There was a stockyard by Wallesdorf's southernmost gate, a large enclosure lined with wooden stalls and a hayloft. Earlier today, a caravan, dozens of wagons deep, had arrived from Geofu, laden with supplies—sacks of grain, barrels of salted meats, medicine, spare armor, and fresh weapons. I'd even spied a couple of crossbows. Heavy ones, the kind you'd need to use a goat's foot to re-cock.
All of it was for us. In theory, with the provisions we'd brought ourselves and the food produced in and around Wallesdorf's farmland, there should have been enough to feed the entire army. But given our sheer number, along with the fact that we didn't know just how long we'd be garrisoning the city, there was a decent chance that we could end up eating Wallesdorf out of house and home.
It was kind of a mess—All over the place, men and women were hauling, stacking, counting, and cursing as they worked to distribute the load. The air was thick with the smell of horses, sweat, and sawdust, mingling with the acrid stench of manure from the stables just a stone's throw away.
Sweat clung to my skin as I hefted a burlap sack, its contents shifting and rustling inside. With a grunt, I tossed it onto the pile, a cloud of fine, white dust billowing out of it and clinging to my already-stained tunic and trousers. I wiped my brow, cursed under my breath when I realized I'd smudged flour across my forehead, then went to grab another sack.
"Careful with those!" a quartermaster barked, furiously waving a quill as a pair of girls—raw recruits, probably just a few weeks fresh from their muster—nearly dumped a crate of bandages and medicine on the floor. They jumped and quickly set it down. "You break them, I'll break you! We can't afford to waste even an ounce of this!"
As was tradition, it fell to the soldiery to receive, unload, and organize them. Lots had been drawn earlier; everyone who'd drawn short had been given the incredible, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of being voluntold for the job. Vera's squad—my old squad—was one of the 'lucky' ones.
And, even though I was exempt from the whole thing, I'd come down to give them a hand. Gods knew I needed to get my mind on something else, and I had a lot of extra energy to burn off. The ache in my ribs had finally subsided to a dull throb, and I'd spent so much of the last few days resting and doing little else that I was actually starting to feel cooped up.
Technically, I wasn't supposed to be doing anything even remotely strenuous quite yet: The chirurgeon would have my hide if she knew what I was up to. I'd been careful not to push myself too hard—at first. But the more I worked, the more I let myself slip into the rhythm. Lift, carry, drop. Lift, carry, drop.
It was simple. It was something real. It was better than just sitting around, letting my thoughts eat at me, or letting them drift back to...
...The faint brush of skin against my own. The way she'd looked at me, blue eyes locked with mine.
Dammit. Stop.
"—Ansel!"
A sharp nudge to my ribs yanked me back to reality, and nearly made me drop the sack I was carrying. I turned and glared at Biggs.
He glared right back at me, though his lips twitched at the corners. "You gonna stand around lookin' pretty, or you gonna help us?"
"I am helping," I shot back at him.
"Yeah? 'Cause it really looked like you were just glaring at the clouds over yonder."
I glanced at the sky, in the same vague direction he gestured to. "The clouds know what they did," I said, deadpan.
Biggs snorted a laugh, and the girls next to him did, too. They'd been listening in.
I couldn't help but laugh with them.
By the time the last of the supplies were unloaded, the rest of the squad was gathered near one of the carts, catching our breath and drinking water from our canteens with deep gulps. It was late, probably just a couple hours shy of dusk. The heat had long since seeped into the wood and stone around us, and the air itself felt thick and heavy.
Vera planted her hands on her hips, aiming an exaggerated frown at us. "That was some sad shit," she said. "You guys call that lifting? My grandmother couldda hauled twice the load, and she's been dead for fifteen years!"
Hans, too new to the squad to know not to take the bait, piped up, "Your grandma must've been ripped as hell."
Vera blinked, then grinned. "Shit, yeah. She was."
Biggs and Kirk chuckled, and I snickered a bit, too. I wiped the sweat from my brow, exhaling sharply. The others were still joking, but the sounds felt muted, like I was listening from the bottom of a well.
Maybe I just needed air.
I turned away from the group, stretching out my shoulders, but before I could drift too far, Colette fell into step beside me.
"You're gonna wear yourself out if you don't sit down," Colette said. "You're sure you're not pushing it too hard?"
"I'll be alright," I said automatically.
She hummed, obviously unconvinced. "You say that, but..."
"But?"
"You seemed off today. Distant, kinda."
I tensed. Just barely, but enough that I knew she caught it. I forced a grin. "You always this nosy?"
Colette rolled her eyes. "Nope," she said, popping the p. "Just when I think someone needs it."
I huffed a laugh and fell into step beside her as the others drifted ahead.
For a while, we just walked in a loop through the courtyard, away from the carts and supply wagons. The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting everything in gold and amber light. The dust in the air caught the glow, swirling around our boots as we went.
And it wasn't until Colette nudge me with her shoulder again that I realized we'd fallen into a silence. It wasn't an awkward or uncomfortable one—just quiet.
"You know... I didn't think I'd see you around so much," she said, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. "Figured you'd be spending all your time shadowing the Knight-Commander."
