Come to the practice yard tonight.

  -T

  I had already planned to go, but why do I suddenly feel like not going? To spite Sir Thorne? To prove he cannot command me?

  It's a childish rebellion. With a sigh that's both equally annoyed and fatigued, I quickly scrawl my affirmative response and close the journal.

  I just got back to the annex! I'm tired and hungry, but there is still so much to do tonight.

  I call out to my maid. "Mary! I need a hot bowl of hearty soup and some buttered bread, quickly."

  "Yes, my lady," Mary replies with a curtsy.

  While she's gone, I change into my practice outfit. I've been thinking about commissioning Tali to make me another set…and perhaps ask for her assistance with designing a new concept that's been rolling around in my head.

  The soup is warm and just filling enough to sate my hunger, yet not impede the impending exercise. Training is difficult enough without feeling like I'm going to vomit.

  After I teleport to the yard, I realize I'm alone. Irritation prickles the back of my neck—my time is precious. I do not have the leisure of waiting around for Sir Thorne tonight. However, it's not a bad idea to do some exercises…

  I run a few laps, but he's still not here. I move on to pullups, which I can do by myself now that Sir Thorne has provided a stepstool for me to reach the bar.

  "Lady Florence," he says out of nowhere, startling me enough that I lose my grip and fall to the ground. "Whoa! Careful."

  He reaches out to me, intending to help me up, but I'm already pushing myself up. We collide in a tangle of limbs and his cloak.

  "Stand still!" he says, his voice firm and commanding. I instantly stop moving, now aware that my hair is somehow tangled in his shirt.

  I whisper the spell for light, and a little, glowing ball begins to float nearby.

  "Oh," he comments, surprised. "Thank you."

  He is able to get us untangled, but in the moments beforehand, I can feel his breath on my neck. It makes my lower stomach tingle.

  "Apologies, m'lady," he says, his voice low and rumbly.

  "It's—it's alright," I say, stepping away. "What did you call me here for tonight?"

  "Ah. Right." He pauses for a moment. "I'll be away for a few months."

  "The war against Liutan?ia?" I ask before I can stop myself.

  His head jerks back—even in the dim light of the practice yard, I can tell he is surprised.

  "Yes, but, how did you know?"

  "That part isn't important," I reply. "What's important is you staying alive."

  "You're…worried about me?"

  Why shouldn't I be? Isn't it normal to be worried about anyone heading off to war? There is a chance he could die. A very real chance.

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  "Of course I am!" Wait. Isn't it customary to send young men off to battle with a token of some kind? I do not know much about Sir Thorne, but he has never mentioned having any family. Perhaps he has no one to offer him a token of good luck. "Here." I dig out a clean, but rumpled, handkerchief. I embroidered my initials on it myself, though the stitching is not very good.

  He takes my offered handkerchief, gently hesitating for just a moment.

  "I can't send you off empty-handed," I explain. "Plus, it's practical."

  I see his teeth flash in the glow of my floating light.

  "Does this make me your knight, m'lady?" he asks, a playful lilt to his tone. Is he mocking me?

  "Ha! Give it back if you're not going to take it seriously."

  I try to take it back from him, but he easily lifts it out of my reach. How is he so tall? I bare my teeth and squint at him in anger.

  "I never said I didn't want it, Ren. I'll be sure to think of you every time I use it."

  He looks to be in such high spirits at the moment, gleefully tucking my token into his sleeve, but it's all too easy to imagine him marching off to war in the Rowanward uniform. What if he never returns?

  "Please, be careful," I tell him, the anger sliding away.

  Sir Thorne sobers. "I promise that I'll do my best not to die. How's that?"

  I nod. It is good enough…it has to be. The weight of the silence that follows his promise feels heavier than the damp night air. I watch him, really watch him, stripped of the usual banter that defines our training sessions. In the flickering glow of my magelight, the sharp angles of his jaw and the calloused texture of his hands seemed more pronounced. In this moment, he's not just my frustrating, overbearing instructor; this is a man being sent to slaughter because the king's greed for a dragon outweighs his allegiance to his people.

  "You say that so lightly," I whisper, the irritation from earlier replaced by a cold, hollow knot in my chest. "As if surviving a war is just another set of drills."

  Sir Thorne shifts his weight, his gaze dropping to the sleeve where he’d tucked my handkerchief. His playfulness dims, replaced by a weary sort of realism. "In many ways, Ren, it is. You fall back on your training because your mind is too busy screaming to do anything else. But..." He steps closer, his shadow stretching long across the packed dirt of the yard. "I have more reason to come back now than I did during the last border skirmish."

  What does he mean?

  "The LaVelle retinue is being called," I admit instead, my voice trembling slightly as I think of my family. "My father, or Miles... one of them has to lead. If you’re going, you’ll be somewhat nearby, won't you?"

  Thorne nods slowly. "Most likely. The King is consolidating the largest forces. He wants a decisive strike to discourage Liutan?ia from ever looking at Mount Doran again." He pauses, his expression softening in a way that makes my heart stutter, an unfamiliar feeling. "I’ll look after them, Lady Florence. Your brother, the Duke... I’ll be their shadow."

  "But, who will be yours?" I challenge, stepping into his space. I feel small in front of him, I always do, yet a fierce, protective instinct I hadn't known I possessed flares up. He shouldn't put himself in danger simply to assuage my fears! "You spend all your time teaching me how to defend myself, how to survive, yet you're walking into a storm with nothing but a—but a rumpled piece of linen and a 'best effort' not to die!"

  He laughs then, a short, breathless sound. "That 'rumpled linen' is more than most men in the ranks will have, m'lady. And I'll have your voice in my head grumbling at me to stay alive. That’s more than enough to keep anyone on their toes."

  He reaches out, his hand hovering near my shoulder as if unsure if he's allowed the contact outside of a spar. Finally, he lets his fingers brush against my arm—a grounding, solid touch. "Don't stop training while I'm gone. If I come back and find you’ve let your pull-up count drop, I’ll make you run laps until the sun comes up."

  "If you come back," I correct, though it felt like a curse just saying it. I hasten to amend it. "When you come back, Sir Thorne, I expect you to be the one struggling to keep up with me."

  He grins, the familiar rogueish tilt returning to his lips. "It's a deal. Hold onto that fire, Ren. You'll need it while the yard is quiet."

  He bows, suddenly, showing me rare, genuine respect. Then he turns and melts back into the darkness beyond my light's reach. I stand in the center of the yard, alone, long after the sound of his boots fades, the small orb of light bobbing beside me. The practice yard, once a place of grueling labor and secret growth, suddenly feels agonizingly empty.

  I will miss him. The realization hits like a blow, and tears start to prick my eyes. The tears are not just for him—they're for Father and Miles, the Prince, and all the other young men I know of. Many of them won't return.

  I feel helpless, useless. What can I possibly do to protect them?

  ?????

  Fallout fans??) Reality is setting in for Florence. Fear she has never known is shaking her to the core. What can she do? What could she possibly do to help those she cares about?

  ??kb