Chapter 27: What Lives Beneath the Armor

The meadow beneath Evrithall always felt like another world.

The castle towered behind us, its white stone catching the morning light until my eyes narrowed every time I turned back. Ahead, the slope rolled down toward the riding trail and the far fields below. Grass brushed my boots up to the ankle, and tiny wildflowers dared us to step on them.

Gerald stood in the center, feet planted in the earth like the roots of an old tree.

My practice sword struck his, a dull clatter of metal ringing sharp in the air. He twisted his wrist, putting in just enough strength to push me half a step back.

“Heavy,” I muttered. “Are you trying to break my bones or my ego?”

“If I wanted to break bones,” he shifted left, eyes never leaving mine, “you’d be eating porridge through a straw, Castella.”

I attacked again. Left foot forward, aiming for the opening at his waist. He deflected easily, then forced my blade down. His strength was a wall sliced right through my plan.

Sweat tickled down my spine. My breath came faster. But my body was awake, alive. Every muscle remembered the patterns he’d drilled into me since I’d barely reached his hip.

“Left arm,” he tipped his chin toward my grip. “You’re still holding back.”

My left palm tightened around the hilt. The nail wound was gone, but the memory of its sting lingered faintly on the skin. I adjusted my hold, strengthening my fingers.

“Better?” I asked, swinging.

He blocked again, stepping back half a pace.

“More like Valtheris,” he said. “Less like a panicked chicken.”

“You’re insulting every chicken in Evrithall,” I twisted aside to dodge his strike.

Gerald let out a short laugh. His voice was deep and rough, like dry wood breaking clean.

We circled each other. Grass bowed under our boots. The air carried the smell of leather, steel, and the faint scent of pastries baking somewhere far behind us.

Gerald dropped his blade lazily, then—suddenly—shifted direction. Not as fast as Zade on the stairs yesterday, but far more readable; this was a body I’d watched block the wooden staff I swung at him when I was seven, a hand that pulled me off a railing when I tried to cross the wrong side.

I ducked. His blade skimmed over my head, close enough to ruffle my hair. My knees pressed into the grass, then I shoved forward, sweeping his legs.

“You still love trying to topple men twice your weight,” he remarked as he hopped easily over my sweep. “That hasn’t changed.”

“If I succeed, the impact is more satisfying,” I shot back.

“Ambition has always been your problem.”

He advanced. Suddenly my sword jolted out of my hand, knocked free by a technique he’d carved into my bones years ago. I was late anticipating it. My blade flew half a meter and dropped into the grass.

Before I could curse, the tip of his sword touched the side of my neck. Not pressing. Just touching. Enough to remind me.

I exhaled through my teeth. “Unfair.”

“Lesson,” he corrected. “Your enemy doesn’t care about honor. They care about stopping your breathing.”

I stared at him from the end of the blade. Gerald’s eyes always squinted a little, deep lines in the corners from years of staring into the sun from the battlements.

He had never looked old to me. Only… solid. Like Thaldrun, if Thaldrun could scold.

“I’m still alive,” I said. “For today. That’s enough.”

He lowered his blade, pulling it away from my neck. “For today.”

I picked my sword from the grass, shaking the blade slightly to check for damage.

“Again,” I said.

Gerald let out a short breath. “You just lost your sword.”

“And I want to know how long it takes until I stop losing it.”

He raised one brow. “What did they mix into your breakfast?”

My stomach answered for me. It growled loudly, betraying every ounce of my composure.

Gerald turned his face toward the castle as if searching for a servant. “Enough before you faint on the field. Rest.”

“I’m not going to faint,” I protested.

“You said the same thing eight years ago before falling asleep on a hay pile with your sword still in your hand.”

That memory hit hard. A little girl with tangled hair, training clothes too big, a tiny body sprawled on hay with a wooden sword on her chest. Gerald sitting nearby, pretending to be angry though his eyes were gentle.

I grumbled. “I’m not that small anymore.”

“True,” he looked me up and down quickly. “Now the problems are bigger.”

Before I could retort, a servant approached from the direction of the castle, carrying a small tray. The grass swayed around her legs, and she nearly tripped on a stone but managed to keep the tray steady.

“Finally,” I muttered. “Mercy from the world.”

She was young. Maybe slightly younger than me. Her hair was braided loosely, strands falling over her temples. She wore a simple gray uniform, apron tied at her waist. Her cheeks were already blushing before she got close enough to speak.

“Your Highness,” she said, nearly bowing and dropping the tray at the same time.

I raised an empty hand. “If you drop the food, I’ll be very offended.”