She didn't say it with any malice—it was a casual observation. But my gut still tensed up.
"I still get some free time every now and then," I said, keeping my tone easy.
"And you choose to spend it on hauling flour and salt pork?" Colette arched a brow. "Interesting hobby you've got there."
"What, you keeping track of my schedule now, Colette?"
She shrugged, her smile turning teasing. "Maybe. I've got an eye for these things, ya know."
That made me laugh again, and this time she laughed along with me, the sound light and airy.
"I remember when we used to see you all the time," Colette continued, her tone shifting, softer now. "Before you got knight-adjacent, I mean."
Knight-adjacent. That got a small grin out of me.
I knew what she meant, though. Before, I had been one of them—just another face in the squad. Since I'd become Lady Claudia's squire, I'd needed to remain in the Holy City, while the rest of them returned to Ken. I wasn't in the army anymore. Not in the same way. It hit me then, how much I'd missed moments like this.
I turned to her, about to say something, but Colette was already looking at me. She quickly looked away when our eyes met. Though, not quick enough to hide the flush of red that had crept up to her ears.
"Y'know," she said, clearing her throat, "you should come by more often. The squad's not the same without you." Colette reached up, tucking a loose strand of pale hair behind her ear. A small, unconscious gesture.
Oh.
...Oh.
"...Yeah. Sounds good," I said, feeling another smile pull at the corner of my mouth. "I'll try and make some time from my busy squire-ing schedule."
She giggled at that, and I didn't stop myself from laughing along with her.
The rest of the squad was waiting for us as we completed our circuit back around the courtyard, leaning against the wooden fencing.
"Ansel! Margot says there's an alehouse by the tanner's street," Vera declared at once. "She says they serve obstler there! We oughta check it out. For, y'know, research."
I raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. And you've got schnaps money?"
"Nooo..." she admitted slowly, though a small smile began to curl across her face. "But I do know this one nice, strapping gentleman who is very kind and generous to his friends. And might have a couple extra pennies burning a hole in his pocket." Vera clasped her hands together and gave me an exaggerated pout. "Annie..."
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't quite suppress a grin. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were just trying to butter me up for free drinks."
"It's not gonna be free—you'll be paying," Kirk retorted. "C'mon. It'll be fun, yeah? It's been ages since we had you with us."
I hesitated for a moment, a part of me almost ready to say no—I'd never really been one for drinking. But... I wasn't ready to return to the manse quite yet. I'd have too much time to myself. Too much time to think. To dwell on the memory of blue eyes, soft skin...
I forced those thoughts down, and looked back to Colette. She gave me a hopeful smile.
I grinned back. "Fine. Consider the busy squire schedule cleared for tonight."
At some point—though she couldn't quite pinpoint when—Claudia realized that she had been avoiding her squire.
It had not been a conscious decision. Not at first. And nothing overtly noticeable, even to herself. But there were little things that, over the course of the past few weeks, had piled on top of each other. Little, unassuming details, forming a slow, undeniable pattern. A lingering pause at the threshold of a room before she turned on her heel and took another path. A sudden need to check on the garrison's daily reports, or the state of the armory. A simple matter that needed attending to. An errand or task that had been overlooked, until then. Excuses that came too easily. More and more, she found ways to be elsewhere, attending to things that—while important—did not require her immediate attention.
And so she had neglected him.
Not maliciously. Not even deliberately. But it had happened all the same.
It gnawed at her, this uncharacteristic hesitancy. She'd never been one to shy away from discomfort. When she had been squired to her future father-in-law, she had borne the trials of his tutelage with stoic resolve. On those distant afternoons, she had learned to march, to lead and inspire, to ride, to fight, and to kill. In battle, she had earned the honor of her scars. She had faced the aberrants that preyed on mankind, time and time again. That was the kind of woman she was. She did not balk from pain. She did not flinch from consequence.
So why?
What was different about this?
Her fingers twitched at the memory. A simple touch. Nothing more. But she could still feel the roughness of his unshaven jaw beneath her fingertips, the way his breath had hitched in surprise. The way he had stared back at her.
She had always known that he was strong, even when she'd first taken him under her tutelage. Ansel had been a soldier for years before he became her squire. He'd fought in battles, marched with armies, and faced the Legion in combat. But he was adapting, too. The training subjected him to—the same rigorous, exacting regimen that had once been her own—was changing him, shaping him.
It was plain to see. His posture was changing, subtly but surely. He moved now with greater surety, with a new confidence. The sort that came from knowing the measure of one's own strength. His frame had thickened, too. No longer merely lean, but solid. Muscled. Of late, she was beginning to notice the way his tunic stretched over broadening shoulders, how the contours of his arms and chest were becoming more defined, and...
And... Damnation. Why am I even thinking of such things?
Claudia inhaled sharply, forcing herself upright in her seat, spine straight as a rod. This was absurd. Worse than absurd—it was disgraceful, an insult to her position, and a betrayal of her role. She was a knight. His master, his mentor, and his commander. He was her squire. These were thoughts she should not entertain, nor even permit to cross her mind in the first place. And yet...
No.
Her fingers curled into a fist in her lap. This would not continue. It could not continue.
