Chapter Text
Early Ianuarius - 1457
Ragatha ran through the rain. She kept on running, hiking up her long blue dress, until she reached the edge of the cliff. The grass clung with morning dew, if it wasn’t stuck to her sides. But she took no notice of it, not as she supported herself against a tree and watched the edge of the sky. It was what she and other great thinkers would call blue hour—less than an hour or so before the sky would break into the first light of dawn. It meant that her surroundings were touched by a deep blue, often unnoticed by most. But she wanted to go unnoticed. It was frowned upon for a princess to leave the safety of her chambers, yet alone her castle. Kinger knew that she was capable of taking care of herself, but he was also a father figure who had a great love for her. No father wanted his child wandering. But she wasn’t a child. She hadn’t been a child in a long time. She was thirty and as she stared at the cliffs, the grasslands and the winding paths to neighbouring territories, all she felt was the responsibility of a nation weighing down upon her.
She knew that when the first light would finally come, the sky would eventually turn to its sickening light blue, almost white colouring. It was stated that if you went too far, if you looked too much, if you thought too much, you would become lost to the void. Everyone knew that when you went into or beyond the void, you would become lost to yourself and abstract. It was why nobody even tried to find the answers to the various state of questions that the Creators had left them in.
She didn’t know why the Creators placed her nation here. She didn’t know who the Creators were. She didn’t know why they abstracted. She didn’t know where the surrounding nations had gone. Kinger’s lineage could only be traced back so far, three generations or so. Death was common. Abstraction was common. Sickness was common. Youth was rare. Children were rarer. Knowledge was failing. Questions were growing. There was so much that she needed to do, yet she felt like nothing was right.
It was within a few days that she was meant to see a red and purple banner fly in the wind, somewhere between the mountains and grasslands. She had to be the first to see it. She would be the first to see it. The red was meant to represent Caine. He was the estranged brother of Kinger, who was either never mentioned or outright avoided in conversation. The purple indicated that he was of relation to Kinger, a member of the nobility from Solaria. But the red, which was adopted by Caine himself, indicated his own territory of Circi. The banner had been described in detail; the fallout between Kinger and Caine had not.
But Ragatha assumed that it had to do with her sudden presence. Her sudden right to the throne. It was never meant to go to her, until it did, after Kinger and Queenie had said so themselves. In society’s perspective, it had to do with her gender and her lack of blood relation to the current monarchs. Adoption wasn’t unheard of. It was praised in some cases, as it could strengthen alliances and familial ties. But adopting an heir? That was unheard of. It was rooted in her inability to bear a child. However, the misogyny was never directed towards Queenie and it was never directed to Ragatha until later on. Nobody would dare do that to Queenie, not to her face or in front of Kinger.
It was partly out of respect, as Queenie maintained the order of Solaria. If there was a military issue, she was besides Kinger in the war room, doing the talking for him. If there was an issue with taxation, she would go over the demands of the common people and attempt to negotiate. She may be the Consort Queen, but Ragatha viewed her as a strong leader, as if she had always been chosen to rule Solaria. On the other hand, Kinger was said to be touched by the hand of the Creators. There were rumours about the powers that he once wielded over the Kingdom, but that history had become lost to time and lost to Kinger’s memory, as it began to fade in his mind. But what she did know was that he was devoted to Queenie and often was the peacemaker out of the two of them. He had a great power in defusing the tension between the different classes or the occasional noble family fighting with another noble family, over marriage or land.
But the nobility’s hatred towards her was clear. The Monarchy was fragile and with her adoption into the royal family, it only shattered more. It could have been any noble child, preferably a boy, who would become adopted or named heir by Kinger. But it was her. It was her after her father had died in the battlefield, taking a sword to his chest and her mother who had disappeared at the hands of an enemy nation. It had left Ragatha, seventeen and stranded, alone in a carriage only to be discovered by Solaria’s army. Her family was close to Kinger and Queenie, enough for them to identify the kind and noble traits within her, enough for them to quickly call her their own. It was very quick for Caine’s succession to be pushed to second in line to the throne, not first. Whilst he had never said anything, as he was always in the background, Ragatha had always imagined that there must have been salt in the wound to losing a chance to the throne to a young woman.
