies of Valor find you resistible.”

“I think you mean irresistible,” the dark-haired Master clicked his tongue.

“Bel?” Syrce called across the crowded clearing. “Your tea is sufficiently cooled.”

“I’ll be right there!” The blonde woman responded with a friendly wave.

Calming her emotions, Noble focused on her insufferable cohort member.

“We are getting off topic, Master Flint. Let’s circle back to our plan. I need you to be polite–or at the very least, silent. If you can manage that, we should be fine. My question is: can you do that?”

“Is a fish wet?” Flint clicked his tongue. “It will be as easy as breathing.”

“Good. That’s very good.” Noble could tell the man meant what he said. “It won’t be forever. When we reach Bastion, we can part ways with the caravan and work on conquering the Nightmare.”

Flint hesitated. “That’s, uh, great. There is just one problem. I can’t leave…”

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