My forced smile, the one I had worn to vex Sir Reiner, evaporated the moment he asked his unexpected question. I stood still before him, the raw emotional weight of the morning—the discovery of my mother's portrait, the shattering confession of her sacrifice—settling deep in my chest. Was he genuinely worried for me? The thought was confusing; I had never witnessed such a vulnerable expression on his face.
I clenched my fists, then instinctively moved to smooth my gown, only to realize I was still clad in my simple, unadorned leather training clothes. The look of concern on his face intensified—a sure sign that my lack of proper attire was alarming him. If my distress could break through his perpetual reserve, it was a victory, however small.
His hands were suddenly taking mine, the contact rough and honest. I hadn't seen him move. His expression was unhappy and worried, a novelty that momentarily overshadowed my grief, tempting me to exploit his sudden empathy.
"My Lady, if anything troubles you, you can speak to me. I swear I will not judge, and your secret will be as safe as the King's treasure."
"I am astonished, Sir Reiner. You called me 'My Lady' when there are only the two of us," I managed to say, forcing a chuckle. "Where is the familiar, surly Sir Reiner who mocks my 'heavy footsteps'?"
"You will forever be my Lady, Lady Eliana," he affirmed, yet his formality was undercut as he bent to press his lips against my gloved hand.
Was he attempting to court me? It was a new, unsettling development. "You are quite unnerving, Sir Reiner, as I am unaccustomed to such courtly behavior from you."
"Why should I not be? You have always sought me out when you are beset by worry or vexation," he continued, a familiar teasing sarcasm returning to his voice. "I am your sole confidant, even if you arrive at the training yard improperly dressed. You always come to seek me out, do you not?"
His sarcasm was obvious, but the underlying truth—that he understood me better than anyone—made a genuine, shaky laugh escape me. The suffocating emotional weight I carried lifted, just a fraction.
"Please, marry me, My Lady," he suddenly drawled, pushing his damp, messy hair back. "You never know, the loyal fool may prove to be the best choice."
"Thank you for your excellent humor, Sir Reiner," I replied, the lightness returning to my voice. "Due to your outstanding, if highly insincere, performance, I can now return to my quarters with ease."
I turned and walked away, needing to regain my composure and my proper attire, leaving Sir Reiner standing alone. I sensed his intense, lingering gaze on my back, and the knowledge brought a small, defiant smile to my lips. I do not need a husband, but a truly loyal knight and a steadfast friend is more than enough, I concluded.
As I disappeared, a shadow detached itself from the stable wall—Erwin, the young stable boy and Sir Reiner's sworn squire.
"You could have just told her the truth, Reiner. Why did you let her leave like that?"
Reiner sighed, picking up his wooden sword. "It is not my fault our lady is so naive when it comes to relationships. She will never view me as a man; to her, I am simply Sir Reiner, her personal knight, Erwin. The loyal fool who keeps her secrets."
**************
I was nearly back in the main house when I collided with a figure I had never encountered before.
The person was draped in a long, shapeless, charcoal traveler's cloak, the hood drawn low. They had entirely failed to yield to my passage, and worse, they dared to sneer at me instead of offering an apology. Their rudeness was immediate and deeply insulting.
The force of the collision made me stumble, and instead of assisting me, the cloaked figure simply walked away, leaving me sitting on the cold stone floor of the hall. The only redeeming quality was the glimpse of an exceptionally sharp jawline beneath the hood, but his attitude was as filthy as the lowest pauper's dwelling.
I sprang up, adrenaline surging. I tore off the mud-stained training boot still on my foot and hurled it with force. The boot struck the back of the figure's head with a dull thud.
The figure stopped, slowly turned, and approached me with an expression of pure, icy disdain.
"What in God's name are you?" the figure demanded, their voice low and cutting.
"You disgusting creature, I should ask you the same question!" I challenged, forcing my hands to remain steady against the dark, arrogant aura he emitted. "You bumped into me, and instead of apologizing, you left the Grand Duke's daughter lying on the floor. You have astounding impudence!"
