–1–

“That's a good knight,” Princess Amaryllis cooed, dangling her pendant just above Bridget’s line of vision, forcing the knight, already on her knees, to look up at the ruby dangling there. It almost seemed to glow as it spun gently in the cool country sun.

Her princess had only pulled out the pendant a few moments ago, but Bridget’s face was already going slack as a soft sigh escaped her lips. She had been furious a moment ago, but all that seemed so far away. Bridget had been arguing with her Princess. Something about the ruined village they had passed. She couldn’t hold on to the thought. The crystal made her feel so warm and focused.

“Good knight, there you go. You can just let all that awful tension and conflict melt away. It's so much better when you just focus on your oath, isn't it? To serve and protect the Princess.” Amaryllis cooed, allowing the slightest edge of mockery to show in her voice. 

“To serve and protect the Princess,” Bridget mumbled, her eyes glassy now.

Princess Amaryllis smiled, taking an indulgent moment to observe Bridget’s face. The knight’s high cheekbones and short cropped, tightly curled hair could be so serious–even menacing. The contrast made the dopey, vacant expression settling in there now so much more satisfying. 

Amaryllis shifted her position as she pulled her gaze away from the knight’s delightfully placid face. She adjusted the skirt of her brocade dress. She wasn't used to sitting on a boulder, out mid-day with no carriage or umbrella, miles from Castle Ogh’ir, with only a single retainer. She missed the fortress’ dark halls and warm hearths. She missed feeling secure and warm against the unforgiving, icy coast. Instead of fur blankets and warm, spiced wine, she had just spent nearly six hours riding in front of Bridget clutching her waist. She was sore, miserable, and terrified. 

Just thinking about it made her anxiety begin to spike all over again. With her free hand, she pulled her fox fur mantle closer to ward off the chill. 

She surveyed the field around them: a stretch of wildflowers browning in the late autumn sun and rolling hills clear of trees. The field was maybe three miles wide, tucked into the ever-thickening forest around them. The woods had been growing denser as they rode. When they had first spotted it, Amaryllis had thought that this clearing would mean rest and shelter. She looked over again at the charred ruins of a small village on the opposite end of the clearing. With a pang of guilt, she thought of Bridget. Well, at least there was no one left in the village to sell her out to her uncle. She was glad the pathetic place had been razed, come to think of it. Now it was just silence. 

That was a relief at least.

Bridget let out something halfway between a sign and a moan. Not quite distress, but approaching it. 

Amaryllis whipped back to her subject and smiled. “Awww,” she said in a mockingly comforting tone, “are those pesky doubts creeping back in? Let me help.” 

Princess Amaryllis’ arm had remained posed above her knight’s head. Years of training kept it from dropping as she had surveyed the clearing. The crystal still hung, lightly spinning, in Bridget’s view. The knight’s supplicating gaze had not waivered from the stone for even a moment; her face, however, was beginning to tense, her brow just beginning to furrow. 

“Shhhh, you are sworn to serve and protect The Princess,” Amaryllis repeated firmly. 

“To serve and protect The Princess,” Bridget mumbled, her face relaxing. 

“To put her life before your own.”

“To put her life before my own.”

“That’s right,” Amaryllis cooed with warm cruelty, “now and forever.” 

“Now and forever.”

“Good,” the princess bit her lip hard. Bridget’s cheeks were flushed as were Amaryllis’ own. For a moment she had to fight back the urge to grip the knight hard by the hair on the nape of her neck and yank her head back–to correct Bridget’s earlier insolence. Bridget had always had a hot temper and loose tongue. With a little individual attention, Amaryllis was confident she could correct those faults. Amaryllis bit harder; she shouldn’t push the matter now. They were still in danger. 

“Soon I will wake you, Syr Knight. We are still in danger, and it is your sworn duty to see your princess to safety. It was bandits who razed this village. Motivated only by greed and villainy. They are not relevant to your service. When you wake, you will forget about the village and the foolish argument you so impertinently broached with your lady. She has forgiven your transgression, and graciously allowed you to continue in her service. The first and most urgent demand of that service being shelter and refuge for me.”

Amaryllis snapped her fingers. 