Ragatha turns away, facing the castle again. She didn’t want to face the sky. She didn’t want to face the land that people fought with their lives for. She didn’t want to dwell on the arrival of Caine, not for any longer. She didn’t know why she was so judgemental against a man she didn’t know. There was tension before his banner had even shown itself in the greenery of Solaria’s territory. Maybe it was the knowing factor that she had taken his place in succession to the throne, or maybe it was how Kinger’s memory was beginning to fade. He was an older man, sure, but he was also a strong leader. A strong leader who seemed affected by any mention of his unfavourable brother.
Upon seeing the first light of dawn, she curses under her breath and picks up her skirts again, before rushing back through the grasslands and to her home. She made her way through the servants entrance, apologising to the workers, who gave her silent curtsies and bows, but really wanted to roll their eyes, as they had grown all too familiar with this behaviour from her. She ran up the winding stairs and back to her chambers, hoping that she wouldn’t receive a lecture from Queenie.
She pulled off her blue dress, heavy and velvety, before casting it to the side and pulling her chemise back on. Ragatha remained in bed, until the daylight grew more and more prominent and she was meant to be lectured by Queenie. But Queenie never came.
“Lady Ragatha,” Gangle, her lady in waiting, opened the door with a soft click. “His Majesty requests you join him to break your fast.”
“Lady Gangle,” Ragatha greets her in return, then stands. “Where is Queenie?”
“I recommend you join his Majesty,” Gangle frowned, small tears forming at her mask. She quickly made her way to Ragatha’s cupboard, selecting another light blue dress, paying no attention to the one that Ragatha had poorly hidden.
“Gangle,” Ragatha softly approaches her, accepting the dress. “You are my first lady in waiting. Please, tell me, is there something wrong?”
Gangle’s comedy mask teared up more, maybe at Ragatha’s lack of using her title. “Lady Ragatha, I cannot say anything but that I recommend you join his Majesty. Please, I shall help you dress.”
“Of course,” Ragatha mutters, deciding not to push the matter further. She didn’t want to break Gangle’s comedy mask. “Thank you, Lady Gangle.”
Ragatha frowned as Gangle helped her dress, over the many layers and a bodice, tying her into all the fabrics until she was comfortable. She softly, but silently, assorted her long, red hair into a style that laid over her shoulders and back, yet out of her face with a firm braid that sat over her head like a crown. Ragatha didn’t know if she frowned more at the fact that she still wore her hair down at such an age in her life, or at how Gangle seemed to reject her advances of friendship. Yet, she could not blame Gangle.
She could have other ladies in waiting. She could have several ladies in waiting, all to fuss over her and to attend to her. But she decided against it, as it felt wrong when a majority of the nobility felt indifferent to her. First, she had been elevated to a position that was never meant to be hers. Then, the few daughters of the nobility were pressured to wait on her. She didn’t know what Hell she had pushed onto Gangle when she was selected to wait on her. She didn’t know if Gangle had lost her reputation, marriage prospects or the support of her family. But the position was established by Queenie when they were still both girls, as she had been a family friend, also the daughter of a respected noble family, and Ragatha was in dire need of knowing someone when the hands of death had torn her biological family from her.
But now, when she tried to act kind to her, all Ragatha did was fracture her comedy mask. Causing her subject pain was the last thing Ragatha wanted to do. So when Gangle bowed, Ragatha only gave her a small smile in return.
She made her way through the cold, stone corridors of the castle. All the servants and roaming nobles would bow and all she felt was their coolness, not the power that she was meant to possess. Apart from their indifference, there was something wrong within the castle walls of Solaria.
She quietly entered the banquet hall, squinting as she adjusted to the dim lighting of the room. There were very few candles hung from the sides of the walls or spread on the table. But she could make out Kinger, sitting at the end, tired and slouching. On the table, there was an assortment of fruit, meat and bread and a pitcher, ready to be poured and consumed. Kinger generally didn’t like to eat without her or Queenie, but everything felt so untouched.
“Kinger?” Ragatha sat next to him, quickly pouring the water from the pitcher into a goblet. “Lady Gangle informed me to make haste upon seeing you. What is wrong? Where is Queenie?”
“Ragatha,” Kinger frowns back, but accepts the goblet she poured for him. “Queenie is under the weather and she won’t be joining us this morning.”
“Does she suffer from a malady?” Ragatha blurts out, quick to ask.
“We don’t know,” Kinger answers, but places the goblet down and takes her hands, upon seeing the anxiety grow in her features.
“You don’t know?” Ragatha inquiries again, squeezing Kinger’s hands.
