The young peasant pulled her hair back from her face, tying it hurriedly and messily back. She completed her work with tying her white bandanna across her forehead. Matilda had finally found Balfour in a stable closer to the heart of Welsummer and had seen Castor following a few of the other boys inside after a few drinks just a few minutes before. Her heart fluttered nervously, pounding so loudly she kept looking around to be sure no one else could hear it. She wrapped her violet shawl more tightly about herself, covering her left cheek and lower part of her face. She had snuck Disa in the stall with Balfour – surprisingly, as the horses had noisily reunited.

Now, Matilda approached the Inn, shuffling nervously forward, eyeing the large wood doors. The dark stained wood glowed in the light cast by the lanterns on either side and overhead. Swallowing defiantly, she reached a hand forward and grasped the gold handle. Pulling gently, she was overwhelmed with the smell of burning herbs – cinnamon and tobacco, mostly – and the cacophony of ladies and gentleman milling about in the common area by the bar. A few pairs of people moved briskly, chatting on a dance floor directly ahead. Music was playing from a small band of musicians, the sounds coming from things she did not recognize, seated in the corner on a minuscule stage beside the fireplace.

Matilda forced herself to look ahead, desperately trying to locate Castor before he might see her. Her throat was dry and she coughed as she attempted to swallow, fighting her way through the crowds mingling around the dance floor. She covered her nose with her shawl, eyes watering as she blinked furiously, studying ever face she could see.

As she finally reached past the crowds, she saw a stairwell just past the other end of the bar, behind the scattered dining tables. She hurriedly made her way toward them, picking carefully across the floor as she noticed raised floorboards and some loose nails. Her hand-sewn shoes were not meant for such scenes.

“S'cuse me, miss,” a woman's voice called. Matilda's heart stopped in its tracks as she slowly turned around.

“..Yes?”

“Are you looking for someone?” A large, busty woman with curling brown hair and an amiable face strode towards the peasant girl. She wore a white shirt beneath a red corset-like top (confusing to Matilda, as she had only ever seen corset-like garments worn under clothing. And by members of high status). Her large hands boasted several pairs of brass rings, and she wore blue paint dashed over her eyelids.

Matilda stuttered as she fought for breath through her parched throat, “I am – I'm... looking for a gent... by the name of Boniface.”

“Boniface,” the woman repeated, making her way behind the bar. She bent, retrieved a small booklet from under the counter, and flipped through a few pages. “Ah, yes,” she pointed a large finger, clad in several jeweled rings, to scrawling letters written in ink. “Castor?”

Matilda nodded, heart pounding again, hopeful.

“Yes, he's in room 12 – if you just go up the staircase and follow it down the corridor, you'll find it on the right. He just checked in for the night so he should be there.”

Matilda nodded, backing away slowly. “Thank you – so much.”

The bartender smiled gently, replaced the book, then began cleaning the bar table.

Matilda stopped at the bottom of the stairs and peered up into the stairwell – it was dark, and smelled musty in comparison to the herbaceous center of the Inn. She allowed herself one large breath, then forced herself to quickly make her way up the flight of stairs. She slowed as she heard young men's voices just ahead – craning her neck forward, she attempted to recognize them, but did not.

As she rounded the staircase and found herself making her way down a narrow hallway, she could see two of Castor's fellow squire boys chatting in the hallway. Thankfully, they would not recognize her, and they politely made room as she swept past them, before carrying on with their conversation.

Matilda's heart raced furiously as she reached the wood door labeled 12 in brass numbers. She began wondering if maybe it would be best to just turn around and go back downstairs.

She started as she heard rustling from inside and realized that Castor must, indeed, by within feet just on the other side of the door. She could feel heat rising in her face as she realized how embarrassing it would be if he happened to come outside and find her there.

Without allowing herself another moment to hesitate, she knocked on the door – a weak, uneven set of 2 knocks – before hiding her hand beneath her shawl. She could feel her legs shaking.

There were a few moments of silence, then panic rose in her as she heard Castor's footsteps. Unsure of what to do, she found herself torn between staring forward and turning away to run down the hall – and then the door opened.

