The training yard is hot, despite the thin veneer of frost that had given everything a gentle shine in the early morning light. With the rise of the sun, the temperature had also risen, giving way to the heat the yard now possesses. It doesn’t help that Gerret has the forge blazing, and the heat from the forge has a tendency to radiate to all parts of the yard. It also doesn’t help that Tulia is being relentless in our sparring today.

“Tulia, please,” I grinned, resting my blade lightly across my shoulders, resting gingerly against the nape of my neck, where red-brown hair sticks to the skin with the plaster of sweat. “It isn’t as though we’ll actually see battle anytime soon. Thirteen hundred years of peace seems a pretty good record, if you ask me.” 

Tulia tosses her long ebony braid over her shoulder, resuming her attack stance to begin again. “If you insist on carrying your sword like that, Aster, at some point, you’re going to slice your head clean off,” she teases, though there is no jest in her tone or facial expression. Then again, Tulia always was the type to present stoic. I simply grin back.

“What can I say? We all have our bad habits.”

Tulia brings up her blade, and I have just enough time to react, swinging down to meet it. The resulting connection echoes with a metallic ring through the yard, joining the chorus of blades from the other knights’ activities. Of course, most of our fellow knights took things easy. Certainly, some were as zealous in their practice as Tulia, but many were of my mind – why prepare for a war that will never happen? Tulia lunges, her blade singing past my hip as I dodge out of the way. I catch her blade with mine, forcing it downward in a bind, using the weight of my sword to bring hers down. She retains the upper hand, however, being the more capable with a two-handed weapon, and though she lets my blade carry hers to the ground, she steps backward on her right foot, slipping her blade free and raising it over her right shoulder. As she swings downward, I duck and roll out of the way. She wouldn’t strike me, she has enough control, but I’m not about to tempt fate. As I come out of the roll, I block her strike at my head, but I don’t have enough leverage. Tulia kicks my shoulder, flipping me onto my back, and I’m done. The spar is over before it truly begins. Her steel is cold against my throat and she holds it there for a moment before raising it. “I win.”

I haul myself to my feet and slip my blade back into its sheath. It’s the standard-issue weapon for Knights of Flowers, such as Tulia and me; two-handed broadsword with green leather wrapped around the grip, the pommel worked into the shape of a budding rose. Why a broadsword for the Dominion of Flowers, I’d never know, but I was lucky in that it was not our only option. “Yes, well, was there ever any doubt?” I muttered, offering my hand for a shake. The corner of Tulia’s mouth quirks upward in what might almost be a grin.

“Again,” she says, stepping away to find her stance again. I groan.

“If I didn’t know better, I might think you were trying to kill me,” I sighed, making no motion to redraw my weapon. "There are easier ways, you know."

"Then perhaps you should make it more difficult for me," she replies, her stance steady and balanced. 

I chuckle. "Let us spar with the rapier, then, and we shall see how quickly you eat your words."

"Knight Aster!"

I look up to see Dashell Altwyn, the Lady's herald, standing up on the walkway that leads from the keep down to the garrison. "Something I can help you with, Dashell?" I ask, tucking a sticky strand of hair behind my ear. 

"Lady Ianthe wishes to speak with you," he responds, his decorum unfaltering despite the fact that we both know what a summons from the Lady means in my case. "She bade me to bring you to her at once."

I scratch at the neckline of my shirt, the upright leather collar of my breastplate making my neck hot. I am in no real state to see my queen, but duty calls. I strap the broadsword to my back, the baldric resting against my chest like a firm but familiar hand, and wink at Tulia before climbing the stairs to meet Dashell. He makes a face as I draw close.

"You smell like someone lit a horse on fire," he comments, wrinkling his nose. 

"Yes, we must do something about improving the ventilation of Gerret's forge," I tease back. "How is she?"

Dashell knows my meaning right away. "I'm not sure, to be honest. She seems almost distressed, but I can't for the life of me determine why. The stresses of royalty, I suppose," he replies. I look at his hands, which clutch his ledger. As the queen's herald, his duties include recording all comings and goings from Lady Ianthe's chambers, as well as any meetings of state or diplomacy she attends. His shorthand is impeccable, and decipherable only by three people: himself, Lady Ianthe, and me. For a man of his comparative youth, he's quite the accomplished man. 

