the hat

That’s when you remember that you’ve been paid a visit by the Pinkertons back in Clemens Point and Arthur most likely assumes that you’ve been screaming about your location from the rooftops. It’s impossible to stop the frown from forming on your face. What is he expecting? That you’ve been running around Saint Denis and handing out flyers?

‘Do you want a stagecoach to mysteriously vanish? A purse to wind up empty? Call the Van Der Linde gang! Now with a special discount of two crimes for one price.’

“I ran into her when you and I went into the city the other day. We had a drink and talked.”, you curtly explain.

“A drink? What are you? Friends?”

You huff out a laugh.

“Does it bother you that I befriended your ex?”, you press and poke at his shoulder, fully aware that you could have poked a bear and been safer. “Scared she might have spilled some juicy stuff about you?”

Arthur swats your assaulting hand away and grumbles something incoherent into his shot glass before chugging the whole thing.

“No.”, he meekly protests. “I just didn’t realize you was so close.”

“How can we not be? There’s a lot to bond over.”, you tell him and watch him awkwardly shift his weight where he stands.

If you wouldn’t know any better then you’d claim that he’s squirming, but Arthur Morgan doesn’t squirm. He isn’t the type for it. Still, you can tell that he’s dying to know what you guys were talking about or if you even talked about him at all.

“Sure.”, he drawls through gritted teeth.

“You were mentioned quite a lot if I remember correctly.”, you tease and feign uncertainty. “Yes, Arthur. A bad kisser and bad in bed.”

He snorts under his breath. It sounds unfazed as if you’re speaking of someone entirely different.

“You wouldn’t know.”, he casually points out, but you can tell from the tension in his shoulder blades that he’d love nothing more than to defend himself.

After all, he’s still a man with an ego.

“No, but one can imagine it.”

Suddenly his gaze snaps in place with yours and his lips curl up into a shit-eating grin. Somehow you get the sneaking suspicion that you’ve given him leverage, ammunition to load his wit with and to shoot it straight into your face.

“So, that’s what you’re doin’ all day? Instead of bein’ useful, you think of sleepin’ with me? No wonder Susan is yelling at you all the time.”

Desperate you search your mind for a smart retort. Anything that would allow you to bounce back from this humiliation and possibly wound him in the process, but you blank completely. The shame of how close his statement is to the truth blinds you entirely and you remain silent. Gritting your teeth and pressing both lips into a tight line, you turn your attention to your drink.

“Fuck off.”, you grumble, masking the defeat and take a small sip.

Wrinkling your nose, you’re already starting to miss and crave for the sherry. If you close your eyes and think about it hard enough, you can taste its sweetness on your tongue.

“So, what’s the plan now? What did your new friend, Angelo, say?”, you ask to steer the topic into a different direction.

Arthur’s gaze sweeps subtly over the bar and when he’s certain that nobody is paying any attention to the two of you, he leans a bit closer. Instinctively you mimic the gesture and lock your eyes on his face. If you weren’t so curious about his answer, you might have gotten lost in the closing proximity.

“He talked ‘bout the trolley station.”, he explains with a low voice.

It’s still raised enough for you to hear him clearly over the sound of mixed chatter, but hushed enough for his words to reach only your ears. It rumbles deeply in his chest, sending a delicious shiver down your spine and something dark within you responds in delight.

“The one by the docks?” When he nods, you huff in disbelief. “I never thought there’d be much to take.”

“Well, he says it’s big money ‘n you know Dutch.”, he replies with a shrug of his shoulders.

You straighten your back again and stare off into the distance as you contemplate the information. It’s quite strange that Bronte didn’t point them towards the bank or something more promising for example. After all, Saint Denis seems to be a cesspit for fine folks who got the coin to spare on fun like liquor or a game of cards.

“Hosea’s workin’ on his own thing though ‘n Trelawny told me I should be ready.”, Arthur continues and you cock a brow.

“Ready for what?”

“Hell, if I know. For someone who can’t stop talkin’ he sure as shit never has anything important to say.”

“Sounds a lot like someone I know.”, you murmur into your glass, earning a heated glare from the outlaw.

His eyes narrow into slits.

“What was that?”, he barks half-heartedly.

“Nothing.”, you shoot out with a smile as sweet as honey.

The two of you go back and forth like that for some longer until you’re finished with your whisky and Arthur orders a second round. That’s when a stranger appears at his side, taking in the newly freed spot and throwing him a wide and almost lazy smirk. His eyes twinkle with mischief.