She let out a nervous laugh. “Sorry, Your Highness. The head chef told me to bring this.”

The tray landed on the small wooden table by the field. Bread with cheese, apple slices, and two glasses of water.

Gerald nodded once. “Thank you.”

She turned toward his voice.

And her face… changed.

The flush in her cheeks deepened, blooming up to her ears. Her eyes widened, then narrowed shyly, unable to look at him for long. The hand that had been trembling steadied around the tray, but her fingers tugged at her apron like she needed something to hold.

“Captain Gerald,” she breathed, her voice dropping half an octave.

Gerald nodded again. “Good job bringing the tray without killing anyone.”

Her expression fell halfway. “Thank you, Captain.”

I nearly burst into laughter and choked it back. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a break?” I teased, holding back a grin. “Snacks taste better eaten in threes.”

The servant nearly spasmed. “No, Your Highness. I… I have to get back. The kitchen… there’s so much to prepare…”

Her eyes flicked to Gerald one more time. A quick, stolen glance. Like someone sneaking a look at the sun even while knowing it could blind them. Then she bowed far too deeply and backed away far too fast, almost tripping over her own feet.

Gerald watched her retreat for a moment, then turned to the food.

He was completely oblivious. I leaned over the small table, grabbed a piece of bread, and pressed it into the soft cheese.

“You just broke someone’s heart and didn’t even notice,” I commented.

One of his brows lifted. “I didn’t hit anyone.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” I said around a bite of bread. “You didn’t hit her, didn’t kiss her, didn’t do anything. You just stood there being Captain. That’s enough for half the castle.”

He drank water slowly. “Is this the beginning of another lecture, Princess?”

“I just watched a sweet girl nearly fall apart at the sight of you,” I explained. “Your reaction? ‘Good job carrying a tray.’”

“That was a good job,” he said, taking another sip.

“Gerald.”

He turned fully to me now, his brown eyes settling on my face. Up close, I caught the fine creases at the corners of his mouth, evidence of too many nights spent on the ramparts.

“You’re old,” I said.

His eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. “Excuse me?”

“You’re old,” I repeated, biting into an apple. “Not rotten-old. Mature-old. Like cheese or wine.”

“…Thank you?” His brows knit. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”

“It is a compliment,” I clarified. “Along with the fact that you should start thinking about things other than hitting Morvane and hitting your princess with a practice sword.”

“And what things would those be?” he asked, cautious, like I’d just invited him to stand at the edge of the Rift.

“A lover,” I said.

He choked.

Water nearly came out of his nose. He bent forward, coughing into his hand, shoulders shaking hard. The sight fed the tiny cruel creature that lived in my ribcage.

“Castella,” he finally lifted his face again, “I have enough trouble with one princess. I do not need another creature in my life who will make my hair turn white sooner.”

“Your hair is turning white,” I pointed at his temple. “A little. On the right side. I can see it.”

He swept his hair back, as if checking. “That’s just the light.”

“Light doesn’t usually form a line,” I grinned. “But if you want, I can call it Hannan’s holy radiance blessing your skull.”

“You’d be dragged across the altar floor if the High Priest heard that,” he muttered.

“The High Priest is too busy memorizing the First Breaths.” I took a sip of water. “I’m serious, Gerald. You don’t have… someone?”

He stared at the empty field ahead, where the archery targets stood. For a long moment. Maybe counting breaths, maybe counting excuses.

“I have you,” he said at last. “And that’s more than enough work for a lifetime.”

Something tightened in my chest.

“Slippery answer,” I nudged his knee with my boot. “You can have a lover and still hit me with a sword.”

“Those two things do not blend well.”

“You haven’t tried.”

His gaze came back to me. “You want me to drag another woman into all this? Into a rite that may stir Vessaryn? Into capital guards who’ll soon be breathing down your neck? Into Morvane sniffing the walls? Zaharel and Hannan snapping at each other on the altar? And in the middle of all that, I add another human being I have to think about while fighting?”

“You already think about half of Evrithall when you fight,” I reminded him. “That’s part of your problem. They all think about you. You know that, right?”

“Soldiers think about their commander,” he shrugged. “That’s normal.”

“Yes, soldiers think about their commander,” I nodded. “But kitchen servants think about your face. That’s something else entirely.”

A faint red climbed the edge of his ear.

I nearly clapped.

“You’re imagining things,” he shot back.

“The kitchen has its own conversations,” I leaned back in the wooden chair, rocking slightly. “Mira said two of the servants agreed your arms are too good to be hidden behind armor.”