I sigh, shaking my head. "I wish I could at least bathe first," I mutter. "Can't exactly say I'm pleasant company smelling like this."

Dashell shakes his head. "She was adamant you come straightaway. If you arrive and she decides she finds your... odor repellent, then that is her decision to make."

We pass through corridors of honey-colored sandstone, past huge, ancient tapestries depicting queens and knights long gone, figures no one can name, but that somehow seem familiar. None of our tapestries depict scenes of battle, though the reason is simply that in thirteen hundred years, there has not been one in the Vale. The closest to any fighting that has occurred anywhere in the Vale has been skirmishes to select new knights to initiate into the service of the four Ladies. There are tales of ancient battles in our records, but the details have dissolved and blended into legend. Not to mention that many of the pages aren't fully intact. Any bloodshed here is conjured in the imaginations of anyone who might read those dusty journals. 

Finally, we arrive at the large, white double doors that lead to Lady Ianthe's rooms. I can smell the lavender, chamomile, and rose petal from through the doors, but the scent is more of an embrace than an odor. Dashell knocks, then steps inside, leaving me to wait.

"Knight Aster, as requested, my Lady," he announces. Lady Ianthe's musical voice cuts him off.

"Yes, yes, I know who it is, Dashell, just let her in."

I push between the doors, breathing the calming scents of her chambers. Her face appears contorted with worry for a brief moment, but when her cornflower-blue eyes rest on my face, her expression softens, and her chest heaves as if a great weight has been lifted from it. She moves as if to rise from her dais, but I step forward, not wanting to cause her any undue stress. "Aster," she breathes, holding out her arms. "My dear knight, I am so glad to see you."

I genuflect before her, bowing my head. She leans forward, tucking her forefinger beneath my chin and applying just enough pressure that I am forced to meet her soft eyes. "There is no need to stand on ceremony," she murmurs, her damask lips curling into a sweet smile. I glance over my shoulder at Dashell, who makes an obvious gesture of clearing his throat. "You are dismissed, Dashell," Lady Ianthe excuses him, and I swear I hear him sigh in relief as he exits the chamber, closing the white door behind him. As soon as he is gone, Lady Ianthe leans forward just a few inches further and sweeps the hair away from my neck with one pale hand and places a gentle kiss against the hollow of my jaw, just below my ear. My eyes fall closed. My lips part with the softest of gasps. A familiar shiver of promise lights up my spine, glowing just beneath my skin. I feel her hand fall away, and I blink a few times before meeting her gaze.

"My lady, please," I breathe, trying to steady myself, "I have just been sparring. I'm afraid I'm in no condition to come to your bed."

The lady laughs, and the sound causes light to swell in my chest. All I ever wish to hear is that sound. "So serious today, Aster. You've come to my bed in worse states than this," she grins, her face more girlish than regal in that moment. 

I feel breathless, and I fight against the smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth. I have to remember what Dashell said, what he warned me of. Even still, I allow myself to smile, just a little. "I don't wish to soil your fine linens, my lady. Or sully your fragrance with my, ah... considerably more brutish one."

Her face changes, concern written in the lines along her youthful eyes. She takes my hands and pulls me onto her chaise to sit beside her. When I comply, she rests a hand on my shoulder. "What's troubling you, my rose?" she asks, her voice bearing worry to match her expression. "When the two of us are here alone, I am Ianthe, nothing more. Something is bothering you. Please let me help." 

I sigh, and instantly my expression changes. I smile at her, shaking off the weight of my conscience. "I am sorry, my love. Tulia's been working me just a little too hard, I'm afraid. She's knocked all the sense out of me." I take her soft hands in my callused ones and kiss her knuckles. "Do you think you can forgive me?" 

Lady Ianthe smiles again, and my heart fills with warmth. She leans in to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth. "Of course. It is Tulia who should be scolded, if that is the case. I can't have my favorite knight worked so hard that she can't think properly when I call for her. All is forgiven, my rose." 