“One for me too, mon ami?”, he asks with a thick French accent and you gauge the outlaw’s reaction.

He doesn’t take well to strangers all the time. Especially not when they’re in the process of leeching off him, but he seems to be in a good mood now. With a nod, he drawls a ‘sure’ and throws in another coin towards the bartender. Surprised at the lack of hostility, you fight the urge to give him a patronizing thumbs up.

If he wants to make friends, then maybe you shouldn’t embarrass him too much as much as the idea delights you.

“Thank you! Au Santé!”, the man exclaims and ceremonially clinks his glass against Arthur’s and yours, but not without winking at you specifically. “Ah, it’s quite a country you’re building here, eh?”

“Us personally?”, Arthur asks and you two exchange lost looks with one another.

The stranger dives a hand into the peanut bowls and picks a few of them out with the other to pop them into his mouth. You’ve been avoiding these open bowls like the plague, fully aware that hand soap and sanitizer aren’t yet normalized enough at the moment. Shit, it wasn’t even normalized enough before the pandemic hit.

“I don’t know. What do you do?”, he replies and glances your way.

“I just shoot people.”, Arthur confesses and you open your eyes wide.

With one swift swing, you smack him over the chest and shoot him a scolding look. He flinches at the suddenness of your action and gawks at you with bewilderment. The stranger takes it all in with his eyes wrinkled in pure amusement.

“How very American of you. I love it!”, he declares and you allow yourself to relax a little.

You know that the bar is in hell if you feel a faint sliver of trust when someone isn’t immediately calling the law on you. It’s not too far-fetched to assume that he’s dipped his hands into crime as well. So far every person you’ve met around here has committed something terrible one way or another or perhaps you’re simply moving in the wrong circles.

“And what do you do?”, you speak up to prevent Arthur from admitting to even more.

You don’t want him to spill all your business to a guy he just met and compromise everything. What if Francis shows up in Saint Denis, but you were forced to move to yet another place ages ago, because the outlaw just can’t stop acting like some gossiping grandma? To think that he was holding it against you that you let Mary know that you’re in the area.

“Mostly I pose, I show off and complain.”, he explains and Arthur chuckles next to you.

“How very French.”, he points out.

“I know!” The man giggles. “I’m ridiculous. I’ve been all over the world. I have seen the sights and I have discovered the one eternal truth that I am a – how do you say it? Holeass!”

“Asshole?”, you blurt out in confusion at his ramblings.

For whatever reason, your observation delights him and he grants you a dazzling smile.

“That too!”

Arthur laughs next to you, apparently understand something that you don’t. Him and that odd Frenchman are on the same wavelength and the longer this conversation carries on, the more you feel like the third wheel. Frowning you clutch your full glass close to your chest to have something to fidget with.

You start to miss Sadie and her readiness to make fun of the outlaw with you.

“Where were you on your journey?”, the outlaw asks and sincerity swims in his voice.

At least you can find joy in one thing and it’s the fact that he’s having somewhat of a nice time. You don’t remember when you last heard him laugh like this and Mr. Gillis kind of left a dent in him earlier. Well, either it had been him or Mary.

“All the civilized world. Painting my little pictures, meeting the locals.”, he describes and suddenly Arthur’s eyes clear up entirely.

“You paintin’?”

It’s impossible to explain why his reaction affects you so. A pang of something unknown pierces your heart and you recall the stunning portrait he’s drawn of you inside his notebook. If life hadn’t dealt him such a poor hand, he could have been an artist. He definitely has the talent for it.

“No, I’m a holeass! I thought we had covered this!”, the other man exclaims through cackling, infecting the outlaw with it too.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth at the sight and you briefly forget yourself. You almost place your elbows onto the sticky counter, but catch yourself just in time.

“Yeah, but you paint then?”, you chime in again, drawing both their attention to yourself.

“Not according to the law in Paris. According to them I cannot draw or paint and that I should go away. So, I did.”, he tells you.

“Do you miss Paris?”

He hums. “It’s a smelly, filthy place with old buildings with ghosts and shit and French people. I have that right here!”

When he puts it that way, you can’t help but nod in agreement. His eyes sweep over the two of you, wandering from you to Arthur and then back to you. Hovering over the counter, he extends his hand out to you and for a short, yet embarrassing moment, you have no idea what to do with it. Then it dawns on you that he’s trying to properly introduce himself.

Sheepishly you go to accept his hand, when he suddenly brings your knuckles up to his lips without breaking eye contact once. You can’t recall a time where you’ve been greeted that way.