"Excellency?"
Captain Kessler's voice cut through her thoughts. Claudia started. Her grip tightened around her clay mug. She breathed, collecting herself, before she looked up at him.
He had set down the folio he had been reading from, brow furrowed slightly as he regarded her with measured concern.
"Is everything alright?" he asked. "You seem distracted."
That, at least, was an understatement. Claudia cleared her throat. "I was," she said, more curtly than she intended. "Forgive me, I lost track of the conversation."
Kessler hesitated, his frown easing but not fading entirely. "If this isn't a good time," he began, but she cut him off with a shake of her head.
"No, no. I'm sorry, Captain," she said. "Please, proceed."
"...Of course, Your Excellency," Kessler said. He lifted the folio once more. "Captain Vossen returned yesterday evening, and Captain Otfried arrived just this morning. Both scouting parties concur on no sightings of the Legion whatsoever within twenty miles of the city. Further, their encampments at both the western and northern roads have been abandoned, though the bodies of the slain are yet where they fell."
"And the western route?"
"Nothing of note to report, ma'am. The valley itself remains quiet."
She breathed out, the knot of tension in her chest loosening slightly. No sign of the Legion meant respite. More time to organize, to train, to prepare. It was good news. Excellent news, even. And yet...
More time. More idle days, waiting. More of... this. Whatever this was. Whatever she could call it. And what had changed? Nothing, in truth. Nothing of consequence. So why, then, did it feel as though it had?
Damnation.
Claudia exhaled slowly, willing herself back into calm. This... lapse in judgment—this indulgence in foolish, fleeting thoughts—would not happen again. She had sworn oaths, taken vows, and dedicated her life to a higher calling. She would not falter now.
She had allowed herself to be lax with Ansel's training, distracted by self-inflicted foolishness. That ended today.
She would resume his drills. He would focus on his training. She would focus on her duty.
That was all there was to it.
He'd seemed surprised when she asked him to meet her in the manse's courtyard that following evening, after the duty day had ended.
Not just surprised. Taken aback.
It was a small thing, a brief hesitation in his step, a flicker in his eyes before Ansel smoothed his expression into something more like the familiar, casual ease he always carried himself with. But Claudia saw it—saw how his fingers curled slightly at his sides, saw the breath he drew in before he nodded and smiled at her. "Of course, ma'am. I'll be there."
Perhaps he'd assumed that his lessons would continue as they had the last few weeks, with only sporadic supervision. Or perhaps he'd thought that their bouts would remain on hiatus, given his injury. More the fool him.
When she extended the blunted training sword towards him, Ansel took it, brows lifting slightly.
"I've been lax in your instruction of late," Claudia told him. "The past few weeks have been... preoccupied, and I allowed it to impede your instruction. I hope you'll forgive my negligence, Ansel."
It was only part of the truth.
She had let herself become distant, and had allowed herself to believe that the distance was necessary. That it was a precaution, a means of regaining control.
And yet, the avoidance had done nothing to quiet her restless thoughts.
...No. She had already spent too much time indulging in those distractions. It ended here, and now.
"There's nothing to forgive, ma'am," Ansel replied, his tone light. He rolled his shoulders, stretching slightly. The movement was natural, unconscious, yet quietly confident. He looked excited, even, as he spun the sword around in his hands, carving lazy arcs through the air.
That was good. He had always been a quick study. He learned from his mistakes, adapting and growing in the face of defeat. He was no stranger to hardship or toil.
Ansel went on, "I think the rest was good for me, all in all. And... Yeah. I don't know. Maybe not fencing for a few weeks made me a bit hungry for it again. Even if I'm not winning," he said, breaking into a small grin.
It was a boyish expression—open, easy, completely at odds with the weight that had settled between them in recent days. It reached his eyes, lighting them up with a warm, genuine glimmer.
And then, she smiled back, despite herself. She could not help it. The way he spoke, that unabashed earnestness, had an infectious quality. An earnestness she'd once found naive, irritating even. But now... now, it was an endearing trait. One that was uniquely him.
"We can't have that, can we?" she said.
His grin widened. "Well, I can't speak for you, but I'd sure hate to have a rusty squire."
"I am afraid you'll have to make do with being outmatched." She raised the sword high overheard—Vom Tag. "First to ten touches, as usual?" asked Claudia.
Ansel nodded, spreading his feet, bracing one arm against the other, going into Schlussel. "Maybe this'll be the one time I actually make it to four."
"If you make it to four, I may consider you worthy of celebration."
He laughed at that. She did, too.
Everything felt normal then, as it always should have been.
No lingering glances. No traitorous thoughts. No unbidden memories. There was a comfort in the simplicity of the fight. A joy, even. It was something she had not realized she missed, just as he had. She could lose herself in the ebb and flow of the bout.
She would remember that moment, years later, after everything had unraveled and the world flipped upside down. The ease of it, the simple pleasure of testing her mettle against his. She would remember the laughter they shared. The way she had felt, in that instant, that all was right, as it had always been. That it was a moment worth cherishing.
And she would wonder if fate had granted them that one last reprieve only to make its cruelty all the sharper.