“Our primary physician is yet to draw a judgement,” Kinger explains. “But do not take it to heart, Ragatha, as she is a strong woman, my wife. She shall be on her feet within a day or so, you know her!”
“Yes, Kinger,” Ragatha weakly smiles, but nods nonetheless.
Sickness was never good to hear about. Uncertainty grew within her about the physician’s lack of a judgement. Death was common. Treatment was rare. But they had resources and should be able to cure whatever malady Queenie may have. And knowing Queenie, she was fierce and knew that a nation depended on her, so there was no way she would be confined to her bed for a prolonged period of time.
“Do we know what kind of malady?” she asks, feeling her frown return.
Kinger lets go of her hands and reaches to fix himself a plate of food. “Ragatha, I told you, the primary physician has not made a judgment yet.”
Ragatha shifts in her seat. She watches as Kinger eats and then drinks, his voice suddenly cooler. The candles in the banquet hall somehow burnt brighter. It was unlike Kinger to speak like that to her. He could be direct when she needed the support, but his voice was always warmer. Kinger would never try to make her feel as if she was less.
“A malady can still be identified or narrowed down through common symptoms,” Ragatha mutters, collecting a slab of bread and cheese. “Until the arrival of the primary physician, should we not try to look over her?”
She focuses on pressing the cheese against the bread, before chewing off a piece. Upon swallowing and reaching for the pitcher of water, she pauses and looks back to Kinger. He hadn’t responded. In fact, he didn’t really pay much attention to her remark at all.
“Kinger?” Ragatha inquires, hesitating to fill her own goblet.
“Ragatha!” Kinger looks back to her, before blinking. “Oh, Ragatha. Today, we shall collect butterflies together—if you like, of course.”
“Of course, I shall like to partake in that with you,” Ragatha’s brow furrows. “But, Kinger, were we not discussing the malady of Queenie?”
“Queenie’s malady?”
“Yes, Kinger.”
“Oh,” Kinger mutters, then frowns. “Yes, we shall send anyone within this castle who has had medical experience. Of course the delayed arrival of the primary physician is unfortunate, but we shall make the most of what we have. I am sure someone can understand her symptoms.”
Ragatha pauses again, before deciding to press for more information. Kinger had felt very mixed in how he answered her. “Did you not have a chance to see her this morning, Kinger?”
“I had to organise the arrangements for the arrival of a guest,” Kinger answers. “I left my chambers early. By the time I made my way back, the servants and her ladies in waiting described how sickly she was. It was better for her to remain without my or anyone’s presence.”
Ragatha nods along to Kinger’s explanation, before continuing her first meal of the day. There was something wrong with how Kinger spoke and something suspicious about the details of his story. But she accredited it to the fact that his beloved wife had fallen ill. So for now, she would break her fast and then continue on with her usual routine for the day.
-
It was just before noon that Ragatha had continued with her dance lessons. She had been trained in dance, like many women and girls of the nobility were, since she could remember. Even before the accident her parents were involved in. Queenie still encouraged it now and would watch over her lessons as she danced with Gangle—which she would be doing now if she weren’t confined to her chambers. So she tried to take her mind off of things, the confusion surrounding Kinger’s behaviour and ultimately Queenie’s absence, by gliding and turning in time with her lady in waiting.
She turned, occasionally grasping the sides of her dress, before reflecting Gangle’s motions in time with hers. They passed one another, mirroring one another, but barely touched each other. Only the occasional hand holding was acceptable. That being for the more formal dances between a woman and a man at court, which inferred much more for future prospects, instead of the less informal dances where larger groups would turn in circles.
Upon turning around for what felt like the fifth time that morning, Ragatha paused and nearly bumped into Gangle. But Gangle didn’t seem to mind. In fact, her comedy mask didn’t break, nor did she tear up. Before her, Zooble appeared, bowing and clutching their helmet.
“Lady Ragatha,” Zooble greets Ragatha, but their eyes flicker back to Gangle.
“Commander Zooble,” Ragatha greets them, clasping her hands. “Do you come bearing news?”
“Yes, Lady Ragatha,” Zooble confirms, then rises. “I have received word that his highness Caine and his representatives will arrive within a few days.”
Ragatha frowns, but then forces a smile. She wished that it was news about the arrival of the primary physician. “Thank you, I am happy to receive your word.”
“Of course,” Zooble answers.