“Charles.”, he says and you nearly snort in amusement.

How hilarious it is that the only two men called Charles in your life at the moment are the polar opposite of each other. Schooling your features and clearing your throat, you mutter your own name. Arthur and him exchange a firm handshake afterwards.

“You know what?”, Charles starts, addressing the two of you. “Don’t believe in art. It’s lies. Believe in women. They’re the truth!”

Although you have no idea where these words are suddenly coming from, you still fiercely nod. Unaware what his point is going to be with this small speech, you bring your glass up to your mouth.

“It’s the vagina!”, he declares with his arms spread wide and the whisky stutters in your throat.

It burns your windpipe and some of the dark liquid sloshes over the edge of the glass when you urgently place it back down. Coughing into the crook of your elbow, you turn around to avoid showing them your contorted face.

“My apologies, mademoiselle, if my language offended you.”

“No!”, you croak, lungs rattling from the on-going coughing fit.

Desperate to explain that you’re not some delicate flower, but only got caught off-guard, you hastily shake your head.

“Don’t worry. She ain’t all that. She’s just pretendin’ to be all sweet ‘n nice now.”, Arthur drawls and you pin him with scornful glare that would have left Miss Grimshaw proud.

He answers it with an amused expression. Charles looks at you and a knowing gleam twinkles in his eyes.

“I understand.”, he says and something tells you that he’s not understanding it at all.

Then he rummages around a stack of papers before fishing one out from the bottom and sliding it over the counter. Arthur examines it briefly before picking it up and turning it over to reveal what’s on the other side. Thick pencil lines are drawn over the sheet into the dips and curves of a naked woman.

It’s nothing too detailed, but the man has still managed to leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. You can’t help it. Your eyes flicker to the outlaw’s face, closely inspecting his expression and you find nothing. Not a single line or wrinkle in his face as much as twitches and you don’t know if you should be pleased or annoyed.

“It’s trash.”, Charles says, ripping you out of your thoughts. “It’s worthless unless you want to wipe your bottom with it, but I still wanted to say thanks for the drinks.”

“Aw, thanks.”, Arthur says, sounding genuinely joyful at the gift.

Then Charles points with his finger at you and you give him a questioning look.

“Don’t think I forgot about you, mademoiselle. I can’t let a woman like you go empty handed, eh?”, he says and again turns to the drawings.

He repeats the same procedure of handing the sheet upside down. Probably to avoid embarrassment if anyone would peek over your shoulder and catch a glimpse at it. Smiling, you accept it with a sincere ‘thank you’ and subtly turn the drawing over. An impressed snort leaves your lips and, in an instant, Arthur’s head appears next to yours.

Much to nobody’s surprise, it’s a naked person again, but this time a man. It’s of the same art style, hastily sketched and leaving nothing to the unknown. You don’t have to guess the length or girth or shape. It’s all wonderfully presented, taking the mental work right out of your hands. The skin on your face prickles when Arthur casts his eyes on you.

Biting on your lower lip in an attempt to stifle the smirk threatening to form on it, you wonder if he’s doing the exact same thing as you did. Only that you let a reaction slip, unlike him. Did your huff and expression offend him? Is he jealous, somewhat? As much as you know that you shouldn’t be entertaining these thoughts, you still hope they did.

Pocketing the drawing you raise your head to look back at Charles.

“Well, I must be on my way.”, he says and empties his drink in one go. “But drop by the art gallery tomorrow. I’m showing some of my work there.”

“We’d love to go.”, you say as he takes your hand to plant another kiss on the back as farewell.

“Yeah, we’ll be there.”, Arthur confirms and shortly after you say your goodbyes, the two of you are alone again.

Where Charles has filled the air with words, silence now punctures it. You don’t know where the tension keeps coming from whenever it’s just the two of you again. After all, you didn’t seem to have any issues talking before the artist arrived. Waving, you draw the bartender’s attention to you and hold up two fingers.

When he returns with a third round, you extend an arm to stop Arthur from reaching for his satchel. Instead, you drop the money into the bartender’s open palm.

“You always pay for me. It’s only fair if I return the favor.”, you swiftly explain and watch with astonishment as he tips his hat forward.

When was the last time he has done that in your presence? You’ve grown so used to him taking it off whenever he approaches that you’re left too stunned to speak.

“It ain’t right.”, he mutters and you simply gape at him.

Coming from a time where paying 50/50 at a date is normalized in some circles, you forgot that there used to be a time where something like this was frowned upon.

