Lucien returned home shortly before sunset, guiding Barnaby through the narrow streets with a pouch of coins tucked safely inside his coat.
His mother was arranging flowers outside their cottage when she spotted him.
"Welcome back, Lucien. How did the delivery go?"
"Everything went well. Monsieur Delacroix was pleased with the lilies, and he said he'll need another batch next week."
"Oh? That's good news."
Lucien handed her the remaining flowers before reaching into his coat.
"And Father's vases sold quickly, too. Monsieur Delacroix said the customers liked them."
His mother accepted the payment and counted the coins.
"Your father will be happy to hear that. He's been working hard on those vases."
"Speaking of Father, where is he?"
"Inside, cleaning his tools. He was asking about you earlier."
Lucien nodded and led Barnaby toward the stable.
As he secured the donkey, his thoughts returned to the girl he'd met at the merchant's shop.
Elise.
He could still remember how eagerly she'd listened when he explained the difference between lilies and irises. Most people simply admired flowers for their appearance. She'd wanted to know why they looked different.
He rubbed Barnaby's neck.
"I wonder if I'll see her again."
Barnaby flicked his ears.
"Don't look at me. You're not the one who has to think about these things."
The donkey let out a short bray.
"Yeah, yeah. Keep your opinions to yourself."
After putting away his things, Lucien stepped outside and found several children gathered near the cottage. They were holding wooden swords and arguing over who would play the king.
"You're supposed to be the enemy!" one boy protested.
"I'm the strongest knight in the kingdom!" another shouted.
"You lost last time!"
"That was because you cheated!"
Lucien stopped beside them.
"What's all this noise about?"
The children turned toward him.
"Lucien! We're playing knights!"
"Can you be the king?" a little girl asked. "You can tell everyone what to do!"
Lucien crouched beside her.
"The king? That's a pretty important job. Are you sure you want to give it to me?"
She nodded eagerly.
"You're smart!"
"Am I? Then perhaps I should start by ordering everyone to put down their swords before someone gets hurt."
The children lowered their wooden weapons.
"Now what?" one boy asked.
Lucien glanced at the makeshift battlefield they'd drawn in the dirt.
"How about a different game? The kingdom is under attack, and the king has ordered his knights to protect the village."
"From an army?" the boy asked.
"From a dragon."
Their eyes widened.
"A dragon?!"
"That's right. And it's hiding somewhere nearby. Your job is to find it before it reaches the village."
The children scattered with excited shouts, searching behind barrels and around the cottages.
Lucien followed them, pretending to inspect the ground for tracks. When one of the boys pointed at a pile of straw and declared it the dragon's lair, Lucien helped him investigate.
They spent the next several minutes chasing one another around the street. Lucien let the children surround him before raising both hands in surrender.
"All right, all right! You've caught me!"
"We won!" the little girl shouted.
The children cheered.
For a while, there were no recruitment notices to worry about, no soldiers marching through town, and no distant battlefield waiting beyond the kingdom's borders.
There was only the sound of children laughing.
Then Lucien noticed someone standing near the well.
Adelaide.
She watched the children with a small smile, her hands clasped in front of her.
When Lucien approached, she tilted her head.
"Having fun?"
"Of course. Someone has to keep these little knights out of trouble."
"You seem to be enjoying yourself more than they are."
"That's because I'm an excellent king."
Adelaide laughed softly.
"You're ridiculous."
"And yet, you came over to speak to me."
Her smile lingered, but her eyes soon drifted toward the road leading out of town.
"Lucien..."
"Hm?"
"The recruitment officers came back this morning."
His smile faded slightly.
"I heard."
"Did you check the names?"
"Yes."
Adelaide looked at him.
"And?"
"My name wasn't on the list."
Her shoulders loosened a little, but the tension in her hands remained.
"Thank goodness."
Lucien studied her face.
"You were worried about me?"
"Of course I was."
She lowered her gaze, rubbing her thumb against the side of her hand.
"I kept thinking about what might happen if they called you. You'd have to leave town, travel to the front, and fight people you've never even met."
"Adelaide..."
"I know you're not a soldier. I know you spend most of your time reading books about flowers and helping your parents. But that wouldn't matter to them, would it?"
Her voice grew quieter.
"They'd give you a weapon and send you away all the same."
Lucien didn't answer immediately.
A breeze stirred the loose strands of her hair. She stepped closer, then rested her head against his shoulder.
"I can't imagine what I'd do if they called you to fight in the war."
Lucien glanced down at her.
Adelaide's fingers curled around the fabric of his sleeve.
"I don't want you to go," she whispered.
The words hung between them.