Bridget blinked and shook her head. The first thing she saw was Amaryllis’ face. Six hours' ride and her powder and rouge were still pristine. For a moment she felt anger creep back into her awareness. And then she caught Amaryllis’ gaze and a wave of embarrassment hit her. She felt her cheeks flush and averted her eyes. She had been furious. There was something she wanted to say. Bridget clawed at the thought in her head, but the more she struggled the more nebulous and distant it became. What had she even been angry about? Bridget’s embarrassment deepened. She needed to focus on their safety. 

“Thank you, Your Grace. The days have grown long and my temper short,” Bridget managed through gritted teeth. She hated being wrong. 

“See that it does not happen again. Your Princess’s magnanimity is not limitless,” Amaryllis retorted. A cruel smile began to tug at the edge of her mouth. 

Bridget’s ears burned. “Right,” she spat. 

“What was that?” Amaryllis snapped.

“I meant to say that we’ve made good time. We’re over 35 miles from Castle Ogh’ir now. It is unlikely that any of Lord Murdoch’s men could match that pace, especially while discerning our course.” The anger slipped from Bridget. She was in her element. 

“A most miserable and winding course it has been,” Amaryllis complained. 

“My apologies, your grace. The next time I’m saving your neck from an upstart uncle with more money and men than your father, by three fold, with nothing but my wit and blade, I’ll be sure to hire you a private carriage.”  

Amaryllis glared. 

“Not to mention the blades of the bloody Fion behind him,” Bridget continued, trying to force down her anger. 

“The Praetoriate still supports him,” Amaryllis snapped. 

“The Praetorian Guard withdrew from the gates, your grace. They refused to defend The High King.” 

Amaryllis was the one to avert her gaze now. 

Bridget felt another pang of guilt. She often forgot how young Amaryllis was. Her fiery red hair and sardonic smile made her seem every bit the first heir of House Sinnach, but she wasn’t much older than Bridget. Bridget furrowed her brow as she saw a tear roll down The Princess’ cheek. Even half-hidden behind a curtain of glossy red hair, Bridget could see Her Grace’s eyes glisten like rubies. For a moment Bridget marveled at The Princess’ beauty. She was just a scared child in many ways. Bridget wished she knew how to comfort her.  

“As I was saying, we’ve made good time, but at the cost of most else. We’ve not been headed to any shelter I know. There is no knowing who has been bought by your uncle’s coin. The usual safehouses and holdouts can’t be trusted. Given that unfortunate reality, our best course is likely to be more miserable and winding: The Aesvithr.” 

Aesvithr. The God’s Wood. This was the border with Adlyr lands. Cannibal druids. Child snatching hags. Sedition against the High King in every backward hamlet not watched by her father’s vassals. 

Her gaze drifted to the edge of the clearing. The trees, mostly barren of leaves now, seemed to reach menacingly at her. She could make out little past the treeline, just a black void of gasping branches.

Amaryllis’ round face contorted in disgust. “Aesvithr! Am I some tale-drunk adventurer? Am I to prance around fencing brigands and evading fairy rings? Absolutely not!” she shouted, kicking a pump against the boulder beneath her. With a loud crack, the heel flew off, spinning into the grass. Amaryllis winced sharply and drew her leg to her chest. 

Before either of them knew what was happening, Bridget was back on her knees cradling Amaryllis’ leg with surprising tenderness. With a single calm motion she slipped off the broken pump and inspected The Princess’ hind foot. There was a slight tear in the stocking and a little red where the skin had scraped the stone. 

Amaryllis winced in anticipation as Bridget’s fingers moved toward the wound, she quickly relaxed though, as she noticed how delicate the knight’s touch was. Bridget’s fingers were calloused and firm, Amaryllis could tell even through her stocking. Yet, the knight moved her fingers against The Princess’ skin with such careful control that Amaryllis could barely feel the touch. 

Bridget yanked a strip of bandage from her belt. 

“It’s just a scratch. We have no spare shoes though. You won’t be walking in these stockings,” Bridget said softly. Still cradling her princess’ heel as she wrapped the bandage. 

“I shall rely on my good knight and her trusted steed for conveyance then,” Amaryllis replied, mocking but warm. 

“We’ve not a saddle for my back, Your Grace,” Bridget returned, smiling wickedly as she met her lady’s gaze. 

Amaryllis smiled. “Make note then, Syr Knight: a carriage and an extra saddle next time I am deposed.”