“Jesus, is this a penis thing?”, you snap and he whirls around to meet your gaze.

“What?”

“Is it because you can’t handle it when a woman pays for your drink?”, you press. Not as an accusation, but with genuine curiosity.

“No!”, he argues and straightens his back, making him look like a bird that’s puffing out its chest. “I just think that you gotta save your money for when you leave.”

That’s when it dawns on you that from the whole ordeal with Mary and her father, you completely forgot to send the letter.

“Shit! We forgot the letter.”, you point out and pinch the bridge of your nose.

How on earth could it possibly have slipped your mind? How indeed, when getting back home is the sole reason you’re still riding with the gang. It’s the source that’s driving you to continue going on these jobs for Dutch, to continue stacking these wrongs and sins. Your purpose has gotten lost somewhere in the chaos.

A shudder rolls down your spine at the prospect of losing sight of the path you’re paving. Over time, the robberies and murders and manipulations have ceased to act as means to the cause. Recalling how, as a reflex, you pulled your gun at Mr. Gillis, you realize with much dread that they’ve become second nature.

They’re imbedded into your soul and now you don’t wonder anymore how Mary had gotten to the conclusion that you’d stay with Arthur and the others. Having sensed your dropping mood, Arthur softly nudges your shoulder with his. It’s a friendly gesture, one you wouldn’t question with anyone else.

It’s hollow coming from him. It feels forced given that you’ve touched each other more intimately before. Perhaps it’s his way of distancing himself from you the same way you’ve been attempting this entire time. Yes, you’re partly to blame for the pit yawning between you. So, why does his reservation hurt so much?

“We’ll come back here tomorrow.”, he says and the attempt to cheer you up falls flat.

“Yeah.”, you mumble, before chugging your drink.

When you go to order yet another round, Arthur shakes his head.

“I’m tapping out.”, he declares and your brows shoot up.

“What? Why?”

“I shouldn’t overdo it, but you can go on.”, he explains. “Someone’s gotta get us home.”

Frowning, you brood over your liquor. It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does, but goddamn. You truly are in a shit mood tonight and it doesn’t help knowing that Arthur can go all out with some of the others in the gang. He was so carefree at Sean’s party, swaying clumsily from side to side and he let himself fall in Valentine with Lenny.

It shouldn’t upset you so. Not drinking is the smartest move he could do, given how rowdy he gets at a certain point. Still, you wonder why he stays on guard around, never allowing himself too much of a taste of anything and then when you do the same, he acts all confused about it. What is it that he has against you? Why can’t he allow himself to be unraveled? Why can’t eh fall?

The last words get stuck inside your head and before you can think any better of it, they leave your lips: “Why can’t you let yourself fall around me?”

Arthur doesn’t meet your gaze, but keeps it stubbornly on the counter, which leads the rim of his hat covering part of his face. Something tells you that your question is driving him off, which had been the complete opposite of your intention with that. How come that he used to be your Rome not too long ago and now you can’t seem to keep him close at all?

Only earlier did you believe that you had him back, only to accidentally push him away again. It should be a relief to see your initial plan work, but you’re in so deep by now that it’s choking you instead. A certain distance swirls in his eyes. That much you can make out even from your unfortunate angle.

“I gotta head out for a second. I’ll be right back.”, he murmurs curtly.

All the words he reserves for you are clipped and a necessity. No jokes, no stabs, no insults. Burying your face with both hands, you catch yourself wishing for your dynamic in the beginning even. At least then you got some emotions and reactions out of him. His wrath seems a thousand times better than his indifference.

“Excuse me, Miss.”, someone says timidly next to you and you peek from between your fingers.

A stranger has taken Arthur’s place. His dirty blonde hair lies disheveled over his forehead and his green eyes are gleaming with a bashful curiosity. Dimples appear on his cheeks as his lips curl up into a kind smile that you’ve only ever seen on Mary-Beth and Abigail before. Taking in his clothes, you note that they fit in with all the other customers, yet something is off about them.

The lack of factory oil and coal dust is off-putting.

“Can I help you?”, you ask, sounding harsher than intended.

Or perhaps this is exactly as you wanted to greet him. You’re not too fond of random people interrupting your silent mental breakdowns.

“Yes. No. Maybe.”, he stammers helplessly and chuckles. “I couldn’t help but notice you across the bar and I guess, I just-“

He trails off as if he lost his train of thoughts or maybe the stare that you’re fixating him with is a tad too intense. You haven’t realized that ‘intense’ is a word one could describe you with.

