I woke to silence so complete it rang in my ears.
Not the disciplined quiet of the barracks. Not the restless hush of pre-dawn drills. This was softer.
Heavy.
Wrapped in linen and warmth.
The kind of silence that belonged to private chambers—luxury I rarely allowed myself.
My eyes fluttered open.
Light filtered through sheer curtains, pale gold and unassuming, stretching across the ceiling in lazy patterns.
For a moment, I simply lay there, unmoving, cataloging sensations like a soldier taking inventory after battle.
My head throbbed—dull, insistent. My limbs felt weighted, as though I had fought too long without rest.
The sheets beneath me were warm.
Too warm.
I inhaled sharply and pushed myself upright.
A bed.
Not a cot. Not a strategist’s couch.
A bed.
My bed.
I frowned, staring down at my hands.
Bare.
No gloves.
No armor.
My hair spilled freely down my back, unbound, a rarity that unsettled me more than the ache behind my eyes.
Why was I here?
The question pressed in slowly, like fog seeping through cracks in a wall.
I swung my legs over the side, feet touching marble chilled by morning. The sensation grounded me—real, immediate. I was awake. Fully.
A presence shifted at the doorway.
I looked up.
Griselda stood there, half in shadow, half in light. Her posture was immaculate, as always—shoulders squared, chin lifted.
Yet her eyes… her eyes were red. Not bloodshot from rage or battle, but raw. As if sleep had eluded her.
Still, her mouth curved in that familiar, infuriating smirk.
“Well,” she said lightly, folding her arms. “You do enjoy making a spectacle of yourself, don’t you?”
I blinked. “What?”
She stepped inside, boots clicking softly against the floor. “You fainted,” she said, as if discussing weather. “During sparring. Quite dramatic. I had you brought here before you embarrassed yourself further.”
I frowned, searching my memory.
Sparring…?
There was nothing. Only a hazy sense of exertion, of breath drawn too fast, muscles pushed too far. No images. No voices. No faces.
“I fainted,” I repeated slowly.
Griselda nodded, clearly amused. “Overexertion. Happens when one forgets they are not indestructible.”
Heat flared in my chest—irritation, reflexive. “I don’t faint.”
She raised a brow. “You did.”
I hesitated. My body betrayed me, offering no protest. The soreness. The fog. The weakness lingering at the edges of my vision.
“…I don’t remember,” I admitted.
Her smirk softened, just barely. “Naturally. You were unconscious.”
She circled the bed, gaze clinical, assessing me like a weapon returned from battle. “I insisted you rest. Against your better judgment, no doubt.”
That sounded like her. And like me.
I exhaled through my nose, rubbing my temples. “How long?”
“Long enough.” She paused at the foot of the bed. “You scared a few soldiers. I’d call that an achievement.”
I scoffed weakly. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
Something about her tone—too smooth, too controlled—made my spine prickle. I studied her more closely.
The stiffness in her shoulders. The way her fingers flexed once, then stilled.
“You look tired,” I said.
Her smile tightened. “Concern from you? How touching.”
“I’m serious."
She waved a hand dismissively. “You’re the one who collapsed. Focus on that.”
I leaned back slightly, letting the headboard support me. “Why does it feel like I’m missing something?”
Her eyes sharpened.
“Fatigue,” she said immediately. “Your mind is catching up to your body.”
I nodded. Of course. That made sense.
Griselda leaned closer, resting one hand on the bedframe near my shoulder. Her presence was grounding. Familiar. Commanding.
“You pushed yourself too hard,” she continued. “You always do. One day, it will cost you more than pride.”
I swallowed, jaw tightening. “I can handle it.”
She studied me for a long moment. Then, quietly, “You don’t always have to.”
The words struck strangely—almost tender. Almost regretful.
Before I could respond, her expression shifted again, smirk returning like armor sliding into place.
“Rest,” she ordered. “You’ll be back on your feet soon enough. And I’d prefer not to drag you here again.”
I nodded without thinking. Obedience came easily where Griselda was concerned. She had never failed me.
She turned to leave, pausing at the threshold.
“Oh,” she added casually, without looking back. “Next time you decide to collapse, do it somewhere less inconvenient.”
The door closed behind her.
I lay back, staring at the ceiling as sunlight crept higher.
Something itched at the back of my mind—a sense of loss without shape, like reaching for a weapon that was no longer there and not remembering why you ever carried it.
I pushed the thought away.
Fatigue.
Nothing more.
I closed my eyes.
And trusted whatever Griselda had said, no matter how weird the hesitation in her tone felt.
I'll ask later.
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