I reach out to touch her cheek, tracing my thumb over the smooth line of her cheekbone. Her wheat-colored hair is soft against my fingertips. I lean in and kiss her, closing my eyes and sighing. I have always been convinced that her lips have held magic properties; their ability to relieve all my stress and leave me feeling as if the weight of the world were off my shoulders is nothing short of miraculous. She wraps her arms around me, drawing me closer, and as our chests press together, I break the kiss. She frowns at me, but I tug at the straps of my leather chest plate as explanation. "Could you...?"

"Here, let me," she replies, her nimble fingers releasing the buckles holding the chest plate against my body. As soon as all the straps are free, she lifts the leather away from my chest, placing it on the sandstone floor. In an instant, our lips are together again, and we're breathing each other in. Her hands are buried in my hair, and mine are resting on her waist. She draws me closer, laying back on the chaise and pulling me down with her. Our bodies fit together as if they were made to, a mold and cast of each other. Early on in our days of courting each other, it was not quite so fluid, but now, our motions are practiced, and we know each other's bodies well enough to know when to move, and how, and where. I rest my hand on her thigh and she breaks the kiss, her head falling back with a tiny gasp. A smile flickers across my face. I love being able to do this to her, to make her lose herself, to allow her to be just a woman, rather than a sovereign. My lips press against her neck. Her fingers tighten in my hair. 

There is a knock at the door, and a moment after it opens, it closes again. Lady Ianthe groans, and we both sit up.

"What is it, Dashell?" she asks, barely masking the impatience in her voice.

He clears his throat before speaking through the door. "There is an emissary from the Lady of Snow here to speak with you, my lady," he replies.

Lady Ianthe tugs down her skirt for modesty's sake, and I quickly move to pick up my chest plate. 

"I should go," I murmur, heading for the door that leads out to her balcony, an improvised exit route I've used many times. 

She catches my wrist, tugging me gently back. "No, please. Stay. I should not like to be alone with this...emissary. Besides, it would look better if I had my First Knight at my side, don't you think?" 

I sigh, weighing the options. "I don't have my armor, though. Won't that look a bit suspicious?" 

"Lady Ianthe?" Dashell calls through the door.

"Yes, Dashell! Just one moment," she calls back, impatient. She takes the chest plate from my hands and fastens it back into place. "Here. We'll say I've just called you up from training. That's what took so long. It really is better if I have you with me. Now here, stand--" she moves me to the corner of her divan, where I stand straight-backed and composed, "--here." She perches back on the divan, settling her gown around her and brushing her long hair over one shoulder with a hand. 

"Send them in, Dashell," she finally calls out. I take a deep breath, hoping to the stars that none of this looks at all curious to whomever the Lady of Snow has sent. The two doors open, and in strides a tall man dressed in the frosted silver plate armor of the Snowlands. He carries his helmet under his arm, and his white leather gloves are tucked into the belt strapped around the outside of his breastplate. I have not seen this knight before - I would have recognized him if he had been at the selection tournament a year ago, as all four First Knights are required to attend. Though I do not recognize him as a competitor, either. Warning flags are going up in my head, and I glance over at Lady Ianthe, who does not look at me, but simply folds her hands in her lap and smiles. 

"Forgive me, my lady," this knight says, bowing low, and I bristle as he speaks before being spoken to. His accent is strange, unlike any I've heard from the Snowlands knights before."Your herald informed me that the message that was sent to announce my visit had not been delivered." 

Lady Ianthe gives him her most gracious smile and nods as he straightens out of his bow. "It is no trouble at all, Sir..."

The knight nods. I could just punch his eye in right now. "Kilcairn, my lady. I am Sir Kilcairn, First Knight of Snow."

"Well, then, Sir Kilcairn, what is it that I can do for you?" 

The knight reaches into the leather message tube that hangs at his waist and draws out a rolled piece of paper bound by a thin silver string. "My lady bade me bring you this message. I have not been informed of its contents."

Ianthe looks up at me and gestures for me to take the message, but Kilcairn pulls his hand back.