“Before you depart,” Ragatha’s hands tighten, but she asks. “Is there any word on the arrival of the palace’s primary physician?”
“No, Lady Ragatha,” Zooble’s brows furrow. “I have not heard anything about the palace’s primary physician. But when I do, I shall bring you such news.”
Ragatha nods, her hope diminishing once again. Why was there so little information about this physician? But she glances back at Gangle, then she softens. Gangle was staring at Zooble, her eyes calm and her mouth subtly smiling. Zooble, the person who was meant to be the most capable, strong willed person in the palace who led Solaria’s army, was also gazing softly at Gangle. Despite Zooble’s lack of a mouth, their expression was as bright as day. There was something growing between her first lady in waiting and the commander of the military.
“Before you go, Commander Zooble, I was wondering if you could assist me with something else,” Ragatha mentions, before stepping away. “If you have other tasks for today, I shall dismiss you for the next hour. You see, Lady Gangle, my lady in waiting, has been so kind as to teach me the steps of a few different dances for any upcoming ball or banquet. However, I need someone to ensure that she also gets the best practice possible.”
“Lady Ragatha, you are dismissing me so that I can teach a dance—” Zooble begins, but after a single glance at Gangle, they cut themselves off. “I shall accept this order.”
Gangle’s smile grows nervously wider, and she looks between Ragatha and Zooble. “Lady Ragatha?”
“They are my orders,” Ragatha restates, then forces back her smile from widening any further.
Ragatha said nothing more and instead turned to leave, allowing Zooble and Gangle the serenity they usually both could not afford. From the clink of armour and the removal of a gauntlet, Ragatha inferred that Zooble had taken the dance seriously, or had even lowered themself into a low bow for Gangle. It made her feel bittersweet as she walked off through the hallways of the castle, knowing what marriage prospects that she had ruined for Gangle, but also knowing that she could try to encourage the love that was blossoming right before her eyes. It also made her feel bitter, knowing that she had engaged them into such an exchange for her own selfish reasons. She wanted to be alone—because on some day she could not bear to dance that routine with Gangle. Not because it was with her lady in waiting, but because she had never actually had a real dance partner, not one who intended to pursue more with her.
She was happy to see that their relationship or even a possible courtship could be acceptable, as Zooble was a respected member at court and Gangle wouldn’t be a bad match at all. Ragatha would also personally support their courtship, if it came to that, leaving no room for judgement from other nobles. But she felt so sick, knowing that she wouldn’t truly dance with someone like that. No man would remove their gauntlet, a timely process, just so that he would even have the small chance of holding her hand, as even the brush of fingers against one was considered romantic.
She circled back to Queenie’s chambers. She kept a distance from her door, but wanted to go in. Guards had been posted further down the hall, but they did not object when she passed by them. She nor the physicians knew much about preventing maladies, apart from reducing miasma and the scent of rot if it lingered in the air. But when it came to abstraction, which Ragatha feared as the worst outcome, then the infected would be left in isolation. Queenie was more than isolated.
All Ragatha could do was stand in front of the door to Queenie’s chambers and hope that she wouldn’t lose another motherly figure.
-
“When does it ever stop raining in this godforsaken nation?” Jax mutters, squinting through his helmet.
The rain was always falling after they crossed the border from Circi and into Solaria. If it didn’t beat down hard and make the rain cling to Jax’s armour, then it fell in a small mist that somehow managed to make him wet, even under the metal that had been welded to the shape of his body. It was just trees, grass, rain, walking and more walking. He had heard rumours from the other knights and squires from Circi that there had been an issue between Caine and the ruler of Solaria. Brothers, they were meant to be. He didn’t know what had happened, even Caine wouldn’t tell him after years of personal training, but he got the feeling that from the many moons and suns that had risen and fallen on this journey to Solaria, there had been something personal about each brother putting as much space between one another.
“It tends to rain more in the lands of Solaria,” Kaufmo remarks, steering his horse closer to Jax. “You shall acclimate to it when you begin to journey more.”
“When I journey more,” Jax repeats, scoffing under his breath.