Lucien looked toward the road, where a few townspeople were carrying baskets back to their homes. Somewhere nearby, a wooden cart rattled over the cobblestones.
Then he lowered his head slightly toward hers.
"I'm really glad you're here with me, Adelaide."
She lifted her face just enough to look at him.
"You're always looking out for me. You remind me to be careful on the road, tell me when I've forgotten to eat, and worry whenever I stay out too late."
"You make it sound as though I'm always scolding you."
"You do scold me quite a lot."
"Lucien!"
He chuckled.
"But seriously, thank you. You've always been kind to me. Even when I'm too caught up in my books to notice anything else, you're there making sure I'm all right."
Adelaide's cheeks began to turn pink.
Lucien looked at her, a playful smile spreading across his face.
"Sometimes, I wonder if there's another reason you care about me so much."
Her fingers tightened around his sleeve.
"What do you mean?"
He leaned a little closer.
"It's almost as if your way of saying you love me."
Adelaide's eyes widened.
"W-What?!"
Her face turned bright red.
"Q-Quit all your nonsense!"
She struck him on the shoulder.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"That's what you get for saying embarrassing things!"
"Embarrassing? I was only asking a question!"
"Then learn to keep your questions to yourself!"
She turned and hurried away, her footsteps quick against the cobblestones.
"Adelaide, wait!"
She didn't look back.
Lucien watched her disappear around the corner, then rubbed the spot where she'd struck him.
"She's the one who rested her head on my shoulder..."
He shook his head, though the corners of his mouth remained raised.
"Girls are complicated."
Still, the warmth of her presence lingered long after she'd left.
---
That evening, Lucien made his way to a small drinking establishment near the edge of town.
The wooden sign above the entrance creaked whenever the wind caught it. Light spilled through the windows, accompanied by the clatter of cups and the rumble of several voices.
Inside, the air smelled of ale, roasted meat, and damp wool.
Lucien spotted his friends gathered around a table near the back.
"Hey! Look who's finally decided to show up!" one of them called.
Lucien approached and pulled out a chair.
"Sorry. I had a few things to take care of."
"Things to take care of?" another man repeated. "You mean you were playing with those children again?"
"They asked me to join them."
"And you couldn't say no?"
"They needed a king."
His friends burst into laughter.
"Listen to him! A king, he says!"
Lucien shrugged.
"Someone has to keep the kingdom running."
"Then perhaps you should become the king instead of that flower fellow you keep talking about."
"Royal botanist," Lucien corrected. "And I'd rather grow flowers than sit on a throne."
"Of course you would."
A few cups were raised, and the conversation drifted toward the latest news from town.
Then one of the men at the table slammed his cup down.
"Easy there, Martin," another friend warned.
Martin barely seemed to hear him. His cheeks were flushed, and his words dragged together as he reached for the bottle in front of him.
"Easy? You want me to take it easy?"
He let out a bitter laugh.
"They took my name this morning. Mine! I'm supposed to leave with the next group."
The laughter around the table died away.
Lucien looked at him.
"Martin, I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" Martin repeated. "What good is that going to do me?"
He took another drink.
"You're nineteen, just like me. You spend your days reading about flowers, and now you get to stay here while the rest of us are sent away!"
Lucien's hands settled on the edge of the table.
"I didn't ask them to leave me off the list."
"I know that!"
Martin shoved his chair backward. Its legs scraped loudly against the floor.
"But why you? Why do you get to stay?"
He reached for the empty bottle beside him and hurled it toward Lucien.
Lucien jerked aside. The bottle struck the wall behind him and shattered against the wooden boards.
Several people turned toward them.
Martin stepped forward, fists clenched.
"Get up! If you think you're so lucky, then come and fight me!"
"Martin, stop!" one of their friends shouted.
Martin ignored him and moved toward Lucien.
Before he could get any closer, another man caught him by the arm.
"That's enough! Look at yourself!"
"Let go of me!"
"Not until you calm down!"
Martin struggled against his friend's grip, but his movements grew unsteady. He finally stumbled backward and dropped into his chair, breathing hard.
The man holding him released his arm and turned toward Lucien.
"I'm sorry about his behavior."
Lucien glanced at the broken glass scattered across the floor.
"It's okay."
He looked back at the man.
"Give me a name, at least. I don't want to keep calling you 'the guy who stops people from throwing bottles.'"
The man gave a tired sigh.
"Thomas. My name's Thomas."
"Nice to meet you, Thomas."
"Under better circumstances, preferably."
Lucien offered a small smile.
Thomas looked at Martin, who had buried his face in his hands.
"Come on. Let's get some air."
