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She surprised a laugh out of him with her brash words. Clearly, the woman had a biting sense of humor. He could appreciate that. In fact, he had one of his own. How much of it was part of his mask and how much was genuine was difficult to judge. The persona that he presented to the majority of the world was very complete, after all. So much so that it was nearly indistinguishable from the rest of him at times. But that was inconsequential.

Pyotr eyed the predominantly male caravan. "I certainly hope not," he said mildly. "They are really not my type."

It lasted no more than a fraction of a second, not long enough to be noticed unless one was looking for it, but some dark, indescribably emotion flickered through his eyes. What was it about this lifestyle that caught his fancy? Well, that was a loaded question, and not one that he intended on fully explaining.

Somehow, he very much doubted that most people would smile and nod when hearing that the b*****d son of a nobleman intended to exact revenge upon his legitimate, noble half-siblings. It was probably in bad taste to mention such things. Instead, he settled on discussing a different aspect of his life, and why he chose to be a mercenary rather than using some other means.

"Freedom," he said simply, any trace of darkness well-hidden beneath his easy demeanor. "I used to be a soldier, but I find that the freedom of this life suits me better than the regulation and monotony of a soldier's life." He shrugged eloquently. "What is your excuse? Few women choose this life."

Had Pyotr known she had been doubting his skill as a warrior, he would have quickly rectified her mistake. It was true that he preferred, even encouraged, people to assume certain things about him but his pride would never tolerate people thinking him inferior. It was a deadly mistake to underestimate him.

"What, don't want to be defended by a gallant knight?" he asked. If he noticed her blush, he gave no indication. Perhaps he simply was not interested.

"You started fighting after you found him?" he wondered, nodding slightly towards the beast in question. The buck was grown, it was true, but from his understanding, Guardians in general had only appeared in the last few years. If the woman had only started fighting after she had acquired her beast, how much experience could she actually have? Would she actually be of any use in a fight?

Well. At least she should have some skill. Of course, training from a young age did not necessarily guarantee proficiency. But she was still alive, so she had to at least be able to defend herself. That was good enough for now. If he wondered about her family, he was not interested enough to pursue it. Not yet, at the least.

"I'm not pretty enough to be a princess," he said loftily. Never mind that he had inherited his blood father's aristocratic good looks. He had been referred to as handsome often enough, but if anyone thought him pretty, they wisely kept it to themselves.

"Besides," he added with a particularly wolfish look. "You might find that I am the black knight, milady."

Pyotr gave an ungentlemanly snort at the idea of prettying himself up, but otherwise deigned to give any proper response. Too much farther with that particular joke, and he might not be able to find the humor anymore.

"Who said anything about a tower?" he wondered instead. "Far too cliche. Any woman I made away with would hardly need to be locked away." Not that he had any particular urge to run off with any women. At this point, they would only get in his way.

"You should be more worried about your predilection toward wine," he said. "How will you ever find a man if you're ever at a cup?"

As for the Guard, well. He wasn't about to tell her that he grew up in the Belastranan palace, though he had never been a member of the Guard. "I may have worked with them once or twice," he told her instead. It was not a lie. It just wasn't the full truth.

"You said it, not I," he said, offering a less than innocent smile. Who was he to boast about his...abilities? They spoke plainly enough for themselves.

"Men, as a general rule, are pigs," he agreed easily enough. Spirits knew his own father had been a royal a**, and most others he had met were lacking. Then again... "Perhaps you are not looking in the right place." The words sounded suggestive, but there wasn't any real intent behind them.

"Had much experience with that?" he asked, less because he was genuinely interested and more because he was beginning to feel like she was learning more about him than he was about her - nothing significant, but a few facts, nonetheless. That simply would not do.

Pyotr glanced sidelong at the caravan. "I would wager that depends on how strongly we can...motivate them."

He hummed, which could have meant anything from agreement to amusement, but offered no further comment. As for where to look, well. He simply smiled. If she could not guess, he would not encourage her.

In his considerable experience, palace guards came in three varieties: those who enjoyed languishing in the luxury of a soft job; those who were stationed there as a punishment and hated every second of their dealings with pompous, court-trained idiots; and those who took their duty seriously. The first two were common enough in most palaces. It was the third that was rare in palaces like Sunderland's.

Of course, Sunderland's palace was not host to all of the political backstabbing and violent internal turmoil that made its home in Ledograd. No. Ledograd's palace guards were vigilant because they had to be - to b otherwise would lead to the deaths of their charges and their own disgrace and probable death.

But that was neither here nor there.

"Then perhaps we shall see what we can do to encourage them." he said. Pyotr suspected that Nori would not enjoy his way of thinking at all if she knew the truth of it, but as he had no intention of divulging his darkest secrets, he allowed her to keep her illusions.

Pyotr met her devilish smile with an innocent look of his own. "It is only our duty as diligent guards to remind our benevolent patrons of the dangers of the road. There could be an ambush at any moment. An attack at any turn. We would protect them, of course, but what a trying experience it would be for the young lads. And there is no telling if the horses would bolt."

He shook his head, the very picture of earnest concern. "No, no. We would be remiss in our duties if we did not encourage them to brave on through their cramped legs and tired eyes for a few miles more. For their own safety, of course."