In Her Argent Embrace

The smile on the knight's face drops away as his eyes fall on you. He gets up, leaning over the table.

"What are you looking at, son?"

The girl makes mollifying noises at him as you start to babble an apology. You were just surprised, you say, to hear him call the lady his squire.

The knight's eyes harden. "She doesn't look like a squire to you? Son, she could unman you with her bare hands if she wished it."

No, it's not that, you say. It's just that you've heard...

The knight bursts into uproarious laughter, his beard shaking, and the girl joins in as well. "What? Men and women, kept separate? Where do you think you are? This isn't thrice-accursed Mendia, you know!"

This isn't Mendia.

You shove your hand into your purse and scatter more than enough coins on the table to pay for your drinks, and then you're out of your seat and running into the dawn-bright streets.

-

Six months later...

"...they're not the worst batch of recruits I've ever been lumped with, but they're also far from the best."

Recognising the voice of the drill sergeant, you look up from reloading your crossbow and almost take your finger off as the string flies back. There's laughter from your fellow trainee-squire beside you, but he quickly falls quiet.

"Hey," he says, grabbing your arm as you suck on your smarting finger. "Hope you brushed your hair this morning. We've got another shopper."

Shopping. It's what the trainees call it when a knight comes to look you all over in advance of choosing their own squire.

You pick up your crossbow, load it and prepare to fire another wild shot at the target. Over the past six months you've become a more-than-decent shot, but you always make sure to forget everything you've learned whenever a knight is watching you. Because of that you've been here longer than everyone else, watching others who started the program after you get chosen by a knight and leave for their new posts throughout the Regency.

It's earned you a constant stream of abuse from the drill sergeant and some pretty unflattering nicknames among the other trainees, but none of it has dampened your enthusiasm for your training. You fall asleep with her name on your lips, and its the first thing on your lips when you awake.

Leuna. That beautiful name.

You lift the crossbow's sight to your eye and left your hand lazily list to the right, ensuring the shot will miss the target completely. But then you feel someone come up behind you and rest their hand on yours, drawing the crossbow back to the left.

It's a soft, warm hand, and the person it belongs to leans close to your ear and says, "Here. Let me help you."

As you move the target back into your sights you suddenly recognise the scent of the person behind you and your hand starts to shake. The crossbow goes off, the quarrel whizzing across the field to miss the target and bury itself in the grassy slope behind it.

Behind you, the drill sergeant snorts, half from anger and half from amusement. It's a sound you've some to know well.

"Premature ejaculation every single time," he mutters. "You see what I have to work with?"

But you barely hear him. The crossbow slips from your hands as you turn to look into the blue-on-blue eyes of the one you love.

Leuna.

Her hair's a little longer, tied back in a small ponytail, the scar she received at the hands of Lazgarri's men now just a pale line. But there's no change in the bright smile on her face, nor the way she starts to blush as you stare at her, barely believing it's her.

"I don't think I have to look at anyone else," Leuna says to the drill sergeant behind her. "I've made up my mind."

"This one?" His voice is thick with disbelief. "You must be joking. He couldn't fight his way out of a tightly-buttoned doublet. The only thing he's any good at is bandaging and healing."

"Oh, I don't know," says Leuna, your hand still in hers as her eyes begin to glisten. "These pretty hands look like they're good at a lot more than that."

The End