"I wish to ride, My Lord,"
My black warhorse pawed at the frozen earth when we were about to leave in the morning but then Ardelle appeared.
She was dressed in thick furs, her face still pale, but her eyes held a spark of defiance I hadn't expected.
She looked at the line of horses, her gaze lingering on the saddle.
"The air... I think it would do me good to stay on the horse."
"You will not," I replied without looking at her, "The winds are too sharp, and your ribs are not yet mended. You will stay in the carriage."
"But, My Lord, please," she stepped closer, her hand tentatively reaching for my sleeve.
"The carriage feels like a cell. I had spent enough time inside the fortress. Let me feel the sun."
I stopped my work and turned. I let a cold glare settle on my features, not risking her health for a petty whining.
"The rebels are still in the crags. A carriage is wood and iron; a horse is a target. You are going inside, Ardelle. That is the end of it."
She flinched, her shoulders dropping in a way that made a part of me want to recant. But the image of her draped over a rebel's saddle and filled with bruises was too fresh.
She turned away unwillingly, her head bowed in a quiet, heavy sadness that induced a clenching sensation.
"Oh come on, leaving so soon, My Lady?"
Emerson appeared as if summoned by the scent of conflict. He was mounted on his white horse, wearing his blinding armor, no less than the Southern Prince that made me roll my eyes.
That majestic bastard.
He leaned down, a vibrant, mountain-wildflower held between his fingers, a miracle of life found in the frost.
"I have excellent news," Emerson chirped, ignoring my scowl.
"The King has insisted I join the vanguard. It seems you'll have my charming company all the way back to the Capital."
"I see." She gave a clear-cut, cold, reply, still hurt from my 'No'.
He began to extend the flower toward Ardelle, his eyes soft with a practiced, honeyed warmth but her hand did not extend.
"A small token for the journey, Lady Ar—"
My hand moved faster than his smile. I intercepted the gesture, my gauntlet closing around the delicate stem.
Instead of taking the flower, I ended up crushing it. The petals fell into the slush, reduced to colorful pulp in my grip as I stood still. It was unintentional but instinctive too.
"The Lady is resting," I hissed, my eyes locking with his, stepping between Ardelle and Emerson to block the view.
"She has no need for Southern weeds."
Emerson only chuckled, shaking his head.
"Careful, Kaldric. If you squeeze everything that tightly, you'll find you're left with nothing but dust."
Winking, he held the reins tighter and went ahead. My jaw clenched but I endured his presence before mounting my warhorse as we left.
Another journey began and from time to time, my eyes darted to Ardelle's carriage, wondering what she must be doing. My horse was suddenly lighter without her, my arms felt… empty.
She fit so perfectly in between, constantly poking me which I mostly pretended to not notice because I couldn't feel that due to the armor.
Later when we stopped at the town, I was already down and before her carriage, leading her beside me, checking on her wounds constantly.
"Your flower won't wither, Kaldric. Come!" Zack called for a meeting, teasing me on purpose. Rolling my eyes, I leaned down to whisper in Ardelle's ear, "Stay with Aldwin. Not Emerson."
"I shall do none. I am in the dining hall, waiting for you." She mumbled, lifting her skirts to walk away.
A small smirk tugged at my lips, "Have you sworn to not obey me, woman?"
She stopped in her tracks, "You told me to not before you again." Then glanced over her shoulder with a faint smirk, "Did I listen?"
Shaking my head, I pushed my hair and went with Zack, wondering what goes through the mind that this woman defies the commander none dared to speak against.
From letting go of her cloak in the beginning to throwing me out of the tent during her cycle. That woman… What does she do to me?
Later, during dinner, across the table, Emerson sat with that infuriating, effortless grace, his regal form was a loud insult to the grime still etched into the creases of my knuckles.
He always had that unsavoury grace. We had the same silver eyes but his eyes were softer– Everything… Forget it.
"Sire."
A servant placed a tray of roasted lamb and apple pie. The scent should have been appetizing, but instead of the lamb, my favorite, my eyes fell on the pie– Her favourite.
I felt Ardelle shift beside me. She was more silent than usual, her presence a quiet hum against my side that I was trying (and failing) to ignore.
I saw her hand move. Small, pale, and still marked with the faint yellowing of bruises of the ties on her wrist. I slowly leaned to her side.
"Are you alright? Can you pick the fork?"
"Yes, My Lord."
She picked up the prime cut of meat from her plate, the piece she needed most to regain her strength, and set it on my tray.
