Felix lifted a hand to signal that they should stop. A stream lay ahead, and they needed to water the horses. The water was cool and crystal clear—snowmelt running down from the snow-capped peaks of the Alps above them.


    Felix dismounted first, leading his horse by the reins. Haddie followed in turn, her feet sinking into the damp moss of the embankment. Caesar trotted beside her, its horns bobbing as it sniffed at the air.


    It had been days since they had left behind Schloss Reichter, and exhaustion was creeping upon them. They had taken what they could, stale bread and some supplies, but did not have all they needed for an extended journey. They would need to find a town.


    The horses lowered their heads and drank greedily from the stream, their flanks heaving from the strain of the journey. Haddie knelt, cupping her hands to scoop water to her lips. Felix could not help but stare. Her hair was full and wild, dipping over her long, pale neck in ringlets.


    Felix shook his head back to sense and nodded, setting down a sack. He pulled a jar from it and held it to the light, examining its contents. The thick, golden honey swirled sluggishly inside. Without hesitation, he uncorked the jar and tilted it, letting the honey flow into the stream.


    “What are you doing?” Haddie’s voice cut through the peaceful clearing, sharp and accusing. She shot to her feet, storming toward him.


    Felix didn’t answer immediately, focused on draining the last remnants from the jar.


    “That’s my honey!” said Haddie, reaching to reclaim the jar.


    Felix raised an eyebrow. “Calm yourself, witch. You have more.”


    “Don’t you dare tell me to calm myself,” she snapped. “What could you possibly need it for, huh? Are you just that bored, or is this some pious act of defiance against things that be sweet?”


    Felix exhaled slowly, his patience fraying. “I need it,” he said flatly.


    “For what?”


    Instead of answering, Felix rinsed the jar thoroughly, and set it on the ground beside him. With a glance at Haddie—who stood with arms crossed and lips pressed thin—he began undoing his belt.


    “What are you—” she began, but her words faltered as he turned his back to her.


    A soft hissing sound followed.


    Haddie’s expression shifted from disbelief to outrage. “You’re pissing in it? That’s—that’s foul!”


    He bobbed up and down briefly as he finished. Then he pulled dry grass from the ground and stuffed it into the jar along with his urine, and replaced the lid on the jar. “It’s a necessity,” he said simply, wiping his hands on his cloak.


    “Necessity? You’ve ruined perfectly good honey for—”


    “Saltpeter,” Felix interrupted. He held the jar aloft as if the act were self-explanatory. “Bottled hate. A weapon.”


    “You’re making powder?” Haddie asked, her voice tinged with curiosity. This was her domain, potions and powders, but even Felix had a few tricks to teach.


    Felix nodded, placing the jar carefully back into his pack. “It’s a long process. It will need time to ferment. But, yes, for the battles ahead. I need to make explosive powder. Or, as some call it, serpentine.”


    Haddie shook her head, muttering to herself as she walked back to the stream. “Men and their wars.” She knelt again, but the fire in her eyes hadn’t dimmed.


    Caesar ambled over, nudging her arm with its snout. “Yes, I agree,” Haddie said aloud, scratching the goat behind the ear.


    Felix glanced up sharply. “Agree with what?”


    Haddie grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Caesar says you’re insufferable.”


    Felix groaned, rubbing his temples. “Not this again.”


    “What’s the matter?” she teased. “Afraid the goat’s smarter than you?”


    “The goat doesn’t talk,” Felix growled.


    “Doesn’t he?” Haddie countered. “Maybe you’re just not listening.”


    Felix shot Caesar a glare. The goat stared back, unblinking, then let out a low bleat.


    “See?” Haddie said triumphantly. “He says you’re outnumbered.”


    Felix threw up his hands. “I’ve survived wars, assassins, and witches, but now I’m outwitted by a goat. God help me.” Felix thought to the assassins in Rome. Did they, too, have worms wriggling in their throats?


    Haddie’s laughter rang out, lightening the tension. She settled by the stream again, this time washing her face. “You know,” she began, her tone softer, “I didn’t always live like this.”


    Felix sat down across from her, his back against a tree. “No one does,” he said.


    She hesitated, then continued. “I grew up in a village. Small place. My mother was a healer—or that’s what she called herself. Others called her a witch. She taught me her craft—how to read the signs, mix the tinctures, sing the chants.”


    Felix’s gaze remained steady. “And then they took you.”


    Haddie nodded, her expression clouding. “Men came one night. Said she was dangerous, that her magic was unnatural. They took her away, and sent me to work in a lord’s kitchen.”


    “How old?”


    “Ten,” she said quietly.


    Felix leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And yet here you are, still practicing her craft.”


    “It’s all I have left of her,” Haddie said, her voice trembling slightly. “And if it means surviving, I’ll use it. Even if people like you hate me for it.”


    Felix’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply immediately. “Hate is too strong a word,” he said finally. “Distrust, maybe. Fear. But not hate. I seek only for peace among men, to keep order in a troubled world.”


    Haddie studied him, her head tilted. “What about you, Felix DeWinter? Who are you?”