He could just tell that there was a smile under Kaufmo’s helmet. He wasn’t impressed with his friend’s remark, as he had been on numerous journeys within the past six months and Jax had not. It was a rite of passage for young men, or former squires, to undergo days or travel on horseback or foot, but always with a sword in hand, for the benefit of their nation. It was also something that occurred when a squire came of age, usually between eighteen and twenty one, but Jax was now twenty two. He had barely left the borders of Circi and he couldn’t even handle a bit of rain. But Kaufmo could, as he had been knighted by Caine himself and bore the correct armour. This was meant to be a journey and a reunion between two nations for whatever reason, but he had not felt the cool metal of a blade tap both slides of his shoulders, nor had he ever bowed to one. Jax feared he never would.
“Your time shall come,” Kaufmo pauses, noting the lack of willpower of Jax as they continue down a patch of grass.
“I did not ask you to remind me,” Jax mutters, then swings his sword to clear the taller stems of greenery.
“Don’t be so brash,” Kaufmo lowers his voice, then rides ahead.
Jax sighs and presses his sword back to his side. Kaufmo was right. His friend and his leader were always right. Kaufmo was roughly the same age as him, yet he had received his knighthood and Jax was an assistant to him. Caine only allowed him to remain with Kaufmo, as he needed guidance and didn’t always have time for Jax. Or that’s at least what he said. He rarely had time with Caine and even then, he could be both very warm and distant. But who was Jax to question Caine when he had taken him in as a young teenager? Who was Jax to question Caine when he was touched by the hand of the Creators? He was a mage who wielded some of the most power in all the known lands—and Jax was a squire of lowly birth who couldn’t even complete his own knighthood. That was what he was taught, it was what everyone said, it was what he also often thought of himself; yet he couldn’t help but question the validity of his treatment and on occasion, Caine’s right to rule.
But it was wrong to think in such ways. If Caine caught even the slightest hesitation in his mind, which he could, with his powers and his knowledge, Jax would never complete his knighthood. If he heard Jax complaining about the rain or the slight mention of his dissatisfaction about remaining a squire, he would probably be forced to walk with the group of other squires, other young men and boys who were also not of age. Some as young as fourteen, which made Jax’s situation all the more humiliating. So he redirected his thoughts, cursed himself for questioning Caine and continued to make the journey in silence.
Ahead of them was Caine’s carriage. It was a deep, rich maroon and displayed a banner that flicked restlessly in the wind. The banner also held the same maroon colour, but was pushed aside with a stark purple that belonged to Solaria, a nation that wasn’t frequently mentioned. Though, that was also a confusing topic between the knights and squires who served Caine with so much dedication, as Solaria had more history out of the two. Circi was a territory—or had been called a territory for a while until Caine decided that it was a nation. It was a delicate land to be named a nation though, as Caine was Solarian, brother to Kinger. But his presence only became vastly known to Circi a bit over a decade ago, but he was quickly accepted when he was a ‘leader’ and not a king, a sponsor from Kinger of Solaria for a helpless territory in need of a mage. But now the population of Circi had grown little by little, they had their own culture and more independence from Solaria and Caine was essentially their king.
He continued to watch the banner fly, though. He did not know why he kept the purple on the flag of his own nation. He did not know why Caine had left Solaria in the first place. Even if there was a rumored dispute with his brother, why would he distance himself and essentially pull himself from the line of succession? Presumably, he was second in line to the throne. Maybe he would not immediately rule, but Kinger showed no signs of an heir and instead more signs of aging, meaning that Caine was practically promised the throne in the future. But surely if he was gone Solaria would need an heir and Queenie had been expected to have one. If this sudden peace with Solaria meant anything, it could only be a matter about an heir, the throne and the right to rule. But Jax did not know, as information was limited according to Caine. Messengers were scarce and word of mouth was sometimes the only source, often inaccurate information that spiralled like Chinese whispers.
Caine’s army passed through the smaller towns of Solaria. Jax watched the different townspeople emerge from their homes and buildings. They were a variety of colourful people, never really being the same species as one another. They all had unique features and unique cultures, evident by the music and noise that only seemed to be reduced to silence when a foreign army had made itself present. What they did all share though, amongst the older people, were expressions of recognition and uncertainty. Unruly teenagers were told to be quiet. Younger children were brought to their mothers’ skirts. The people of Solaria recognised the colours of Circi, the colours of Caine, but they did not know why they were suddenly appearing in their home. Jax wanted to express that it was for reasons of peace, but he did not have an official answer and it looked like the people of Solaira had not been either.