He helped Martin to his feet, and the three of them left the establishment. Outside, two wooden stools stood against the wall beside the entrance.
Thomas pulled them over, and Lucien sat on one while Martin lowered himself onto the other.
For a while, nobody spoke.
The evening air was cooler than it had been earlier. From inside came the muffled sound of conversation, but out here, the street was quiet.
Martin stared at the ground between his boots.
"I'm sorry," he muttered.
Lucien turned toward him.
"For the bottle?"
Martin nodded.
"I shouldn't have done that."
"No, you shouldn't have."
Martin let out a weak, humorless laugh.
"You're not even going to pretend it was all right?"
"Would you rather I lied?"
Martin rubbed both hands over his face.
"No. I guess not."
Thomas sat beside him, his elbows resting on his knees.
Martin stared at his hands for a long time before speaking again.
"You know, I always thought I'd take over my father's farm."
Lucien remained quiet.
Martin swallowed.
"I'd work the fields during the day. Maybe buy another piece of land if the harvests were good. Then I'd marry the girl I've been dreaming about since I was a kid."
His mouth twitched as he tried to smile.
"We'd have a little house near the fields. Nothing fancy. Just somewhere we could raise a family and live without worrying about anything."
He looked up at the darkening sky.
"I thought that was how my life would go."
His fingers began to tremble.
"Then the officers came, and now..."
He stopped.
Lucien watched Martin press his lips together. He tried to speak again, but only a rough breath escaped him.
"Martin?"
"I don't want to die."
The words came out barely above a whisper.
Martin bent forward, gripping his knees. His shoulders shook, and he lowered his head until his face was hidden.
"I don't want to go to war."
Thomas shifted closer, but Martin covered his face with both hands.
"I don't want to leave my family. I don't want to leave the farm. I don't want to say goodbye to everyone and pretend I'll come back when I don't even know if I will!"
His voice cracked.
"I haven't done anything yet. I haven't even started the life I wanted!"
Tears slipped between his fingers. His shoulders continued to shake as he tried to catch his breath.
Lucien sat motionless for a moment.
He had heard people complain about the war. He'd listened to merchants argue about rising prices and watched parents pull their children away whenever soldiers marched through town.
But Martin's words were different.
This was the man who used to boast about the size of his father's harvest. The man who talked endlessly about the farm he would one day inherit.
Now he sat on a wooden stool, crying because he was afraid he would never get the chance.
Lucien moved his stool closer.
"Martin."
Martin shook his head.
"I can't do it, Lucien. I can't..."
Lucien placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey. Look at me."
Martin didn't move.
"You don't have to pretend you're fine with me."
Martin's fingers loosened slightly.
Lucien kept his hand on his shoulder.
"I don't know what will happen when you leave. I wish I could tell you that everything will turn out the way you want, but I can't promise you that."
Martin's breathing hitched.
"But you're not alone in this. Your family is still here. Thomas is here. And so am I."
Lucien squeezed his shoulder gently.
"You've spent your whole life talking about that farm. I know how much it means to you. And I know you wanted to build a life there."
He paused, searching for the right words.
"So don't give up on that dream before you've even had the chance to live it."
Martin slowly lowered his hands. His eyes were red, and tears clung to his cheeks.
"What if I never get to go home?"
Lucien's throat tightened.
He wanted to answer immediately. He wanted to tell Martin that he would return, that he would inherit the farm, marry the girl he loved, and live the quiet life he'd always imagined.
But the words wouldn't come.
Instead, Lucien kept his hand on Martin's shoulder.
"Then, until you come home, we'll make sure your family knows you haven't been forgotten."
Martin stared at him.
Lucien gave him a small nod.
"And when you do come back, I'll be waiting to hear all your complaints about the farm."
A shaky breath escaped Martin. His lips pressed together, and he wiped his face with his sleeve.
"You'd better be."
"I will be."
Thomas reached over and rested a hand on Martin's other shoulder.
"We'll be here."
Martin bowed his head again, but this time he didn't pull away when they stayed beside him.
The three of them sat outside the drinking establishment as the last light faded from the street.
Lucien listened to Martin's breathing gradually settle. He didn't tell him to stop crying or insist that everything would be fine.
He simply stayed.
For the first time that day, Lucien understood that being spared from the war didn't mean he could pretend it wasn't happening.
Some of his friends would be leaving their homes behind.
Some might never return.
And no matter how much he loved flowers, no book he'd read had taught him what to say when someone was afraid of losing everything.
He looked down at his hands resting on his knees.
Tomorrow, he would return to his garden. He would water the flowers, check their leaves, and open his botanical book again.
But tonight, he remained beside his friend.
There was nowhere else he needed to be.