Castor squinted into the dark hallway, eyes searching Matilda's face. “Hello?”

Matilda's mouth opened slightly before she promptly shut it. A stirring in her gut and her cheeks flushing distracted her as she looked into the squire's face.

“Can I help you?” Castor took a step forward to stand in the doorway, eyes peering intently at her face.

“I...”

“Matilda?” Castor stepped through the door, eyes boring into hers.

Matilda ducked her head even more, pulling the shawl around her mouth.

“What are you doing here?” Castor looked more surprised than anything to see her. “How did you get here?”

Matilda said nothing, nerves taking over completely. Castor must have noticed, as he stepped back, glanced down the hallway, then leaned closer, voice a whisper.

“Matilda, what are you doing?”

Matilda shut her eyes. “I... I came to see that you were safe.” She opened them to look back at Castor. He was glancing down the hall again, and Matilda followed his gaze to the two boys, who had momentarily stopped their conversation to gawk. As soon as they noticed Castor, they returned to their discussion.

Castor looked back to Matilda, then sighed heavily at the ground. “Yeah... yeah, I'm fine.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“Okay,” Matilda stuttered weakly. Stupid. She felt heat in her face once more as she watched Castor leaning in the doorway. She looked away from him as she realized that, for the first time, the best word that could describe him to her was “handsome,” in her mind. Shocked at herself, she looked to the floor beside her. What was she thinking?

This can't be happening.

“So...” Castor began, “Does your mother know you're gone?”

Matilda started then nodded, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah, we, uh... actually...” she looked back to him, locking her eyes on his. It was the only way he might believe her. Besides, she was not a child who needed her mother's permission to do anything.

“We discussed it. She said she'd get by for awhile without me, so....”

There was a tense silence for a few tense moments. Matilda's heart beat so loudly she kept glancing at Castor to see if he noticed.

“Listen, Matilda,” Castor stood more upright, folding his arms passively across his chest, “I know you rode a long way to get here... and for a long time. And I appreciate that,” he bent slightly to look into Matilda's eyes.

Matilda looked up into the squire's face.

“But... I'm fine. How long were you planning on staying?”

“Just...” Matilda mentally chastised herself. She hadn't even thought it through, she hadn't really expected to reach this far.

She could see Castor's eyebrows furrowing into a straight, studious line.

“A day,” Matilda quickly lied. “For Disa,” she nodded encouragingly as Castor's eyebrows rose.

The squire looked back down the hallway, then down at the ground before Matilda's tattered shoes. Both Matilda and Castor remained silent as they noticed the two boys hurriedly passing them. A moment later, they disappeared into one of the doors further down the hall. Matilda looked up only after she heard the door click shut.

“One day,” Castor said in a hushed tone. “Then you need to go home, Matilda.”

It felt like a brick had dropped in Matilda's stomach. Dismissed... just like that.

Matilda stared back at the squire, mouth agape, suddenly more disappointed in him than concerned at his getting angry with her.

“That's...it?”

Castor sighed, running a hand through his straw-colored hair again.

“Do you even know how long you'll be staying here in Wels -”

“I don't know, Matilda,” Castor interrupted, scratching the back of his head distractedly. “I... I really don't know. I'd have told you, I swear it. But I don't even know, myself.”

Matilda gulped a breath of air and looked back down at her hands, nervously handling a few torn strands of material from her shawl.

“Will you ever come back to Carlecroft?” Matilda asked quietly, voice lost.

Matilda knew, deep down, that she shouldn't have bothered him with such petty questions that could only have uncertain answers. A moment later she felt angry with herself for having wasted his time.

“Actually – never mind,” she interrupted Castor as he began to respond. Matilda stepped back a pace. “I – I'm sorry, Cas.”

Castor looked back at her, sympathetically, his features softening. “You're a good friend.”

The words stung, for some reason, sharply and yet echoed with a dullness that Matilda couldn't explain to herself. Maybe she had expected too much of him – she certainly felt as if she was so much less appreciated than she had always thought.

Her nerves were making her feel more sick than anything. But the feelings were slowly fading to be replaced with bitterness and frustration.

