In lands like this, so near to the border, the word coup was hardly spoken. Her party had likely travelled quicker than the news– as far as she knew, none were looking for her, not all the way besides the border. Why would they? No one could threaten power from out here. Now severed from all of her influence, a princess could be safe, at least enough to catch her breath and bide her time. Ambrose, of the house Duncan, groomed to be the queen of an empire, was spending her days on a knee in a field, rubbing her hands together to spurn the cold. And she was dressed like a man.

Within the white morning light, the dirt on her hands looked almost gray, at least in contrast to how pale she was now. Adrian, the knight she had met on the night that her father died, had promised to buy her gloves, but for now, she had toughened up and simply dealt with it. He was the man who shared her last name– the one soldier trusted to quarter with her, her absolute last line of defense. Right now he was kneeling beside her in the dirt, picking weeds at double her rate.

“At least the mountains have cut the wind.” She said to him as she reached back towards the dirt, trying to ignore the stiffness in her fingers

“At least,” Adrian snorted, his tone mocking. “It sucks. Don’t lie to yourself.”

“It’s… new, at least.”

“Almost new as you, prince.”

Mel could hear the frown in his voice, gruffer than usual from the cold. Her own voice must have been as well— a burning in her chest reminded her how unaccustomed she was to this, the crisp morning air and the cold. She had to breathe out slowly as she dug two fingers through the soil and leaned closer, uncovering a tiny chunk of green that was so small she struggled to pinch it.

“Oy, look alive.” His leather hand touched her shoulder, and she straightened reflexively. By the time she untensed– having sat frozen with her eyes on the mountain for a whole measure– Adrian was on his feet, speaking carefully with the land’s steward, their lord. He was an old man… or at least near to it, with gray decidedly rooted in his beard. His arms were as thick and fat as only a farmer’s could’ve been. She glanced over, and that old knight of hers was glaring back, so she flinched. Right. Look alive, keep weeding… her eyes remained on the dirt, and so did her hands.

“Granger.”

“Vintager! It looks like you’ve got six legs, both of ya.”

“Aye, must be honey, then.”

The granger chuckled sparsely, and Mel could feel the eyes on her as she yanked a particularly fat plant. She scowled to herself.

“Has’ta be in the family. Could be mistaken for a miracle on my part.” After a friendly hum, he paused, seeming to think. “You must be hungry?”

“We’ve made do thus far.”

“‘Thus far?’ Come on, none are too fit for a warm meal.”

“Oh, but you’d be too kind.”

“Got no better use with it. Was preparin’ to feed three, but…”

“Ah, I see…” Adrian seemed to cut him off. His tone was notably softer, voice rumbling in his cavernous chest. “My apologies, then.”

“...it’s sour, but may as well be.”

“Of course. We’ll be here until sunset.”

Mel’s head nearly shot up, but she restrained herself, tilting subtly to peer past her forehead at Adrian. Once the Granger was ten strides off, he turned back to her with some kind of fatherly air about him– one that instantly turned Mel transparent, made her feel about as fragile as glass. That look was a promise— he would care to explain his decision in time, as per usual. Therefore reminded of her impatience, Mel experienced a pang of shame in her chest, somehow more chilling and resonant than the frigid air. She looked back into the earth.

“I felt bad.” He shrugged.

“Oh.”

“He implied that he lost somebody in the fall— wager it’s his wife. Could be whose work we’ve taken up.”

She could hear Adrian crouch down besides her, a bit closer than before, still as stone. It was impossible how naive she could be– how much she could miss over just the course of a conversation. Subtext seemed so easy to every person but her. Adrian obviously didn’t know what to do with the girl— he was just looking at her, now, waiting. Mel wasn’t used to being seen in such a way. It made her feel like a little boy. She hadn’t noticed it, but her hands were folded in front of her now, sitting on her lap.

“Well, what is it, then?”

“What?”

“There’s something. Go on, tell me.”

Mel’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, and a hazy spectre of steam poured out from her in a shuddering sigh.

“My hands hurt.”

Adrian slid onto a knee, reaching past her hip and grasping her forearm, pulling her hand towards him. “...You’re trembling

“Your hands are so cold.” Mel stammered a little, losing the low tone of voice in order to protest properly. “I was just nervous. I feel unmanly,” She chuckled, trying to play it off, now. “Come on, it’s nothing.”

“Sure it is. Open it.” Her knight took a glove off, and touched a hand to his mouth, so Mel winced.

“...Oy, you’re spitting on a Leo.” Mel complained, though obliging. She couldn’t even feel the wet sensation as he cleaned off her fingertips.

“And that is frostbite, m’lord.”

Mel turned and looked at him, her eyes wider than ever, and he chuckled. “No, no, not that sort. It’s the beginning of it. Take a look.” He pulled his hand away, keeping a gentle, tepid grip on her wrist. Adrian’s hands were so much bigger than hers. “See? It’s purple, not black.”

Mel’s cheeks flushed, and she hesitated to look, but it was seen, and he was right.

“You’ll keep your hand, go and stand.”

With a slight wobble, Mel found her footing on the dirt, soon offering Adrian her pallid hand. He was hesitant to meet it– his chin tilted slightly up, each hand laid together atop his kneecap. He always made a point to do this… a charming, subtle bow, the one honorable tradition he refused to give up. Mel had to square her feet and heave in order to help him to his feet. When he stood his eyes were towards the wrong house— he wanted to go to the Granger’s.

“Can’t we go to our own hearth?” Mel was sure she could spark one on her own, now, thanks to Adrian’s education.

“Haven’t the time to waste.”

Apparently he didn’t believe so. “Oy…” Mel frowned, helpless to provoke anything aside from a single shrug of a shoulder. Adrian was like a river— the way he flowed hadn’t changed in generations. You could either get out of the way or be swept along in his course. Mel had learned a long time ago that it was best not to waste the energy on thrashing.