Giselle Moreau came to this world unaware of customs or how to act towards authoritative figures and nobles—so all her mannerisms have been copied from those she’s seen and met from the neighboring village. Half an hour ago, she met at the door with the imperial knights in the early hours of the morning and now she’s serving them tea in chipped teacups.

          She’d seen the knights now and then before in the village.

          “Ummm, what is this all about?”

          “Our head captain, the Grand Duke would like to give his thanks.”

          Giselle stares at the tall, young knight like he’s grown three heads.

          ‘Their captain?’ She frowns, and her daughter follows her, her little face scrunching up. The only person she can think they’re referring to is Silas. That man, a duke?

A retired knight, surely, but a duke?

          “I'm sorry, this must be a mistake—"

          “Giselle!”

The familiar, big, boisterous voice stops her words. She’s met with the face of the man, who helped her deliver her child. The man who had seen everything…

“Gods, this child is tearing me apart!”

His hand was warm, rough—it held her holding her hand, the other catching her tears as she sobbed. Childbirth had been painful, although there wasn’t anything she could compare to, so it had been unique[SI1] .

She lay in her bed, screaming until she was red-faced. Through her haze, she saw Silas.

He was calm yet determined. He often was turned away from her, gathering towels and wringing out washrags. His back was wide and strong. Safe. His long, sliver is tucked into a tight bun as he works away.

Before she knows it, he’s by her bed, his hand grasping her face. A cooling palm It’s so…warm. His wife must be quite to have a man like him at her side.

“That’s it, good girl. One more push and this child can meet the world.”

Silas smiles. The feeling he gives is so…full.

After one, determined push, Giselle heard the cry of her daughter—one she waited for weeks to hear. Silas had took out a knife, severing the ends that connected her and the child.

“Would you like to hold her?”

The young woman’s hands trembled as Silas hands her the baby, swaddled in scrapped linen fabric. This little, purple, tiny thing was her child—screaming at the top of

“It’s…a little ugly.”

Exhausted, this was the one thing that came out of her mouth. To be fair, the newborn looked like a potato with sparse, white hair. Silas’s laugh in response was so big, all-consuming.

“Must children are ugly when they’re born. This child’s pretty, like it’s mother.”

Now he stood in front of her, staring at the child he named. Eira stares back at him as well, sucking on the fingers of her tiny fists.

“She’s gotten quite big.”

She wasn’t sure if she’d call herself pretty, but he was right, her baby was the prettiest living thing she’d ever seen. She had her big, hazel eyes and a tuff of curly white hair. There was always something new with her, she even began to reach for things in her reach so she can get her mouth on it.

‘She is, she’ll be two months in a week,” She felt her daughter squirming in her arms. She reached for Silas—which surprised her. Eira didn’t like other people; when people from the village would fawn over her, she looked so disinterested.

“Here, let me hold her while we speak.”

Surrounded by knights and Silas, who she’d found out was the duke of the territory, made her almost uneasy.

“Giselle?”

She didn’t know why she Was so nervous—this was Silas, the man she stayed with her for two months before she gave birth. The man who hunted deer when she craved it and ventured with her into the city during her healing jobs.

“Huh?”

Giselle’s eyes find their way to Silas, who is holding her little baby in his arms. Eira stared at him before sighing and settling in his arms. He wore what Giselle assumed to be the captain’s uniform, a decorated jacket hugged his large build—his beard was more neatly trimmed, and his hair was tied in a loose ponytail hanging over his shoulder.

He gives the knights that stood in the living a sharp, almost glaring look until the group of men excuse themselves and the three sit alone in the cottage’s small communal area. He uses the opening to ask her a question.

“Have you ever thought of marriage?”

Giselle thought for a moment—she hadn’t. She knew eventually she’d had to leave this worn-down cottage. With the cracks in the walls and ceiling, it wouldn’t even last another year. But she knew not many men would marry a woman with a child whose father was unknown.

Despite his size and his intimidating looks, Silas was so gentle. Giselle thought to herself that his wife was such a lucky person. That if Silas were her husband, she’d be incredibly happy. She wouldn’t go hungry; she wouldn’t be alone in her bed.

Moreover, she still does not know what kind of life the woman who originally possessed this body led. And that makes her…nervous at times. She’d doubt she was a thief or a murderer but whoever left those bruises on her body is still out there—looking for her.

She couldn’t stay in this place and wait for her life to be taken.

She would figure something—although she wasn’t hopeful, she had to be, for her daughter.

“Would you…consider me? For marriage?”

Something, however, found her instead.