“I told my mom that I wanted to see you... make sure you're okay. See, maybe, what you're doing over here. I... you're my best friend, I'm worried about you. You're family. She is too,” Matilda added hastily, but truthfully.

At this, Castor furrowed his eyebrows at her. “You wanted to check up on me?”

It sounded so much more silly when Castor said it. He could turn anything she tried to do into some ridiculous situation with just a few words. Matilda felt juvenile, stupid, reckless for coming to see him. She suddenly realized how he saw everything that she did – where she saw adventure and excitement, he saw impulsive and childlike behavior.

“Matilda... I don't know what you think you're doing, but this is not a place for you.”

I know you think so. Suddenly intrigued by what he thought of her, truly, Matilda looked back up. “What do you mea -”

“You have tasks and a home back in Carlecroft. You have a lonely mother to aid to.” Castor met Matilda's eyes, and she saw there was little softness there. Matilda frowned at him.

“I just wanted to see that you're -”

“No, it's not safe, jousting,” Castor huffed, standing away from the doorframe. “Not that I'm participating,” he hissed bitterly. “I don't know what I'm exactly doing. I don't know where I'll be going. I don't know how long I'll be here in Welsummer. I don't know, I don't know, I don't know!”

Matilda hung her head. “I just -”

“Look,” Castor said sharply, “I get that you care – a lot. And I appreciate it. But you've got to do what's right, not just what you want. And think of how this affects everybody, not just yourself.”

His tone was turning more and more impatient, and Matilda, offended at this new found attitude directed at her, lifted her head to look back into Castor's eyes.

“I wanted to see if, maybe, you needed help. I don't know why else I'd have done it! I know I would be scared -”

Castor turned away and made his way to the edge of the bed in the small room. Seating himself at the end of it, he held his head in his hands.

“That's ridiculous, Matilda,” he murmured.

“Why?” Matilda stepped into the room, determined to understand. “Is it embarrassing that you have a friend who ca-”

“It is embarrassing!” Castor looked quickly up. “Can't you see that you're wanting to do the kinds of tasks that would be expected of my wife, had I one?” Castor snarled, wringing his hands. “Which you clearly are not,” he snapped, eyeing her.

Matilda felt as though she had been kicked in the gut by a horse. Anger, confusion and shock left her incredulously frozen.

“Well, excuse me,” she whispered coldly, “for being a lowly peasant who cares way too much about someone of your... status.”

She turned on her heel and made for the door.

“Matilda,” Castor's voice weakly followed her. “Matilda, wait -”

Matilda's eyes were burning as she forced herself to keep walking. She wanted so badly to tell him why she had never even considered suitors from Carlecroft, why she sometimes would look away from him, why she sometimes felt chills run down her spine when he stood so close to her or brushed past her or touched her hands.

But she couldn't. There was no way, not now with everything happening in his life. Or hers. She was too destitute, too lacking in birthrights or income to be of any interest to someone who would, one day, become a renowned knight.

Blood roared through her ears as Matilda trotted down the stairs, biting back tears, feeling her face heat up once more. She pushed her way through the crowd and out into the cool, starry night.

After a few moments, she had cooled down and made her way to the stables where she had left Disa. She shouldn't have gotten angry with Castor for not recognizing her feelings – how could he? There would have to be someone worth marrying back in Carlecroft, if, for anything, to help support herself and her mother. Love was something she had heard about and only recently began to really understand... but now she knew that it was a luxury only the rich could afford.

Cursing herself for having taken this time away from home, Matilda climbed onto the pile of hay behind Disa and Balfour to sleep. She wondered if Castor was even affected by anything she had said, or if he had promptly gone to sleep, assuming this would all pass....

Matilda knew it would never truly pass for her. Angry that she had allowed her feelings to manifest in a squire, certainly destined for more than she could ever offer, Matilda fought to quickly braid her hair, then rolled over to face the back of the stall, tossing stray strands of hair behind her. A few silent tears ran sideways across her face and she wiped the bridge of her nose.

It was going to be a long, sleepless night.