“Yeah?”, you press, more curious than annoyed at the intruder now.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

You blink slowly. Once, then twice. Glancing at the door, you wait a moment for Arthur to walk through it, but it remains idle in its hinges. Either he went out for a leak or to cool off after your forwardness. You turn your attention back to the young man in front of you.

“Sure.”, you say with a careless shrug.

It would be a lie to claim he isn’t handsome, but it’s the truth to describe him as simply not your type. Though a sliver of hope had flickered inside your chest when he offered the drink and you thought that you could maybe become attracted to him. That flicker chokes when your mind inevitably wanders back to a certain outlaw.

The man beams, his joy blinding you like the light of a flashlight shining directly into your eyes. After he orders a round (you’re really starting to feel the alcohol’s affect now), he introduces himself as James. In return you give him your name, making him smile.

“It suits you.”, he says and you narrow your eyes.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”, you ask and he quickly raises both hands.

“Nothing! I just meant it as a compliment. I like your name.”

At that you relax again and trace the rim of your glass with a finger. You won’t lie. The attention flatters you.

“You ain’t from around here.”, he notes and you notice the hesitancy when he speaks.

Almost as if he isn’t used to the words, but not in a way that indicates that English isn’t his first language. It’s more so the tone, the dialect he uses.

“What gave that away?”, you ask and inspecting him for any visible weapons.

A sneaking suspicion swells in your chest. Could he be a bounty hunter? Pinkerton agent? Another lawman of some sort or perhaps one of Cornwall’s lackeys? It’s kind of sad that you immediately jump to hidden motives instead of accepting the possibility of someone simply finding you attractive. You don’t recall ever being so riddled with insecurity.

“I think I’d remember someone like you in these parts.”, he admits and actually manages to steal a smile from your lips.

“Does that line usually work on the other women?”, you shoot back, falling into a comfortable rhythm of back-and-forth banter.

James takes it in stride, grinning from ear to ear and revealing a set of pearly white teeth.

“You tell me.”

Before you can respond, a shadow is cast over you and you notice Arthur looming next to you. Sparks are spewing from his eyes as he sizes up James. It’s a dragging process as if he’s trying to make a point. James squirms under the piercing glare, owning enough sense of self-preservation to figure that Arthur isn’t a man to be trifled with.

“Just who do you think you are, boy?”, he drawls with more venom than he has used against anyone ever before.

“Sir?”, James speaks up, unsure what the outlaw could possibly want from him. You’re at a loss as well.

Then Arthur turns to you, as if the other man has never been present in the first place and nods towards the entrance.

“C’mon. We’re leavin’.”, he simply says, but you stay rooted in place.

“Why?”, you press, too puzzled to notice that you should have been angry at his nerve.

Or perhaps the liquor in your system is delaying your reaction time.

“I’m sorry.”, James calls out behind him. “If I had known that you belong with her-“

“He doesn’t.”, you swiftly interrupt him and drink up the scowl edged into the outlaw’s features. “Thank you so much for the drink, James. Let’s pick this up some other time.”

With that, you finish the brandy he ordered for you and stride out of the bar, not bothering to wait up on Arthur. He barrels after you, closely attached to your heels and you pick up your pace. It doesn’t matter that you have no idea where on earth you guys left his horse. You just want him to run after you for now.

His fingers reach for your arm, but before they can close in, you slip out of his grasp and whirl around.

“What the fuck is your problem?”, you snap, attempting to burn him with your scorching glare.

“I ain’t got one.”, he growls. You don’t know how a person manages to growl out words, but he did it just now.

“You embarrassed me in there.”, you point out and wildly gesture in the direction the bar lies. “That guy probably thinks God knows what about me now!”

“So? You won’t be seein’ him again, so who cares?”

“I care! Holy fucking shit, Arthur!”, you yell out into the night and drawing some bothered looks from the other passersby. “I have no idea what you want from me. I thought we were doing good and now you’re pushing me away.”

“I’m pushing you away?”, he asks with such disbelief that you feel it reverberate through the air and into your body.

“Yes! Yes, you are! You confuse me with your constant back and forth. Some days I feel like you-“ The words get stuck in your throat. How could you possibly voice your concerns without running into the danger of making them real?

“Finish your sentence.”, he challenges and dammit, it’s working.

“Some days I feel like you want me and others I feel like you can barely stand being around me.”, you spit through gritted teeth, swallowing the rising dread.