Jax turned to Kaufmo, wanting to comment on how they were all staring. Surely something was wrong. However, Kaufmo was already engaged in conversation with one of Caine’s most trusted guards. Jax nearly fell back in the crowd of the Circi army, but quickly composed himself and continued on. He didn’t expect Kaufmo to be in conversation with such a guard, but it did happen sometimes and it always meant that Caine was going to request his presence.
“Esquire Jax, his Highness is summoning you,” Kaufmo states, his voice suddenly formal.
“Understood, Sir Kaufmo,” Jax answers, also practicing the formality in his response.
He bowed and walked forwards, making his way to Caine’s carriage. He hated having to speak so formally to Kaufmo, for having to bow to his friend. It was mainly because Kaufmo was knighted and he was not, but also that he and Kaufmo were meant to be friends. Jax found it hard to make friends. It felt like Caine was giving him everything, yet taking everything away. He knew why Caine was summoning him. Every time that Caine did summon him, it was to make up for the continued silence for a month or so, to make Jax feel seen and loved. He also knew that it was because Caine had a task for him to complete. Despite everything Jax had been through, Caine’s approach worked every time too.
The carriage stopped, momentarily, enough for Jax to awkwardly make his way through. He bowed to Caine, inelegantly, at the entrance before he sat on the opposite seat. The action felt mocking and the area made him feel trapped. Unwillingly, he undoes his helmet and pulls it to his side, becoming completely vulnerable to Caine’s judgement. Even though he was all knowing, now he could see Jax clearly. He could see his expressive yellow eyes. He could see any strain in his smile. He could see if his ears even tried to flatten.
“Your Highness,” Jax greets him, watching as Caine smiles and clasps his hands.
“Jax! Esquire Jax,” Caine leans forwards and tilts his teeth to the side. “How are you finding the journey?”
“Your Highness, the journey has been an incredible experience for my practice, which I must accredit to you,” Jax explains, hoping he kept the right, happy tone. “If I may express another opinion, though?”
“Go on,” Caine allows.
“The rain, it must be unique to Solaria,” Jax mutters, his grip tightening on his helmet. “It never rains so hard in Circi.”
“You’re not wrong, my boy,” Caine nods and looks out the window. His eyes narrow and his mouth clenches, almost to a close. “My careless brother, with all that power, yet he cannot stop some rain for his people. No wonder they stared. They are his miserable subjects.”
Jax’s ears nearly flattened at the term Caine used, but he tried to compose himself. “Agreed, your Highness.”
“Of course you do,” Caine turns back to Jax, then his expression relaxes. “You are one of my most reliable squires. You have the right thoughts. You have the right opinions. It is why I appoint boys like you.”
Jax felt like laughing. He felt like saying then why not appoint me as a knight? But he was not in a position to express his opinion. In fact, he could not correct Caine’s assumption of his opinion of the rain. He simply thought that the rain was irritating when walking by foot, not that it had anything to do with the power of Kinger, nor how he treated his subjects. He was sure that it was actually the opposite, that a foreign army was walking through their own land.
“Well, as for why I summoned you, Jax,” Caine continues. “I shall need you to protect one of the nobility when we arrive tomorrow at the Palace of Solaria. If you succeed in my command, I shall have you knighted.”
Jax’s eyes widened. Those were the words that he had been desperate to hear. Without thinking hard, he nods and then bows his head towards Caine. Anything less than gratitude was acceptable. He wanted to give Caine everything, all his immense gratitude.
“Thank you, your Highness,” Jax mutters. “Words cannot express my appreciation for this, for you.”
“I know,” Caine smiles down at Jax.
-
He had shortly left Caine’s carriage, his heart heavy and his mind spiralling. He was elated as they finally set up camp towards the Palace of Solaria, instead of arriving there. The weirdness of setting up camp but not arriving at the castle did not faze Jax, nor did the lack of details on the noble that he would be protecting. He hadn't asked who it was, nor did he ask why. It was not his place to ask, but he was also distracted by the mere promise of knighthood that Caine had made him. He didn’t dare tell Kaufmo, as this information was his and only his, something that Caine could revoke if he did not achieve his orders.
As the sun had begun to set and had changed to a hazy dusk, Jax had begun to patrol the outsides of the camp. The land was a continuation of what the journey there had been. Just long grass and thick greenery. It was only when he walked along the side of a cliff and through thick trees, that he noted the weirdness about where they were camping. A kilometre or so away, the Circi army had made camp on a piece of grassy land. Caine’s tent stood proudly in the middle, surrounded by other officials and eventually other soldiers. Surely, a brother of the king, who was returning to his homeland, would have been welcomed and offered lodging inside the castle. His officials, too. The soldiers to set up camp somewhere closer to the castle’s grounds. But Caine had chosen to remain far away, even as he had been invited to stay.