"Lady Eira requested that it be for your eyes alone."

Lady Ianthe gives him a firm but diplomatic look. "And so it shall be," she insists, nodding for me to take the letter. I close the distance between Kilcairn and myself. He has a good head and a half on me in height, and ice-blue eyes look down at me over his prominent nose. I take the paper, not breaking his gaze, and give him a snarky smile before turning to bring the message back to my lady. 

She tugs on the silver thread until it comes free, and the paper's edges unroll. She stretches it out, reading the message contained there. I cannot make out the words, and when I find myself trying to, I remind myself that this is supposed to be confidential. However, though I am unable to read the message, I can read her expression, and I see the exact moment when placid interest changes to something more fearful. Her eyes flick back to the top of the page and scroll downward again. She looks up at Kilcairn. "You have not read this message?" she asks, her voice firm and thin. 

Kilcairn shakes his head, his cloak swaying with the motion. "I swear it, my lady."

Lady Ianthe reads the note one more time before rolling it up and tying the thread around it once more. "Dashell," she calls once she is finished, "see that Sir Kilcairn is given lodgings and food for the time being. One of the spare rooms in the keep will suffice, there is no need for him to stay in the garrison. He is welcome to leave his armor there, however, if he wishes."

Dashell nods and steps forward to usher Kilcairn out, but the knight speaks once more before Dashell can escort him away. 

"I was also instructed to ask your lady to send your most capable knight," he adds, those cold eyes glancing at me for the briefest of moments. 

"When I have had a day or two to consider the contents of this letter, I shall do so," Lady Ianthe responds, sober and thoughtful. "In the meantime, please enjoy your stay in the Flowerlands."

Kilcairn bows once more, and follows Dashell out of the chamber. Dashell has the good sense to close the doors behind him, and as soon as the sound of their footsteps has faded down the corridor, I sit beside Ianthe once more, knitting my brow in worry and searching her face. "What is it? What did it say?" I ask her, tucking her hair behind her ear.  For a moment, I can see the desire to tell me, to open the floodgates holding back whatever fears the letter had stirred in her and let me ease her burden, that desire lingering like a candle flame in her eyes. After a long moment, she sighs and shakes her head. "I can't," she tells me. "Not yet, at least. I have to... to think about things. I have to consider what Eira has told me."

I sigh and drop my hands into my lap. This does not happen often, but when it does, I just feel so helpless; just another commoner who cannot fathom the stresses of being a sovereign. She may have chosen me, I may have won her heart, but there would always be that power that separated us. "Should I go?" I ask softly, not meeting her eyes. She takes my hand and kisses my cracked knuckles. 

"Perhaps, just for now. I'll have one of my ladies draw you a bath," Lady Ianthe smiles. "I expect you back in my chambers to finish what you've started as soon as you're smelling less like the rear end of a horse."

I can't fight the grin that spreads across my face, and I chuckle softly. I stand, kiss her hand, and bow. "I shall see you later, my lady," I say before turning to head for the door. 

"Well wait one moment!" Ianthe calls, clucking at me. I stop and turn around, and she rises to go further into her chambers. "Camellia," I hear her address one of her serving ladies, "take Lady Aster and draw her a bath. Make sure she's clean from head to toe, I'll be checking."

I can barely stifle my giggle, and I bite my lip as Ianthe comes through again, followed by Camellia, who catches me by the wrist and drags me towards the door. I laugh again and wave at my lady as I'm hauled out into the corridor, and the last thing I see before the doors shut behind me is Ianthe covering a laugh of her own with a petal-white hand.

*

Once I'm scrubbed to within an inch of my life, and my hair tugged and teased into submission, I put on the fresh clothes Camellia has brought me. The tunic is mint green, long, and has a high neck, and I know Lady Ianthe must have had it made for me recently, because I do not recognize it. The fabric is quilted, and flatters my curves as only Ianthe would know how to ask for. I pull on the black trousers and tie my regular leather belt around my waist, and once my boots are back on my feet, I head into the corridor, thanking Camellia for her zealous attentions. As I head down the hall, I very narrowly miss colliding into the column of human that is Sir Kilcairn. 

