“What are you smiling at?”

“Oh,” Amaryllis looked up to see Sir Vincent’s silhouette walking towards her. His head was cocked to one side as he studied her, and she felt a blush rise on her cheeks. She’d been thinking of him and the story from the night before, but she wouldn’t dare admit that so openly.

“I didn’t mean to surprise you,” he said quietly after noticing her hesitation.

He stopped before her to take her hand and kiss the back of it. Amaryllis looked down, hoping to hide the shy smile that was spreading across her face. Though he had greeted her like this many times now she still felt a little awkward and didn’t want him to notice how unfamiliar she was with the gesture. While it was a common greeting for noblewomen, both as a sign of respect and goodwill, she had only received it a handful of times. Few dared to reach out past her father to take her hand when she walked behind him. On the rare occasion she was without the duke the guests were hesitant to appear too comfortable and risk making her father angry.

“I was just lost in thought for a moment.”

Amaryllis brushed her hair behind her ear to stall for a few seconds before looking up. Sir Vincent was as handsome as ever. His short hair was ruffled like he’d run his fingers through it, and he’d already undone the top button of his shirt. He looked every bit the handsome rogue Romy failed to style himself as.

“You looked rather popular in there,” Amaryllis tried to sound casual while they walked towards the clearing. She knew jealousy wasn’t ladylike, but she couldn’t deny that she was bothered by the fact that she couldn’t have a dance with him. “I hope you aren’t missing out on too much. I’ve heard a few of the knight’s sisters have been complaining that you rarely take to the dance floor.”

“They can complain all they want, but I’d still leave as soon as possible. Even if I weren’t meeting you,” he shook his head. “People only come to me because they want something out of it.”

“You’ve mentioned that before,” Amaryllis felt some of her tension fading as she realized that perhaps she and Sir Vincent had more in common than she thought. “I can understand that.”

“Can you?” he sounded puzzled.

“No one has ever approached me without thoughts of what they can gain from my father,” Amaryllis shrugged. “Most just want connections to a duke. The bold are open about wanting my dowry too. The few who got a little too . . . friendly lost favor with my father. They’ve never been invited back to the castle.”

“So, he essentially banished them from high society,” Sir Vincent let out a low whistle. “I shall do my best not to get found out.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to care about politics,” Amaryllis raised an eyebrow.

“I find it tiresome, but that doesn’t mean I try to stir up trouble if I can help it,” he replied. “Those few who got too friendly, does that happen a lot?”

“Not really,” she shook her head. “Only three were bold about it, and my father’s anger was enough to deter anyone else from trying. Besides, I can tell that the ones that talk to me have something else in mind. They look to my father more than me when they talk.”

Amaryllis was not unaware of the lingering gazes that came her way whenever she walked among the guests with her father. The furtive glances were telling. Few studied her face for long. Instead, their looks lingered on the jewels that decorated her and the care that had gone into making her gowns. She could see them calculating, trying to figure out just how much she was worth to her father, and in turn, to them should they get to wed her.

She was embarrassed with how long it had taken her to realize that those looks weren’t studying her as if she were a beautiful treasure. Her innocence had disappeared when she overheard the son of a viscount debating how to spend her dowry with a few of the other lord’s sons. She’d felt like she’d been doused with ice water when she’d realized that it was her that they were talking about.

“Is that why you leave early?”

“Part of it,” Amaryllis turned her head to the side, not wanting to reveal anything else. That her father was just parading her around for his benefit. That she was dismissed so he could focus on other matters once he had finished using her. “But that’s not that interesting. Will you tell me more about when you were a mercenary?”

“You really want to hear about that?” he hesitated. “It’s not all that pretty.”

“I didn’t want to talk to you to hear pretty things,” Amaryllis shook her head.

She briefly wondered if she was being too blunt. If she should hint at her interest and curiosity and flutter her lashes like a proper noblewoman, but quickly dismissed the idea. There were only had a few days left, and they were finally comfortable with each other. She didn’t want to play coy and lose even more time to silly games like that. They’d already lost ten years. She didn’t want to waste another minute.

“I’m curious about you. I want to hear what you have to say, not just the rumors.”

“Who’s to say I didn’t start those rumors myself?”

“You don’t like attention enough to do that,” Amaryllis pointed out.

“You have me there,” he sighed. “Fine, then I’ll tell you a bit.”

He sat down on the log, and she settled beside him. A little closer than the day before. Their legs weren’t touching, but they were close. The slightest shift would allow them to brush against each other. Their clasped hands were resting on Sir Vincent’s thigh, and she marveled at just how much heat was coming off of him. Were all men this warm?

