Chapter 46: Chapter 45. Not Dead
The morning after the bloody battle came quietly, as though the world itself wished to forget the screams of the night before. The sun rose over the treeline in a soft gold haze, casting light on the camp where knights, squires, and attendants moved, still weary from the battle that happened a day before. Smoke from the last of the bonfires curled into the pale sky, carrying with it the scent of ash and roasted boar.
Some of the Wyndham knights, though still shaken from the battle, managed to settle into the rhythm of the Borgia camp. At first, they had sat stiffly around the fire, silent and uneasy, their eyes drifting again and again to the dark treeline. But once the smell of roasted boar filled the air, their tension began to ease. One by one, they joined the Borgia knights, accepting wooden plates heaped with meat and bread.
Before long, laughter mingled with the crackle of the flames, and the Wyndham knights, though not as loud or carefree as their counterparts, found themselves eating until their bellies were full and sleep tugged at their eyes. Some even toppled over where they sat, still holding half-finished mugs or bones picked clean. Vivianne had been hesitant at first, but when a plate was offered to her, steaming and fragrant, she took it with heartfelt thanks. The meat was tender and smoky from the fire, the fat melting in her mouth. She blinked in surprise, then smiled faintly.
It was better than anything she had tasted in Rothschild. There, her meals had been plain and joyless: hard bread that hurt her teeth, thin soups that were little more than salted milk or flour mixed with water, and scraps of old vegetables. Food meant only to fill the stomach, never to comfort. But here, the boar was rich, seasoned with herbs foraged from the forest, and cooked with care. It warmed her from within, making her forget, if only for a moment, the blood and horror of the day.
She ate slowly, savoring every bite. When Roxanne stared at her and smiled, seeing how she ate it with passion, Vivianne shyly held up a piece for her, and though the Grand Duke usually kept herself apart during such times, she leaned down, lips brushing Vivianne’s fingers as she accepted it. Vivianne’s cheeks warmed, though no one dared to tease.
By the time Vivianne had finished her plate, her body felt heavy. The warmth of the fire, the fullness of her stomach, and the exhaustion of using her power all day pressed down on her. She had stretched her power far, weaving her senses across the field to guard the envoy, listening through the wind, and seeing via the spirit’s power and sharing it with Roxanne, just as she had once watched Marvessa share her power with Mara.
She sat with her plate still in her lap, her head dipping forward. Within moments, sleep claimed her, soft and unguarded. Her hand loosened, and the plate slipped to the side, but Roxanne was there before it could fall. Gently, she set it aside, then pulled her into her arms and cradled her.
For a moment, Roxanne only stood there, watching her sleep. The firelight painted Vivianne’s face in gold and shadow, her breathing steady, her lips curved ever so slightly as though she dreamed of something sweet. She then moves away to go into their tent with Vivianne sleeping peacefully in her arms.
By the morning, Roxanne emerged from her tent first, armored once again, her long dark hair tied back, her expression back as usual, the cold Grand Duke. Vivianne followed close behind, her steps softer, and her smaller hand held Roxanne’s hand tightly. Though the battle yesterday was won by them, she could still see the stains of blood on the earth and still smell the iron tang no wind could fully wash away.
The Borgia knights had already mounted their horses, their banners raised high. The Wyndham knights are slower to ready themselves, still shaken by the horrors they had faced, yet they obeyed with discipline. Together, they formed the long column of the envoy. Wagons lined with supplies creaked into place. The viscountess, pale but safe, is guided into the carriage once more.
Vivianne stepped back into the carriage, the morning light falling gently across her face. Inside, the viscountess was already seated, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she glanced toward the door. Vivianne offered her a gentle smile, her voice soft and polite as she greeted, "Good morning, Viscountess."
"Good morning, Your Grace," the viscountess answered quickly, her tone filled with relief. There had been worry in her eyes the day before, but now there was a touch of calm. "I can see you rested well last night."
Vivianne nodded, settling onto the cushioned seat across from her. The faint memory of the warm bonfire and the laughter of the knights still lingered in her mind, and she could almost taste the flavor of the feast they had shared. "Yes," she said with a small smile, "they served the best roasted boar. I never thought a meal could taste that good after such a day."
The viscountess’s expression brightened at once, her shoulders loosening as if she too had found comfort in that memory. "Indeed," she replied warmly, "it was truly wonderful. To enjoy such rich flavor while sitting together, after all the hardship—it felt like a blessing."
For a moment the carriage was filled with quiet contentment. The sounds of the camp outside filtered in: the clatter of armor being buckled, the stamping of horses as squires tugged at reins, and the low murmur of voices as men prepared for the journey ahead.
Then, a commanding voice broke through the air. "Form up!" Maxim bellowed, his deep voice carrying across the camp like a drumbeat. "We ride within the hour!"
Everyone obeyed, tightening straps, checking weapons, and adjusting saddles. Mara rode forward, her horse stamping impatiently beneath her. Behind her, Marvessa sat in silence, arms holding the hem of Mara’s clothes, her sharp eyes fixed on the trees as though daring another assassin to appear. Maxim gave a low whistle as he swung into the saddle, already humming some tune that earned him groans from the men around him.
Undine and Tempest had gone back into their elemental forms. They could not be seen, but their presence was still there: the cool mist that hung at the edge of the camp and the gentle wind that brushed past the knights as they made ready.
Roxanne stood at the center of it all, her eyes moving over the envoy. Maxim was already at the front, mounted and steady, ready to lead the envoy. Mara and Red had taken the flanks, their horses restless beneath them, while the Wyndham knights fell in line at their side. The carriages stood in the middle, guarded and heavy with both supplies and servants.
Vivianne’s and the viscountess’ carriage is the most closely protected. Roxanne had chosen to ride on one side of it, while Anton took the other. His posture is rigid, his hand never far from his sword. Both of them made it clear that nothing would reach the Grand Duchess without first facing their blades.
The morning was still, the air sharp with the smell of dew and the faint smoke of dying fires. Roxanne tightened her hold on the reins, her gaze sweeping the trees. "Move!" she barked.
When the order came to depart, the column began to move. The iron-shod hooves struck the dirt road in a steady rhythm, the creak of wagons blending with the clink of armor. Birds scattered from the treetops as the envoy pushed forward, their banners snapping in the rising wind.