Your accusation hangs heavy in the air like a hook that hasn’t been mounted properly onto the wall. It cracks and tilts. Arthur has always been the match to your fuse and you always thought you’d want nothing but peace from his constant torment. Now you can’t live without the agony he inflicts on you. Can’t imagine living without it.

You want the sparks to ignite. You want him to explode and soak up his damage. You want to inhale the smoke until you’re dizzy and tasting it on your tongue. Longing burns beneath your skin that not even the cold night air can cool off. As he pins you with his glare, you can’t help but bask in the fury roaring behind it.

“You’re drunk ‘n this ain’t the time or place.”, he simply says and something inside you drops with disappointment.

You have been bracing yourself for a fight. To dig you claws into each other’s flesh and rip it apart like you used to do.

“It never is, with you, is it?”

“I’m not havin’ this argument with you right now.”

“Typical Arthur Morgan.”, you hiss, knowing that you should draw the line here but not finding it within yourself to do so. “Running away when it gets tough. And you’re giving John a hard time?”

“I said I ain’t doing this.”

The street is empty aside from you two and the occasional rat squeaking and rummaging around the trash left behind. The street lights are scarce in this neighborhood, standing too far apart to stay emerged in their glow the entire time. Somehow, the two of you have found a nook that isn’t lit up but you don’t need to see to sense his frustration.

“Then I guess I can go back and enjoy the night with James.”, you lie. It’s a low blow, one you wish you hadn’t dealt but dammit, you need a reaction from him. You yearn to rile him up, to shout and holler and push back at you.

The jealousy he was seething with earlier had tasted deliciously on your tongue and you saunter past him but his hand darts out to grab you by your arm. Although you’re wearing a long sleeve, his touch scorches your skin. It burns into your flesh and you find yourself craving more. Turning your head to face him, you’re surprised to have only a few inches separate you from him.

“You’re seriously willin’ to go with a man you barely know just to get back at me?”, he asks, voice dropped low.

“Well? Would it hurt you?”

His eyes are flaring with something you can’t decipher but you know in an instant that it would. It would hurt him.

“Don’t do it.”, he whispers, barely managing to hide the desperation in his words.

You wonder what he’s imagining right now and if it’s you tangled up with a man that isn’t him. You wonder if those pictures are pure agony for him and catch yourself hoping that they are. Suddenly, the fog in your mind clears up and you blink. What on earth are you doing out here, playing mind games with Arthur?

“I would have never gone back in there.”, you admit and his shoulders slump down in something that you can only describe as relief.

“I…see.” He let’s go and your body grows cold. “The why pretend?”

“To see where you stand in all of this.” When he opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off. “I’m tired of your constant back and forth, Arthur. Either you’re all-in or you’re out.”

You refuse to stoop lower and push his buttons further, even though you tend to take delight in it. Sometimes you like to bring a shovel to a good argument to show just how low you’re willing to go. However, all drive and fire cease to rage on. The walk through the city is awkward and loaded and so is the ride back home.

Arthur tries to get you to hold onto him every now and then, claiming to foresee your inevitable fall, but you remain stubborn and defiant.

“I’m perfectly fine as I am.”, you begrudgingly fire back each time.

By the time you finally reach Shady Belle, you hop off the saddle and march towards the house. Crumbling under the crushing weight of exhaustion from today’s toll, you make a beeline for your bedroll. Arthur follows, but not without holding a very generous distance between the two of you. Most of the others have gone to bed, so your behavior goes unnoticed.

After you lay down and shut your eyes, you hear a pair of heavy footsteps echo through the ground floor. They stop for a few seconds as if he has something on his mind. Something more he’d like to share with you, but didn’t back in Saint Denis. Whatever it is, it stays a mystery as he decides to head upstairs instead.

These are the books I've read so far this year and enjoyed (I left the ones I didn't like out):

Among the Burning Flowers by Samantha Shannon

The Handmaids Tale by Margeret Atwood

The Dark Mirror by Samantha Shannon (I recommend the entire series)

Blood Over Bright Haven by M.L. Wang

The Kill Order by James Dashner

Babel by R.F. Kuang

And He Shall Appear by Kate van der Borgh

Witchcraft for Wayward Girls by Grady Hendrix

The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson

These are some books that I whole heartedly recommend:

The Roots of Chaos series by Samantha Shannon

The Bone Season series by Samantha Shannon

Anything by Samantha Shannon really

A Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes by Suzanne Collins

The Dark Gods series by Tara Sim

And here are the books that I plan on reading soon:

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

The Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson

The Will of the Many by James Islington