“I already told you I was an errand boy. They gave me menial tasks first. Fetching water, cooking dinner, laundry. Once they decided I wasn’t a complete screw up they taught me how to clean weapons and armor. In the early days after a commission, they’d all be relaxing at the tavern while I was busy scrubbing monster blood off of everything.”

“That sounds tedious.”

And gross, but she didn’t see the need to point that out.

“Good practice though,” he shrugged and tapped the sword that was belted to his waist. “It taught me how to take care of my own gear and an eye for quality. I saw firsthand which pieces held up after several bouts and which didn’t.”

“Don’t squires and junior knights usually take care of their senior’s equipment?”

“Usually, but I like to do my own still. Easier to keep tabs on my gear, and well, it’s become a kind of ritual to relax at the end of the day. Like I know I can rest because my armor is back to clean and polished and ready for the whatever’s next.”

Amaryllis nodded although she didn’t quite understand.

“Once they were certain that I wouldn’t run off, the captain started to use me on commissions.”

“Use you?” Amaryllis frowned. “But weren’t you still just a child?”

“That was the point,” he gave her an amused smile. “I was much smaller than them so they sent me into small alcoves in ruins to fetch treasure, across beams that would have snapped under their weight to secure ropes, or into small caves as monster bait.”

“Monster bait!” she gasped and stared up at him in shock. The idea that the little boy she’d been so fond of had been used as bait was horrifying.

“Obviously I survived. I’ve always been quick. That’s how I was able to get between you and that salamander in time,” he frowned as he recalled the memory and quickly changed topics. “Anyways whenever they had to clear a den and needed someone to lure the monsters out the task was given to me.”

“They started with the smaller ones of course. Little things like goblins or salamanders. The captain gave me a dagger once I grew a bit and trained me a little. Very little mind you, but at least he wasn’t sending me to lure out minotaurs or drakes before I was ready.”

“Did he care for you then?”

“Hardly,” Vincent snorted. “He saw me as an investment. He’d already put in enough money feeding me and training me on maintaining the equipment. It would have been a loss if he gave me work that was guaranteed to kill me.”

Amaryllis nodded. That made sense. Mercenaries weren’t exactly known to be sentimental. The practical reasons for keeping a child in their company made sense though. At least for a boy like Vincent who could survive such ordeals.

“Did you really lure out drakes?”

Drakes were one of the largest land monsters. They were nearly three times as big as a horse and much faster once they got moving. They roved in small packs that could easily destroy a village by running through the walls as if they were a bunch of twigs. Like all dragon subspecies they had a tough hide, resistance to magic, and magic of their own that they wielded instinctively. Their hide, bones, and the magic cores were all quite valuable so mercenaries gladly took on the dangerous commissions to kill them. The profit almost always outweighed the danger. Although that didn’t stop them from facing heavy casualties. Even experienced knights tended to struggle with such fierce creatures.

“Yes, but that’s just part of the job. Someone always has to lure them out of their dens once they’ve settled somewhere. Drakes aren’t the brightest but they’re good at settling somewhere where they have the advantage. The only way to face them is to get them to open ground. They’re not so difficult once the terrain is right,” Vincent reassured her. “They never got me so you don’t have to worry. Worst I ever got was some bruises.”

Amaryllis highly doubted his claim. She simply couldn’t imagine how he’d survived as a mercenary and only ever received some bruises. She decided not to argue though. He’d already shown reluctance to telling her these things. If she pushed too hard, he may decide to stop altogether.

Vincent noticed her pursed lips and frowned. She must not have done a good job at concealing her thoughts. She was trying to decide between admitting her doubts and glossing over them to keep the conversation going when he let go of her hand. A flash of discomfort crossed his face before he let out a small, resigned sigh. He started to roll up his sleeves, bunching them over his biceps in his haste.

“Okay, a few cuts here and there, but nothing too terrible,” he held out his arms for her to inspect. “And none of these were from drakes.”

Amaryllis tentatively reached forward and ran her finger tips across his skin. There were several scars of varying widths and lengths across both arms. Some were easy to see in the moonlight, but others had faded so much she could barely feel them. Besides one that appeared to be a small burn, most looked relatively minor.

“They still look painful though,” Amaryllis murmured, tracing her fingers over three parallel scars she guessed came from the claws of a monster.

“They were, but they’re healed now,” he shrugged and began to straighten the sleeves after she withdrew her hands. “And I don’t get hurt like that anymore. Nearly all of these are from when I started out as a mercenary. I’d be an embarrassment to the Tempest knights if I got hurt like this now.”