He hadn’t passed many other soldiers on his patrol shift. In fact, he noticed an absence of people altogether. As he turned away from the edge of the cliff, he realised that he had walked farther than he had intended. It was so far that he was closer to being on the grounds of the Palace of Solaria. He curses under his breath and begins to make his way back to the campsite. But from the corner of his eye, he caught a figure slipping back into the trees.
From what little he had seen, she was feminine in figure and wore heavy layers of fabric. But it was illogical for the presence of a woman. No women had been brought to Solaria in the Circi army and it was highly unlikely for any woman from the Palace of Solaria to be out at this time of night, especially not unaccompanied by their husband or male relative. And worst of all, what if she was a threat to his people?
Jax follows after her, making a break for the thick greenery. She was fast—possibly knowing the area well. Maybe she was a repeat offender, someone who had been trespassing for months on end now. She continued to run, twisting and turning between trees and vegetation as if she were some sort of a spirit, as the wind billowed at the light fabrics that she wore in layers. But Jax was trained to run and he was trained to protect Circi, no questions asked. He was not about to fail the task, protecting the Solarian nobility, at the hands of some woman who was trespassing in the early night of Ianuarius.
As she attempted another turn, Jax grasped the back of her attire, his armour clinking and chest heaving. She struggled, scratching at his gauntlet from over her shoulder, until she squinted at his armour through the darkness and finally stopped struggling. Instead, with a single eye—a button in place for another, she stared up at him in a refined, yet frustrated way.
“You, Circian soldier, release me,” she demands, looking at him expectantly.
“No,” Jax stares back down at her. His hand had hovered for his sword, but it now relaxed.
“No?” she squints at him again.
“No,” Jax repeats.
“You are trespassing on the grounds of the Palace of Salaria,” she remarks, then her eyes narrow. “Which is more ironic than not, as you are Circian.”
“We were invited here on means of peace,” Jax clarifies. “And from what I have seen tonight, you were running through the trees like some kind of spirit—the moment I caught sight of you. My choice to pursue you and to shortly arrest you after this is because you are trespassing and pose a threat to both his highness, Caine of Circi and his Majesty, Kinger of Solaria.”
“Yes, it is unusual for a lady to be out at night,” she reluctantly admits, then continues. “But have you considered for one moment that I might be a part of the nobility? And that you are handling a noble lady with so little respect?”
Jax hesitates and looks down at her. He is quickly silenced by her suggestion. Because she did look noble. Even in the darkness he could see that her red hair was long, well managed and neatly styled to fall over her back, minus a head covering or veil. The fabric that he held in one hand was heavy, good quality and if he squinted enough, it was dyed a shade of lavender instead of a basic white. On the other hand, it was how she addressed him. She was calm and held herself together, even as she was being held by a man with a sword, probably more disgusted that someone from a lower social class was even touching her. For all that Jax had pieced together, he was manhandling a lady of the nobility from Solaria, which he had been specifically told to protect. Jax pulls away from her roughly, nearly stumbling in the process. His armour shook and clang and he suddenly felt horrified at the thought of never becoming a knight.
“Oh, that’s rich,” she laughs at him and his lack of a response, readjusting her attire. “So you’ve figured that I am of nobility, a woman at that, who should be treated with respect, yet you have only pulled back with such horror—as your performance here probably impacts your career.”
“Whatever I am, I am unaffected by you,” Jax’s eyes narrow at her.
“Unaffected, by me, are you?” she tilts her head, inspecting him. “I doubt that.”
Jax scowls, most definitely affected by her judgement. “You doubt me?”
“Of course I do,” she confirms, then folds her arms. “You are most ardently affected by me and your treatment of me. Because now that I have had a chance to study you and your armour, I can tell, that from how much it lacks in terms of intricacy, that you are nothing but a mere squire, and that from your age, probably your early twentiest—as you are foolish and quick to make conclusions, you are not a knight and are meant to receive your knighthood soon, maybe depending on your bravery during your presence in Solaria. Am I right?”