"Loitering, I see," I scoff, taking a step back. 

His gaze is fixed out over the training yard, where my comrades are now seated at various intervals, eating the lunch that our garrison cook has no doubt spent the morning slaving over. I notice that Kilcairn is no longer wearing his armor, and is clothed in a deep blue tunic with silver edging. The color makes his eyes seem even more stark than they had when complimented by the silver armor. I also notice a bright silver ring on his hand where it rests on the railing. The stone is the color of ice - a sort of white-blue that I have not seen before. 

"I was instructed to make myself feel at home here," he answers, his deep voice and unfamiliar accent like an earthquake in my chest. 

Silence falls between us for a long moment while I search for what to say. "Do you have a yard like this in the Snowlands?" I finally ask.

The ghost of a grin flickers across his face, and he taps his fingertips against the railing. "In a manner, yes."

He does not elaborate, and I find myself wondering if everyone is as talkative where he is from. "Does it snow all the time there?" I press, hoping to start some kind of conversation.

"There are times of snow, and times of clear grey skies," he replies, "Occasionally it warms, but not as warm as it is here. The snow and ice never fully melt, unlike here. As I was riding up the road to the keep this morning, I saw the frost, but by the time I arrived, it was gone."

I nod. "The sun usually burns it off before midday," I reply. 

Silence again. I shuffle my feet a little, watching as Dannick, one of the knights we acquired during the last trial, leaps across the table to trap Phyllida in a headlock for flinging a spoonful of stew at him. I smile. These are my people, my family. Kilcairn seems unaffected by their charms. To be fair, he's only been here a few hours. He has time. 

"So what is it your lady requires of us?" I ask him. "You told Lady Ianthe that she wishes my lady to send her most capable knights. Has she told you what for?"

Kilcairn shifts, standing straight and crossing his arms over his chest. "She would not say. If it was a question of security, surely, if she needed more knights, she could recruit them."

"Which reminds me," I interject, recalling my thought from earlier, when he arrived in Lady Ianthe's chamber, "you are new to the service of the Snowlands, are you not? How long have you been Lady Eira's First Knight?" 

Whatever progress I have made, I can tell I have lost. His face clouds over and I'm certain he'll be returning to his taciturn self. "Not long," he replies. And then he surprises me by adding, "She commissioned me about three months ago."

I sigh, crossing my arms and looking out over the yard once more. "That would make sense, I suppose, since you were not at the last knight trial," I comment. "What happened to Sir Freyn?"

"He was killed," is all the answer I get for my efforts. I twiddle my thumb against the lacing that attaches the forearm sleeve to the upper arm, allowing the material to bend without wrinkling or tearing. Kilcairn straightens his tunic and turns to incline his head to me in a stoic gesture of respect. "Lady Aster," he says before pivoting on his heel and heading back into the keep. 

I roll my eyes and make my way once more towards Lady Ianthe's chambers, as she had requested. With any luck, she'd be able to help me make some sense of this puzzling knight. 

I doubt it.

I'm not sure how she managed it, but Lady Ianthe has pulled together a brilliant morning feast in honor of our guest. She must have arranged it with Dashell either early this morning or very late last night, since I left her chambers long after the moon rose. There were nights that I didn't leave her chambers at all, but those were few and far between, and never when we had guests staying in the keep. Despite the fact that those who live here - and even many of the people of the Flowerlands - know and embrace the fact that Lady Ianthe and I are in a relationship, it is an unfortunate necessity to expect that not everyone would be so understanding. At least, so Ianthe tells me. I cannot fully comprehend why it would be an issue. We are in love - why should anyone be offended by it? 

At any rate, the breakfast is a true testament to the labors of the Flowerlands. We produce nearly all of the crops that feed the rest of the Vale, though the Streamlands supplement our production to a degree, and so among the people here, there is great pride in our agriculture. The table is laid with a rainbow of fruits, breads made from our grain, spreads of many different varieties, and creams from the milk from our cows. Even Kilcairn seems impressed, if the look on his face is anything to judge by.