ive been talking to Amy all day about the knight and im OBSESSED with the idea she had about you, being highborn, being your husband's guide through the political and social aspects of the court.
one day you block him from the front door.
"You are forbidden from going to the capital."
the knight reaches to stroke your cheek. "It's only a day's journey, lamb. I will be back within a week."
"I am not allowing you to leave to see the king's court dressed like that!" you point to his cloak and garments. your husband furrows his brow hard, inspecting himself. "They are stained and ripped!"
"My appearance doesn't matter, my performance is battle does." Clothing wont fix his face or scars.
"Nonsense." Clothing has always been important to you; half of the gowns you wear are made by your own hand, the fabric supplied by your father. There's been a pile of things set aside for your hubsand, but he refuses to stay still enough for you to measure. "I am coming with. There are clothes I have half sewn for you that I can finish. The rest we will buy when we arrive."
"We will be late to the council meeting-"
"And then you can blame your wife."
usually your husband rides a horse to the capital, but you have forced him into the carriage with you.
"You look regal in a high collar," you say and you work a hem. "Why are you even being summoned?"
The knight adjusts uncomfortably, looking out the window to avoid your focused expression.
"They wish to move troops back into the north in case of uprising," he whispers, voice low. "It's a terrible idea. Forcing already exhausted men to march hundreds of miles before the cold season ends is just going to lead to illness, infighting, and death."
"They don't listen to you when you tell them these things?"
"Well, then make them listen. Why have a commander if they insist on ignoring him? You have earned their respect."
at the capital, you stand up for him in ways he didnt know he needed. Another member of the council greets him coldly, biting his name out with an overly polite statement that might be a jab-
"Forgive me for interrupting, sir, but you must not have heard," you say, hand coming to rest on your husbands chest, your mdoest ring glittering on your finger. "My husband has been titled as Lord of The Ironhills because of his actions as Commander of The Royal Legion."
The man blinks slowly, one eye slower than the other. "I am very aware, miss."
"Oh, forgive me! You didn't use either title, so I assumed you did not know better," you laugh. The joyous air you keep has this deeper, more pointed undertone. Many of the spots he overhears in the capital have this rhythm to them, but he never has the ability to bit back in the same way. "And you may refer to me as lady."
The man is clearly unhappy, but he turns back to your husband. "Forgive me, my lord."
and the knight realizes that his position here may grant him more power that he thought.
titsay
theartofmadeline
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jbbartram-illu
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kaledo-art
