Chapter 82

The military was an unyielding world of absolute hierarchy. Orders from a superior were to be obeyed without question, even when they seemed unreasonable or difficult to accept. That was the law of the chain of command, a principle with no exceptions. In such a rigidly stratified system, insubordination could never be treated lightly—not even when the cause seemed justified.

“They say he nearly beat the man half to death,” someone remarked. “Word is, the victim’s spinal injuries were so severe he’s been left crippled.”

“And yet the matter was resolved with just three days’ confinement?” another voice asked, laced with incredulity.

Odelliana, glancing briefly at Malena, turned back to the catalogue spread open before her, an elegant book from Madame Lang’s atelier. “At least it was short,” she replied calmly. “He’ll miss the festival, but he should make it in time for the banquet.”

“Missing the axe would’ve been luck enough,” Malena murmured. “Imagine—a newly knighted fledgling, laying his superior flat and crippling him. By rights, that’s far more serious than a slap on the wrist.”

“He could have killed the man. That he didn’t is restraint in itself,” Odelliana said mildly, her eyes still scanning the glossy pages. “Matthias doesn’t act without reason.”

It wasn’t in her nature to excuse thoughtless violence, but she had known Matthias long enough to trust his character. For all the steel in his manner, he wasn’t the sort to lash out at those who meant him no harm.

“What started it?” she asked.

“The man made lewd remarks,” Malena replied. “About you, my lady. Right in front of him.”

“Ah.” Odelliana’s soft laugh was quiet but tinged with frost. “Then he was begging for trouble.”

“Frankly, considering Matthias’s temperament, the only surprise is that the man survived at all.”

Closing the catalogue, Odelliana handed it to Malena. “See to the items I’ve marked. Make sure the fittings are prepared.”

“The men’s suits here,” Malena said, tapping a few noted pages, “are these for Sir Matthias?”

“They are. He’s earned a gift,” Odelliana replied with a faint smile. “Something to acknowledge good service.”

“Madame Lang will be pleased to hear it.”

Once Malena departed, Odelliana exhaled a long breath, disappointment tugging at her expression. She had been looking forward to this year’s village festival, a rare celebration the townsfolk hosted themselves to welcome the knights home. It was meant to be three days of music, games, and free-flowing food and drink—a brief season of light after months of hardship.

By rights, she and Matthias should have been there together, sharing the warmth of bonfires and laughter. Instead, he would spend those days behind stone walls, his only company the cold shadows of a guardhouse.

So while everyone else is celebrating, my poor hound sits caged, she thought bitterly.

Three days’ confinement was a light punishment by any measure, but knowing it was light did little to ease her heart. A vassal knight striking in defense of his liege’s honor was no shame; it was chivalry. Yet she could do nothing but wait, her chest tight with the need to see him.

***

Preparations for the banquet went on without a hitch. She had, after all, spent two years overseeing the royal household’s gatherings, large and small. When the day finally arrived, a visitor came early in the morning.

“My lady, Sir Matthias has arrived,” a servant announced.

Fresh from her bath, Odelliana barely had time to towel her hair dry before she shed her robe and slipped into a simple white dress. The fabric clung faintly to her damp skin, heavy with moisture, but she hurried to the reception room all the same.

“Come in,” she said warmly.

Matthias rose from his seat as she entered, his gaze lingering on her with a flicker of something unreadable. The white dress, though thick enough to conceal, outlined her form in a way that made him tighten his jaw. Without a word, he shrugged off his uniform jacket and settled it firmly over her shoulders.

“You’ll catch a chill like this,” he said quietly, fastening it with a practiced hand. “You should have dried your hair and dressed properly.”

“In this heat? I’ll be fine,” she replied lightly.

“Summer colds are the worst of all,” he said, tone clipped but gentle.

She gave a little laugh. “You arrive and scold me? It should be the other way around.”

Her smile faltered as her eyes swept over him. He looked leaner, sharper, as though the campaign had carved away what little softness he’d carried. “You’ve lost weight,” she murmured, the words half a sigh.

