Chapter 28: What Lives Beneath the Armor II

He closed his eyes for a brief second, like someone who’d just been told Nyxthrad had relocated to the palace courtyard.

“Why do you even know that conversation,” he asked.

“Because unlike you, they know I’m a good listener.”

“You’re a terrible listener when the topic is your bedtime,” he muttered.

“Focus, Gerald. I want to know why you don’t have someone staring at your arms without being afraid you’ll chop them in half.”

Gerald exhaled deeply. He shook his head, just a little, like he’d realized this argument wouldn’t end quickly.

“I was sworn in at fifteen,” he began, his voice shifting into the tone I recognized as half-serious confession. “The Duke pulled me out of the lower barracks and threw me into Solarian drills. By twenty I was guarding the walls. At twenty-two I was yanking your tiny back off the north fence when you tried to run to Thaldrun because you wanted to know what fog felt like.”

I remembered that. Wind in my face. Slick stones under my feet. A big hand grabbing my collar. The High Priest screaming from below.

“From that moment on,” he continued, “my job never strayed far from a sword and your problems. Every time I thought I had time to consider anything else, you decided to climb something. Or Velyndor sent a gift. Or the Duke forced me into another mind-numbing meeting.”

“So this is all my fault,” I concluded.

“A small part.”

“A big part,” I corrected.

He was quiet for a moment, then grabbed a piece of bread and bit into it. “Why do you suddenly care? You usually laugh at everyone who manages to fall in love in this keep.”

“I only laugh when they’re being stupid,” I reminded him. “Not at all of them.”

His eyes narrowed. “There’s something in your voice.”

“There isn’t.”

“You have nightmares?” he shifted closer. “Mira said you drank a potion last night. The healer said Thalorian requested it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course Mira steals all the lines she should keep to herself.”

“When I walked into the kitchen this morning they acted like chickens who’d just seen a fox,” he added. “I have a right to know if someone under my protection was given a potion.”

“I’m not going to die from a nail,” I leaned my head against the chair. “And I slept. Reasonably. That’s good news.”

“And you woke up with a bandage you aren’t wearing,” he lifted my left palm, examining it. “Mira said she wrapped this neatly. Now it’s gone.”

I almost pulled my hand back, but he’d already seen.

He turned my palm toward the light. His fingers were rough, warm. His brown eyes focused, searching for a mark that wasn’t there.

“A small scratch,” I lied. “The salve was good. You should ask for the recipe.”

“Castella.” My name left him like a warning. “You can erase small wounds,” he said slowly. “Yesterday I heard a nail went through your hand; today your skin is whole. I’m not that foolish.”

“I’m not asking you to be foolish,” I hardened my voice. “I’m asking you not to panic every time something on my body doesn’t fit the healer’s books.”

I slowly pulled my hand from his grip. He let me.

“I’m not panicking,” he said. “I’m calculating. That’s different.”

“Of course. You calculate the guards, you calculate the Morvane, you calculate my steps, you calculate your white hairs.” I patted his shoulder. “I’m just adding one more thing for you to calculate: someone’s feelings for you.”

“A kitchen servant’s feelings aren’t an operational threat,” he replied, though there was a thin thread of fatigue in his tone.

“No, but they fall under the category of living.” I looked straight at him. “You know what it’s like to care about someone. You do it with me, with the Duke, with Evrithall. But those are duties. You deserve someone who chooses you—not because you’re Captain, not because the Duke pointed, but because they’ve seen all the ways you complain and still decide not to leave.”

The wind swept across the field, bending the tall grass, carrying faint echoes from the archery practice on the other side. Thaldrun stood on the horizon, silent witness to our small argument.

“I don’t know how,” he admitted finally, voice low. “Fighting, I understand. Guarding, I understand. Commanding soldiers, I understand. But… that?”

“You stand at the front,” I shrugged. “As usual. Just not in front of a Morvane this time.”

He snorted. “If I walk into the kitchen and tell that servant, ‘I don’t understand this, but the Princess told me to think of you,’ you’d watch me get pelted with bread.”

“That would be a delightful morning,” I said, sipping my water. “But relax. I’m not telling you to do that.”

“You’re telling me to consider the possibility.”

“Yes.”

He dragged a hand down his face, pushing away a bit of sweat at his temple. His hand was big, old scars forming a map across the back.

“You promised,” he said quietly, “that if one day I’m too old to lift a sword, you’d give me another job. Maybe tending the gardens.”

“I remember,” I smirked. “You’d yell at the flowers.”

“If that day ever comes,” he went on, “and I’m still standing in that garden alone, you have permission to hit my bald skull with the High Priest’s scripture.”

“A terrible deal,” I winced. “I’d rather hit you before that.”

“You’ve hit me with plenty of things already.”

“You deserved it.”

He laughed again, that heavy sound slicing clean through the thickening air.

“So do you,” he said, pushing to his feet and grabbing his sword. “Now, before I become truly too old, we continue. Your left hand has no more excuse to be weak.”

I stood, grabbing my own sword from the table. My fingers tightened around the grip. The skin of my palm still held the faint warmth from last night’s dream—and from his inspection just now.

When we faced each other again in the field, the sun had climbed higher. Sweat slid down my neck. Our dull blades met with sharp clacks. Between blows, we laughed, complained, insulted each other.

And in the midst of all that, I noticed one thing: every time a servant walked past the training field—carrying cloth, water, or messages—their eyes slid briefly toward Gerald.

He didn’t notice. Or pretended not to.

I smiled to myself.

At least one of us had a choice about who their heart beat for.