"You should have it tonight, you need strength." I whispered, returning some of the portion back to her.
"But, My Lord,"
"Eat. You need to recover."
I also pressed half of my apple pie to her and earned an adorable pout as if I took something that belonged to her.
She wanted the full piece that truly amused me. I arched an eyebrow teasingly. I knew she would take mine nonetheless and continued eating
"How touching," Emerson's voice cut through our tiny but soft exchange. He was watching us with a dry, amused hum, his fork poised mid-air.
"Tell me, my Lady, do you pour your heart into your portion hoping it will reach his heart? Or is this commander's charity?"
The insult hit me, but it was Ardelle who reacted first.
I saw her fingers tighten around her knife, her features hardening when her barely countable moment was being poked.
She looked up, and for a fleeting second, the timid girl vanished.
Her emerald eyes flashed with a sudden, sharp heat that made my heart hammer against my ribs.
"It is not charity, My Lord, merely a normal exchange between spouses." She began, her voice ringing with a strength I hadn't heard since the night of the ale. "Though I doubt—"
Then, she stopped.
She caught my gaze in the periphery. I didn't mean to glare, but the habit of the Commander was a hard mask to shed. She saw my stiff posture, my hand clenched into a fist on the table, and lowered her head.
"Though you doubt…?" Emerson pressed.
"Nothing. I apologize."
The fire in her eyes died instantly, replaced by a hollow, crushing shame. She lowered her head, the furs of her cloak seemingly weighing her down.
Emerson leaned forward, his eyes dancing with a cruel curiosity.
"Pray, continue. I found myself quite fond of your retorts. They have more life in them than anything else in this tent."
Ardelle didn't answer, she simply stared at the apple pie, "Truly. It was nothing, My Lord. I spoke out of turn."
I picked up the meat she had given me and forced myself to chew. I wanted to reach over, grab Ardelle's hand, and tell her to finish the sentence but I didn't know why, so I stopped.
But I wondered why she stopped.
The golden warmth of the royal tent was replaced by the biting, blue chill of our private quarters. The silence between us wasn't peaceful, Ardelle looked like she wanted to tell me something but was hesitant.
I watched Ardelle as she moved to the corner of the tent, her fingers trembling as she began to unfasten the winter cloak.
The defiance she had shown Emerson at the table had vanished, replaced by a careful caution that made my chest tighten.
"Why did you stop?" I asked, curious to know.
She paused, her back still to me. "My Lord?"
"At dinner," I pressed, stepping toward her. The Commander in me demanded an answer, even if the man in me was afraid of it.
"Emerson was mocking us. You had a retort on your tongue. Why did you swallow it?"
Ardelle turned slowly. Her emerald eyes were wide, reflecting the low flicker of the single candle between us. There was no anger in them, only a weary, heartbreaking clarity.
"Because you didn't like it the last time, My Lord. Remember what happened in Sernic?" she whispered.
I froze. My eyes widened to recall that my blinding fury caused me to overreact. Emerson's presence, her tongue, the doubt, all had consumed me there and I… did the worst to her.
"I am not the woman you considered me. I am no harlot, nor do I fake my tears. I do not wish my tongue would bring me troubles, especially your disgust." She began, her lips curling in a beautiful but sorrowful smile.
"I apologize but I do not wish to be the woman you were warned about– I am not."
She looked down at her hands, the bruises on her wrists a dull purple and I had no explanation for my demeanor. That was the type of man I was, and will be.
What has changed now?
"So... I stayed silent. Isn't that what a good wife does? She stays out of the way of the war." She shrugged, tugging her hair behind her ears but her eyes were saddened and it was not the dinner.
What was bothering her so much?
The words I had snarled in the heat had become the very cage she was living in. I wanted to reach out to hear, at least not to him, she could tell me.
I was the same man as before then why did my heart urged me to know her silence?
But then my mother's letter felt like a lead weight against my ribs. Do not let her weaken you.
"I see," I rasped, closing my eyes briefly, "You truly are a fooler." I shook my head, removing her hat, settling it aside.
I didn't apologize. I didn't explain. I simply turned away, shedding my armor with a series of heavy, metallic clangs.
"Sleep, Ardelle," I said, my voice cold and flat. "We have a long march tomorrow."
I closed my eyes, forcing my pulse to slow with the discipline of a soldier. I told myself the silence was better.
I told myself that a wife who feared her husband's rage was a wife who stayed safe.