- 2 - 

“This is intolerable!” Amaryllis screamed and kicked hard into the side of Bridget’s horse. The horse reared and neighed loudly, nearly unseating Bridget. The knight had to grip the reins in one hand and the horn of the saddle in the other, and thrust herself forward. Amaryllis, who had been sitting sideways in her lap–so as to not crease her gown–was pressed hard against her chest, pinned between the knight and the saddle. 

Bridget felt the softness of Amaryllis’s form against her. The Princess was so soft and voluptuous. Even through her armor, Bridget could feel the warmth and cushion of Her Grace’s body. For a moment she imagined pressing her lips against the softness of Her Grace’s neck.

“Ack!” Amaryllis screamed.

The Princess’ piercing cry inches from her ear drove any further thought of Her Grace’s body from the Knight’s mind. “Do not kick my horse!” Bridget began, anger clear in her voice. “Your grace,” she amended quickly. “For your own safety and comfort, my lady. Grani is loyal and well-trained, but kicking a horse will always startle it.”

“For my comfort?” Amaryllis asked mockingly. “Have no fear for that, dear knight. My comfort has long since been put in the grave. Slain some miles ago, I have already mourned the loss and prepared myself to be wooed by another.” 

“The speed with which my lady is able to bury a lover is truly impressive,” Bridget half snarled as she jostled herself and the princess back into place. Reaching down she stroked Grani’s side softly. “There, there, boy. You’ve done well. There’ll be rest soon.” 

Amaryllis scowled, caught Bridget’s gaze, and kept it. Sitting in the knight’s lap, their faces were inches apart. With predatory glee, Amaryllis relished the knowledge that Bridget would find no escape from Her Grace’s piercing deep red eyes. 

Bridget had always found the princess’ eyes unnerving in a captivating way. Bridget was hardly alone in that feeling. Amaryllis’ dark red irises were not common. They were a royal trait, passed down through the Sinnach line, said to be the result of Sidhe blood. Lord Sinnid himself took a barrow-folk princess as a wife, they say. At a glance in dim light, they could pass as brown, but close inspection revealed a color too-close to blood for comfort. And Bridget was forced to inspect them very closely.

As a Household Knight in service to High King Cahry, Bridget had seen the royal line’s red eyes many times. Royal processions, inspections–she had been in the company of Amaryllis, her father, her mother, her siblings, and their various relatives many times, but she had always been expected to avert her gaze and maintain her distance. She had never been so intimately close. But, no, that was not true. Looking into Amaryllis’ eyes like this, her head beginning to swim, Bridget could faintly remember meeting The Queen’s eyes early in her induction into the Sinnach Household Guard.  

“Careful of that tongue, Syr Knight,” Amaryllis menaced, interrupting the knight’s wandering thoughts. 

Still staring into Amaryllis’ ruby eyes, Bridget felt her confidence waver. She tried to calm her heart and retain as much of her dignity as she could manage, “I'll keep my tongue only were my Grace wishes,” she replied, attempting a witty smile, although she felt her voice quaver.

Amaryllis’ smile split wider the tips of her canines showing. “Behind your teeth, then. Less you prove yourself impertinent and a rake,” she growled, her eyes still boring into Bridget’s.

Bridget desperately wanted to return the barb, but her head was spinning. Her thoughts were starting to blur.

“That's a good knight.” Amaryllis began gently stroking Bridget’s jaw with the back of a carefully painted nail. 

“Now and forever.”

“Now and forever,” Bridget mumbled groggily. 

Amaryllis bit her lip hard looking at Bridget’s beautifully vacant eyes. Fingering the ruby around her neck absentmindedly, she pulled the knight closer by the jaw with her other hand, held her just far enough that their lips did not kiss. 

“Now, where are we resting?” Amaryllis growled, releasing the knight’s jaw. 

Amaryllis broke her gaze to survey the narrow trail around them. They had traveled another few miles along a narrow path cutting through the forest. Initially it had been wide enough for a cart, likely connecting a few remote farms to the charred ruins of the village in the field they had passed earlier that day. Now the path had narrowed even further. It was a winding, thorn-skirted, and unwelcoming thing.

Bridget blinked and shook off the fog that filled her head. Hadn't she been saying something about Grani? She blinked. She needed to find the princess a place to rest. And Grani, the poor boy, had covered too many miles at too quick a pace. Push much further and she might well lose the steed.

“There should be a dwelling nearby, my grace. This trail shows signs of horse travel. It will likely be a few years abandoned, but someone lived out this way once.” 

“How much further?” Amaryllis sighed heavily. 

“I could not…” Bridget paused as Grani emerges from a bend in the path. 

Ahead of them was a small cabin in a narrow clearing. The dark, gnarled trees seemed to be slowly clawing the space back into the thicket around it, but the cabin itself seemed well-kept. It was a simple log cabin, still-green moss stuffed thickly between each log, and a trail of grey smoke rising from the single narrow chimney.

Bridget had grown up in a small village not far from the edge of The Aesvithr, and she had been taught about The God’s Wood to know that this was the sort of place best left alone. 

“Not so abandoned then,” Bridget murmured, her brow furrowing. 

“I thought you said the village had been razed by marauders a year or more ago?” Amaryllis asked, looking in confusion at the cabin.

“It was, your Grace.” Bridget gripped the horn and in one practiced motion swung herself over Grani and to the ground, keeping her other hand carefully against her princess’s side to steady her in the saddle as she did so. Her vision never broke from the cabin's front door.