My words had no effect. He merely stood there, his eyes—a striking, luminous chartreuse color—looking down on me as though I were vermin. He turned once more and resumed his retreat, leaving me trembling with seething, unspent rage. He has utterly ruined my fragile peace! I vowed to find out who he was. Who could forget such distinct features: the long, wavy Pre-Raphaelite hair visible beneath the hood, and those unsettling, pale green eyes?
**************
I marched straight to my chambers, tossing my soiled training tunic onto the floor, and collapsed onto my bed. I was physically and emotionally exhausted—the day had been a relentless assault on my senses. I needed blessed silence.
Just as my eyes drifted shut, a soft knock sounded, followed immediately by the entrance of our middle-aged head butler, Schneider Parkson.
"What is the meaning of this, Schneider? Do you enter my room without permission?" I retorted, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at him. It struck him squarely in the face. Why did he ignore the rule? What if he had found me in a state of undress?
"My Lady, I was gravely concerned," he pleaded, dropping his head in genuine apology. "I knocked several times and received no response. We feared you might have suffered a fit. Please pardon this disobedient servant."
"Did you truly knock? Are you certain of your honesty?"
"Yes, My Lady," the bowing man replied. "Your silence made us fear the worst, and thus we committed the grave error of entry."
How long was I asleep?
I slid off my bed and approached him, gently resting a hand on his shoulder to straighten him up. He was an elderly, respected member of the household, and my anger should not override my respect for his age. "I apologize for my ill-mannered temper and for striking you before hearing your explanation."
I led him to a small chair and firmly insisted he sit down, then called out to Andrea for a fresh pot of tea.
"My Lady, this is quite unacceptable," Schneider begged, attempting to rise. He was clearly worried that if word of my kindness to him reached the Duke, he might face censure for encouraging familiarity.
"I am doing this because you are elderly and I treated you poorly. Please accept my apology for the pillow-bashing."
His stern countenance softened into a kindly, paternal smile. He accepted the tea Andrea presented. "I am not distressed at all, dear Lady; I am only relieved you are well. We were all concerned when you failed to answer."
"Why were you so concerned, precisely?" I asked, needing to know the source of this communal anxiety.
"His Grace informed me of the emotional shock you received this morning, and how heartbroken you looked when you departed his study. Are you sure you are quite well, Lady Eliana?"
I felt the sudden, horrible sting of his genuine concern. I was not sure how I felt. In one day, I had met my mother's ghost and been told I was the unwitting cause of her death. I had no answer for him. I stared emotionlessly at him, sipping from my cup.
"This tea is exquisite, do you not agree, Schneider?" I said, desperately attempting to steer the conversation away from my fragile emotional state.
Both Schneider, holding his teacup, and Andrea, standing beside us, looked at me with open worry. Their expressions were too transparent to miss.
"Please, pour me another cup, Andrea. It truly is wonderful," I said, trying to suppress the sudden tremor in my voice, attempting to force back the welling tears. "Thank you."
I realized then how deeply fragile I was. How could I allow myself to cry in front of my staff? I was overwhelmed, desperately needing a source of comfort, a hug, and an assurance that the pain would pass. "Papa, where are you? I need your strength right now," I thought, clenching my fist over the cup, avoiding their anxious stares.
Andrea, seemingly sensing the imminent collapse, moved swiftly and wrapped her arms around me, nearly causing me to spill my tea, but I clung to it, too surprised to resist.
"It is quite alright to weep, My Lady. Let the sorrow escape."
At those words—the absolute permission to mourn—I could no longer hold back. My hands grew weak, and the cup slipped, tumbling to the carpeted floor with a muffled thud. I sobbed uncontrollably into Andrea's shoulder, the torrent of grief for the mother I never knew and the guilt I now carried finally unleashed. Schneider rose and joined the embrace, his warm presence adding to the comforting circle. I realized I desperately needed that collective human warmth, and they gave it to me without question.