The Day After
The smell of iron lingered in the air—blood on stone and wood, mingling with the acrid tang of smoke. Even after the night fires had died down, Redmarch Fortress still seemed to hum with tension, the way an open wound throbs after the bleeding stops.
Alexander woke early, before the horn, sitting on the edge of his bunk, staring at his sword. Yesterday's blood had been scrubbed from the blade, but his hands remembered the weight of each strike, each shove, each life ended.
This is what I wanted, he reminded himself. To fight. To rise. To command.
"Can't sleep either, huh?" Lionel's voice came groggy from the next bunk over. He sat up, hair sticking in all directions, and stretched. "Feels weird, doesn't it? Yesterday we were just recruits. Now half the garrison thinks we're heroes."
Roderick muttered from under his blanket, "Heroes don't ache this much."
Garrick grunted, pulling on his boots. "Better to ache than be dead."
Darian said nothing. He was already fully dressed, fastening his vambrace quietly. When he noticed Alexander watching him, he nodded once—silent, but it was something.
Commendation Formation
By mid-morning, the entire garrison had assembled in the courtyard. Officers lined the front, polished armor gleaming. At the center, Lieutenant Marcus Hale stood with an unfamiliar figure in a flowing deep-blue cloak embroidered with silver threads.
"Squad leaders, front and center!" Marcus barked.
Alexander stepped forward, nerves tight but expression steady. He caught Darian watching him again from the line—no resentment this time, just… curiosity.
Marcus raised his voice. "Yesterday, this fortress held because every man on these walls did their part. But some stood out—men who took initiative, saved lives, and turned the tide on their section of wall. One of those men is here: Alexander of no house."
The courtyard murmured softly at that—"no house" was always a phrase heavy with social weight.
Marcus gestured. "Kneel."
Alexander sank to one knee, left hand on his sword hilt.
From behind Marcus, a woman's voice spoke—soft but commanding. "Rise, knight of Valerius."
Alexander looked up. The voice belonged to Princess Seraphina Valerius herself, standing just behind her brother, Prince Adrian, who watched silently, arms crossed.
Seraphina's Eyes
Seraphina was… different from what Alexander had imagined. He'd seen her once at a distance during drills, but now she was closer. She wore a simple riding dress, no jewelry except a silver pendant of the Creator, but her bearing was unmistakably royal—every motion deliberate, poised.
Her eyes—sharp green flecked with gold—met his, studying him not as a curiosity but as if weighing his soul.
"You fought to hold the wall," she said, her tone measured. "And saved comrades under your command."
"I did my duty, your highness," Alexander said, keeping his voice even.
Seraphina tilted her head slightly. "Many claim duty, few act with it when death stares at them. Remember that."
It wasn't praise exactly, but it wasn't dismissal either. She stepped back beside Adrian, who still hadn't spoken.
Marcus continued: "By order of command, Alexander retains his rank of knight and receives a commendation for bravery. Dismissed!"
Back in Formation
Lionel grinned when Alexander rejoined them. "Did the princess just look at you like she was reading your thoughts?"
"Shut up, Lionel," Garrick said, though even he smirked faintly.
Roderick murmured, "Better question—did you just make eye contact with royalty and not faint? That's impressive."
Darian was quiet but finally said, "You didn't flinch when she spoke."
Alexander glanced at him. "Should I have?"
Darian shrugged, but his voice lacked its usual edge. "Most men would've."
Noble Grumbling
Later that day, Alexander overheard two noble-born officers speaking near the armory:
"A commoner earning commendation from royalty? Ridiculous. It undermines the entire order of command."
"Marcus Hale's fault. He's obsessed with merit over blood."
Alexander pretended not to hear, but Darian had paused nearby, his jaw tightening as he glanced toward them. For the first time, he said nothing in agreement.
When they walked away, Darian approached Alexander. "They don't like you."
Alexander shrugged. "They don't need to like me."
Darian studied him for a moment. "…No. But you should watch your back."
Seraphina Again
Near dusk, Alexander was summoned to the stables, where Seraphina herself stood checking her horse's tack, her hair loosely braided over one shoulder. Two royal guards flanked her, but she waved them back as Alexander approached.
"You fought bravely yesterday," she said without preamble.
"Only because my men stood their ground, your highness."
A faint smile ghosted her lips. "You answer like an officer, not a raw knight."
Alexander hesitated, unsure how to respond. "I… want to lead well, your highness. My men deserve that much."
Seraphina studied him a moment longer, then nodded. "There will be more battles. If you live through them, perhaps we'll speak again."
And just like that, she mounted and rode off, leaving Alexander standing in stunned silence.
Lionel, who had of course followed to eavesdrop, whispered, "Did you just have a moment with the princess?"
"Lionel," Alexander muttered, "I will hit you."
Squad Loyalty
That night, around the fire, the squad felt different—tighter. Garrick told a story about almost falling off the wall (he hadn't), Lionel embellished his spear thrust into something out of legend, and Roderick calmly corrected both of them every few sentences.
Even Darian sat with them, sharpening his sword silently but without his usual distance. Finally, he said quietly, "You kept me alive yesterday. I… haven't forgotten that."
Alexander met his gaze. "Just don't make me do it again."
For the first time, Darian chuckled. A real, low chuckle.
Alexander's Thoughts
When the fire burned low, Alexander sat apart, looking at the night sky. His mind replayed Seraphina's words—If you live through them… perhaps we'll speak again.
He clenched his fists. I will live through them. I have to. I'm not done climbing yet.