Bridget placed her palm on the pommel of her blade and handed the reins to Amaryllis. In a hushed voice she warned, “Be ready to flee if need be, your Grace. I do not trust this.”

Amaryllis sneered, preparing another mocking barb, but something about the Knight's focus made her pause. Bridget’s nose and cheeks in profile framed by her tight locks had a fierceness that Amaryllis liked. Like a well-trained greyhound ready to sprint down game at her signal. 

“You have your lady’s leave, Syr,” Amaryllis breathed.   

Bridget stalked forward as silently as should manage in her fitted plate. The flora around her was turning brown and brittle in the late autumn chill, but Bridget could tell that the remains were once herbs and crops from the last season. Oddly though, there were patches of deep blue mushrooms, and tufts of nettle with sickly yellow fuzz between the plant beds. A few glow worms weaved through the flora, casting an unearthly phosphorescence.

Arriving at the door, she knocked, her gauntleted fingers making a louder noise than she had intended. 

She was about to announce herself as a Knight of Egan Cahry of House Sinnach, High King of All the Realms, acting on the order of The Princess of Amaryllis Cahry, but thought better of it. This peasant’s cabin was remote, but she knew Murdoch’s agents would come searching sooner or later.

Egan… something about that name made her blood boil. Something was bothering her at the edge of her awareness. 

Before she could gather her thoughts again and invent something to say, the door creaked open, revealing a strikingly beautiful woman clad in gray roughspun. Although the fabric was worthy of little note, the woman’s robe was woven with fern blades, moss agate, and scrimshaw. Loosely incorporated along the sleeves and skirt, the stones and bones were also tightly woven into a collar that hugged the woman’s bust snugly. Realizing that she had spent a little too long noting the last detail, Bridget blushed furiously. 

Bridget forced herself to break the silence. “Good morrow, madam. I beg pardon for intruding, but My Lady and I have been traveling all day. We are seeking shelter for the night.” 

Bridget made eye contact again with the woman. The woman was staring, unblinking, with a slight smile on her lips. She was surprisingly young. Her blonde hair was held back in loose braids, woven with yet more beads of stone and bone. Her eyes, gray and cold, were boring directing into Bridget. Something about her gaze was disconcerting, the directness of it perhaps. 

The blonde woman smiled, still observing Bridget’s face as if measuring and evaluating it, “‘My lady,’ truly? And you in full plate, to boot.” She finally shifted her piercing gaze to Amaryllis on Grani. “Brocade dress and a fox fur mantle. It’s not often I host visitors from Sinnactal. What did you say your name was, lady knight?” the woman asked her eyes returning to Bridget. 

Bridget winced. She should have convinced her lady to hide the fox fur. It was as much a symbol of House Sinnach as Amaryllis’ family crest, and Sinnach royals were not well loved in The Aesvithr at the best of times. 

“I didn’t, madam. I apologize. I am Syr Bridget, at your service,” she reached out for the woman’s hand, and when after only a brief hesitation the woman extended it Bridget planted a kiss on its back. The woman’s skin was shockingly smooth and soft, but oddly cold to the touch. 

The woman retracted her hand and smiled knowingly. She paused for a moment, looking Bridget up and down. 

Bridget had the sinking suspicion that her overly formal gesture had come off as flattery. 

“My name is Heidrun of Moosleute. I would be happy to have you,” she smirked. “It isn’t often that I get to play host to such a dashing guest.” Heidrun openly surveyed Bridget again, seeming to linger on her neck with the same piercing gaze. 

Bridget blushed. “I… ugh, we…” Bridget’s heart was racing. ‘Moosleute’ bothered her. That was not the name of the village they had passed, nor any she knew.

Heidrun spoke over her, “You will also be staying then, my lady? Am I to know your name?”

“Your Grace will suffice,” came Amaryllis’ curt reply from immediately behind Bridget. 

The knight jumped. She hadn’t heard Amaryllis ride up behind her. That was worrisome. Grani was quiet, but only for a horse. She needed to be more alert. Although, she realized, she had been awake, fighting or riding, since the evening a day ago. She needed to sleep before her wits were dulled any further. 

Heidrun spent a long moment staring down Amaryllis. Her expression was difficult to read, unblinking, with the hint of a smile so small that Bridget wasn’t certain it was there at all. “Your Grace, then.” The woman's cold gray eyes lingered on The Princess for a long moment. “Come in. I’ve no stable and only the one bed, but you’re welcome to that. There’s still stew on the fire. I’ll fetch bowls.” Heidrun turned and disappeared into the cabin. 

“Are you quite finished stammering and ogling this woman’s bust?” Amaryllis hissed in Bridget’s ear. “I’m freezing and hungry. Help me down.” 

“Sorry, Your Grace,” Bridget replied hastily, blushing again. She reached up to cradle her Princess’ legs with one arm and her back in the other. She easily lifted the girl’s soft form and carried her to the cabin door. Careful to find her dry footing. 

“Wait a moment, your grace. I must tether and feed Grani,” Bridget said, beginning to walk away. 

“Wait?” scoffed Amaryllis. “Am I a child to be minded?” 

“No, your grace. Merely in danger at all times,” Bridget hissed. She hoped her voice was low enough that Heidrun would not hear. 

Amaryllis did not mirror her caution. “Go, Syr Knight. Tend to your horse and fetch a little firewood for our host. Make yourself useful.” There was real anger in Amaryllis’ ruby eyes as she stepped into the hut and slammed the door in Bridget’s face.