It was inevitable, she supposed—there were no proper meals in the field, no comfort in hard marches. But knowing it didn’t soften the sight of his hollowed cheeks, nor did it ease the guilt that pricked at her chest. Even three days in confinement, though brief, were a strain after such a trial.

“You’re well?” she asked softly.

“I am,” he answered.

“No injuries?”

“None.”

When her hand came up to touch his face, he caught it gently, enclosing her fingers with his own. His smile was faint but real. “I see you’ve been well. You look stronger.”

She gave a quiet, rueful laugh. “Once was enough for you to see me at my worst. I won’t let that happen again.”

She remembered too well the humiliation of greeting him once, broken and unable to walk. That failure had stayed with her. Since then, she had eaten well, trained harder, refused to let her promise to him fall short.

“And you?” he asked. “No trouble in my absence?”

“None. After the incident, I increased my guards and cut back on visits to the poorhouse. I even let Malena teach me sword and bow work, and I’ve been practicing riding. The rest was managing the estate. I kept myself busy.”

“A faithful student,” Matthias said, something like pride touching his lips. “I’m glad.”

The remark drew a wry look from her, but before she could retort, servants arrived bearing a tray of light refreshments. They lingered only long enough to set the food and exchange knowing smiles—within the castle, Matthias was already regarded as her unofficial betrothed.

“Later today,” she said as they sat, “Madame Lang will bring the fittings. Choose something you like.”

“Fittings?”

“For my dresses, and for you,” she said. “Come—stand a moment. Let me see.”

He obeyed without hesitation. Odelliana’s gaze traced him slowly, from head to toe, unhurried and critical. It was not lascivious, merely precise, but Matthias found his ears warming under the scrutiny.

“Your frame’s grown broader,” she noted, stepping closer. Her hands found his shoulders, his waist, as if confirming her observation. Though there was nothing intimate in the touch, his body went rigid beneath her fingers.

“Better I measure than Madame Lang,” she said calmly. “You dislike strange hands, don’t you?”

“…Yes.”

“Then arms out, please.”

With a tailor’s tape, she moved around him, checking lengths and girths. Each time her hand brushed against him, he tensed. She chuckled. “Relax. If you’re stiff, the numbers will be wrong. Do you think I mean to devour you?”

He said nothing, jaw tight, breath faintly audible.

“Slowly, then,” she murmured, looping the tape. Her voice was steady, but the words landed heavier than she knew.

She didn’t notice the faint heat in his breath, nor the way his lips parted as though to speak but stopped. She only noted, absently, “You grow by the day. Like stone, now.”

Her fingers passed over the hard planes of his arms, his chest, his trim waist. It was admiration of form, nothing more—a soldier’s appreciation for strength well-forged. But to him, it was torture.

The sight that had greeted him when he entered—a woman, damp-haired, dressed light, her presence bright after weeks of hardship—was still sharp in his mind. Two months of deprivation, little rest, little warmth, had frayed his control. Each touch now stoked a heat he dared not show.

“Are you unwell?” she asked suddenly, hand rising to his forehead, worry in her face. She had to stretch, her reach just shy, and the effort made her seem smaller somehow.

Something snapped. Without a word, Matthias pulled her into his arms, holding her close, fierce.

The embrace was unlike the casual ones they had shared before—stronger, almost desperate. She didn’t notice the difference; she was long used to his protective gestures.

“Teacher,” he said, his voice unsteady, breath uneven.

“Mm?” she answered, unsuspecting.

A short, humorless laugh escaped him. “I missed you. I thought of nothing else.”

“I missed you too,” she said softly.

His hold tightened, the words sinking deep. Her scent, her warmth, her presence—it was too much, too close, too sweet.

Gods, it’s unbearable, he thought. Even dreams had not prepared him for this.

Did she know what she was? That a glance, a word, the lightest brush of her hand could undo him? No—better she never knew.

If she ever learned the truth—that in my mind she’s been undressed, laid bare, claimed without restraint—she’d despise me.