He scowls harder, feeling his brow furrow under his helmet. He did not know who this woman was, but he felt an emerging hatred for her. He always hated the people of the nobility, even if he could possibly join them one day, if he were knighted. But they always spoke down at him because he was never meant to be a knight in the first place. But on the other hand, it was a woman who was speaking so lowly of him. No woman had ever talked down to him like that. Not that they could. The women in Circi, even of nobility, who were meant to be above him, would never speak like that to him. Not to his face. It was only ever men who were meant to insult, reprimand and complain. It ought to be the same in Solaria. Who did she think she was?
“Why are you out here?” Jax demands, stepping closer. “Why do you speak to me like this? Tell me your name, Lady, so that I may escort you back to the Palace of Solaria and so that I shall no longer have to suffer in your presence.”
She seemed to pause, losing her superiority, before finding it again quickly. “I will not give you my name.”
“You owe me your name,” Jax insists.
“And what is yours, Esquire?” she remarks.
Jax scoffs. Of course she went straight to his title. His low title. Of course she had to figure out that he wasn’t a knight, but below that. So below that he was the last in his squad to complete his training. He would give anything for this exchange to be over, so that she would go back to the palace and so that he would never have to see her face again, as she would be one of the many same women and daughters that the nobility seemed to produce.
On the other hand, a single complaint by her, supported by her husband or a male relative, could ruin any chance he has at knighthood or the future altogether. The other part, which he would hate to admit, was that he did not wish to harm her in a physical sense. If he needed to use force, he would use force. But the force was unnecessary in this situation. He shouldn’t have been so quick to jump to a conclusion. A conclusion that she was trespassing as some common person, but she was rather a noble woman who had foolishly decided to walk around outside at night.
Jax steps away, giving her space, before he undoes his helmet, pressing it to his side and bowing his head.
“My name is Esquire Jax, my Lady,” Jax admits, feeling weird with how he referred to her. “Before I request and restate again that you should be escorted to the Palace of Solaria, I shall make it clear that if I had known of your title and if I had thought, I would not have laid my hands on you in such a manner.”
“So you are a squire,” she says, after a prolonged and painful period of time. “I shall not lodge a complaint about you, as it is dark and you thought that you were doing your duty to protect both the lands of Solaria and Circi.”
Jax’s ears straighten, mainly out of relief, but also from her tone. She was reasonable. She was calm. She almost sounded kind. If this sort of exchange had happened in Circi, he would have been punished as a result of a formal complaint. As he stared longer into her eyes, he noticed that she had softened, before composing herself again.
“Thank you, my Lady,” Jax looks up to her again. “I shall escort you back now.”
“No,” she said, holding her hand up. “There is no need.”
“No need?” Jax scoffs. “It is dark. You are a lady. You have already caught trouble with me. You are also lucky that it was me, as the knights of Circi are more brutal than me.”
“Lucky? More brutal?” she repeats, then laughs. “You managed to hold me back by my night attire with a single hand, Esquire Jax.”
“And I told you that I was mistaken!” Jax exclaims, unimpressed that she hadn’t moved on already.
“I do not care if you were mistaken,” she answers, hiking up her skirts. “I already told you that I shall not lodge a complaint, but yet you persist. So make this night easier for the both of us, end both our suffering by ending this presence, as you so kindly put it—and allow me to walk without your presence as an escort.”
“You are a lady!” Jax protests.
“And you are still a squire!” She laughs again, then stares at him. “Barely a squire, dare I say. You are a knave.”
“A knave?” Jax can’t help but repeat, as he was rendered outraged and nearly speechless.
“A knave,” she repeats and leans in. “You are the worst knave I have ever had the displeasure of laying my eyes on. Be gone!”
With that, she turns on him and disappears through the greenery of the dark trees. She was like a spirit, Jax decided, who dressed in lavender linen and carried herself in grace, yet caused disturbances and grieved the people she came across. He continues to stare in her direction, even as she is long gone. But her image was imprinted into his mind, because like a spirit, she was haunting him. He was quick to forget the unimportant features of the nobility, how they dressed and styled themselves, but he had an image of her, as bright as day, with her red hair, soft voice and determined face. He had never received her name, but had given his true name and title, before she then decided that the term of a knave was enough for him to be. Jax stared after wherever she had gone, frustrated and intrigued, in a dark forest where the stars were his only company—yet they also winked down at him and mocked him, also engraving him as a knave, as she had said before disappearing.