The war camp slumbered, save for the faint whispers of the night watch and the distant howls of wolves.
All was quiet under the moon's gaze. Canvas tents swayed gently in the air, their outlines blurred by the thin veil of mist. The embers of the shared fire pit flickered, offering only a faint glow before the last light of the night finally faded.
Amelia sat near its edge, legs folded beneath her, a blanket draped over her shoulders. Her eyes were heavy with fatigue, but sleep refused to claim her. The past few days had unwound her in ways she hadn't anticipated—not with swords, but with glances and emotions, sharp edges that had been sheathed for far too long.
The sound of footsteps reached her ears, slow and deliberate.
Claude lowered himself onto the ground beside her, his cloak sweeping across hers.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, his voice, barely a murmur:"You're not who I thought you were."
Amelia didn't look at him, her gaze fixed on the dying fire. "You're several months late to that realization."
He offered a small, weary smile. "When I married you, I expected cold glares and polite aloofness. I didn't anticipate..."
She tilted her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Blood, grime, and sword calluses?"
He snorted softly, the laugh low. "Something like that."
The silence stretched between them for a heartbeat.
Then, "You changed," he said, more quietly this time.
Amelia's gaze remained on the flickering flames. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I simply stopped hiding the parts of me that were never wanted in the first place."
Claude's eyes lingered on her. "I keep thinking... if I'd seen this side of you sooner..."
"What?"
He looked away, the weight of unspoken things in his tone. "Perhaps I wouldn't have spent so much time holding you back."
The admission was small, but it reverberated like thunder in the stillness.
Amelia felt it, deep in her chest—a sensation like a string being pulled taut, long quieted but now humming with a soft, unspoken truth.
Before she could reply, Clara emerged from the shadows, half-dressed in her usual garb—military tunic, boots untied, hair a wild mess from sleep—but her eyes were sharp and alert.
"I was wondering where the two of you had brooded off to," she said, dropping onto Amelia's other side with a dramatic sigh.
Amelia glanced at her, dryly. "We were being emotionally vulnerable."
Clara blinked. "Ew. Am I interrupting?"
"Yes," Claude answered flatly.
"Too bad," Clara said, grabbing the end of Amelia's blanket and wrapping it around herself. "You two need a chaperone. You're about one moonlit stare away from doing something stupid."
Amelia smiled faintly. Claude didn't protest.
The three of them settled into a quiet rhythm, the kind forged by shared scars, betrayals, and the endless hum of war that buzzed around them.
Clara rested her head on Amelia's shoulder, her voice soft but serious: "You know, I used to envy you."
Amelia glanced at her, confusion flickering in her eyes. "Why?"
Clara's gaze was distant, almost introspective. "You had his name. The title. The life."
Claude raised an eyebrow, but Clara didn't seem to notice.
"But then I saw you here, in the mud, with a sword in your hand and that look in your eyes... and I realized, maybe you had something I never did."
Amelia whispered, "What's that?"
Clara's lips quirked into something faintly rueful. "Fire."
The air between them thickened with a soft pause.
Then Claude's voice, just above a whisper: "You both do."
"The first time I saw death up close, I was fifteen," Claude said.
Amelia's whetstone slowed. Clara didn't shift, but her attention sharpened.
Claude didn't look at either of them. "A frontier village. Bandits raided. I was delivering supplies—supposed to be safe. A boy, maybe a year older than me, stepped in front of his sister when an axe came down."
He turned, at last, eyes shadowed. "I didn't move. I didn't raise my sword. I just... watched."
Amelia met his gaze. "And yet they call you a hero."
Claude gave a dry, bitter snort. "Heroics are usually grown in the soil of guilt. That moment—that freeze—has haunted me more than anything I've done since."
Clara's voice came soft. "The girl?"
"She lived. Never looked at me." He exhaled, slow and sharp. "She didn't owe me thanks. But I remembered what it felt like to falter. And I never let it happen again."
Amelia's hand stilled completely. "You carry it with you."
"Every day."
Silence again.
Then Clara said, brushing nonexistent dust off her knees, "You think you're the only one who walks with ghosts?"
Claude raised a brow but said nothing.
Clara didn't meet their eyes. "My brother used to say I was born with sharp teeth. That I'd bite the world before it bit me." A faint, bitter smile tugged her mouth. "He was right."
Amelia's voice was quiet. "What happened to him?"
Clara stared into the fire. Her jaw clenched before she spoke."He died protecting someone who didn't deserve it."She turned to them at last. "That's why I never wanted to care. Caring leads to protection. Protection leads to bleeding."
Amelia studied her, her gaze unreadable.
Then she said, "I had a limp before I ever set foot on a battlefield."
Both turned to her.
"People see a flaw and decide your worth before you even speak," Amelia continued, tone steady. "I was taught to sit pretty, smile politely, and stay out of the way. Even my own father thought I'd be more useful as a bargaining chip than a person."
She ran her fingers down the flat of her sword."So I figured if I was going to be a pawn... I'd learn how to be a queen."
"Well, Duchess," he said, "I'd say you're almost there."
Amelia's mouth twitched. "Don't flatter me."
Clara sat forward, brushing hair from her face."Let's make a pact."
They looked to her.
She extended her hand.
"Whatever this war decides… none of us go back to who we were before it started."
Claude looked at her, then clasped her hand without hesitation.
"Deal."
Amelia followed, her eyes catching the firelight.
"Deal."
They stayed there a long time—soldier, duchess, and shadow—while the flames danced and the sky above held its breath. No bugles. No banners. Just a vow exchanged under the stars, witnessed only by fire and ghosts.