    Felix looked away, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “I was raised by peasants,” he said, his voice low. “Good people, kind people. They found me abandoned and took me in. Couldn’t have children of their own, or so they thought. A year later, they did. A girl.”Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    “You have a sister?” Haddie asked.


    He nodded, a shadow crossing his face. “She’s with God now.”


    Haddie waited, sensing the weight of his words. “What about your parents?”


    Felix shook his head, a shadow growing across his face. “That’s enough.”


    The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken grief. Caesar broke it with a loud bleat, nudging Felix this time.


    Haddie smiled faintly. “He says you carry too much.”


    Felix snorted. “And what does the goat suggest I do?”


    “Let someone else carry it for a while,” she said, meeting his eyes.


    Felix’s expression softened, if only slightly. “Easier said than done.”


    They rested for an hour before continuing their journey. The path wound through granite outcroppings, the air growing colder as they went. Snow dusted the ground in places, and the scent of pine mingled with the crisp mountain breeze.


    Felix rode ahead, his eyes scanning the terrain for threats. Haddie followed, her thoughts occupied by their earlier conversation.


    “Felix,” she called, breaking the silence.


    He glanced back. “What?”


    “Thank you,” she said simply.


    “For what?”


    “For freeing me.”


    “It was the last wish of your lord.”


    Haddie tilted her head inquisitively.


    “He was quite mad, but he said it to me. I swear it.” Felix chuckled. “Don’t thank me yet. We’ve still got miles to go, and France is not a safe place.”


    “I’ve never been.”


    “English control Paris and Normandy, and patrol much of the country. The French still put up a resistance, but they’ve grown disheartened after the death of Joan. They fight with less vigor.”


    Haddie perked up at the mention of the name. “Do you know of her? They say she could speak to God.”


    “A step up from speaking to goats, I’m sure.”


    Haddie fumed.


    “We are exposed here. We must move somewhere safer before nightfall. It would be nice to find an inn.”


    “I know of one. A town. It’s not too far. I think we can make it if we hurry.”


    “French?”


    “No, Swiss. Just on the border.”


    “That will work. The Swiss Confederacy has remained natural. We may not have our throats slit in our sleep.”


    Leaping from the stirrup onto her horse, Haddie smiled. She glanced at Caesar, who trotted beside her.


    “What now?” Felix asked, noticing her grin.


    “Caesar says you’re starting to grow on him,” she replied.


    Felix rolled his eyes. “Fantastic. The goat and I are becoming friends. Truly, I’ve experienced it all.”


    The town appeared as the sun dipped just above the tips of the mountains scattering what remained of its warm light. Felix, Haddie, and Caesar moved quickly through the narrow streets of the small village, their horses clopping against cobblestones slick with recent rain. Felix glanced around, his eyes scanning for threats, but the town seemed quiet, its citizens already tucked away in their homes.


    “We’ll find an inn and leave at first light,” Felix said, his voice low but firm.


    Haddie nodded, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Caesar let out a contented bleat, seemingly unbothered by the chill in the air.


    The inn was a modest building with a wooden sign creaking in the wind. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread wafted from the doorway, making Haddie’s stomach growl audibly. Inside, the atmosphere was lively—men laughing and shouting over mugs of ale.


    A stout woman with rosy cheeks and gray hair tucked into a bun approached them, wiping her hands on her apron. “Travelers, are you?”


    Felix nodded curtly. “We’re looking for a room, if you’ve got one.”


    The woman hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at the packed common room. “I’m afraid we’re full up tonight. Got a dozen mercenaries passing through, and they’ve taken every bed.”


    Haddie’s face fell, but she quickly rallied. “We don’t need much. Even a corner of the barn would do. I can help in the kitchen if it’s too much trouble.”


    The woman’s eyes softened at Haddie’s offer. “You’d do that? We could use an extra pair of hands tonight. You can stay in the barn, aye, there’s space there. No charge.”


    Felix opened his mouth to protest, but Haddie shot him a warning look. He shut it again, muttering something under his breath.


    The kitchen was bustling, the heat from the oven warming the small space as Haddie rolled up her sleeves and joined the old woman in her work. Felix stood awkwardly near the doorway, his tall frame seeming out of place among the low counters and shelves.


    “You,” Haddie said, pointing to him with a dusting of flour on her finger. “Come here.”


    Felix raised an eyebrow but obeyed, stepping closer. Haddie handed him a lump of dough, her hands already working a second one.


    “Flatten it first,” she instructed, demonstrating with quick, efficient movements. “Then fold and press. Like this.”


    Felix copied her movements, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he kneaded the dough. The dough was soft and milk-white, like her skin, and as he pressed into it his fingers made indentations in its malleable surface.


    “You’re not bad at this,” Haddie said, a teasing lilt in her voice.


    “I’m better with a blade,” Felix muttered, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.


    Haddie chuckled. “Well, bread’s less likely to stab back.”


    They worked in amicable silence, the rhythm of their movements starting to fall in sync. Felix found himself glancing at Haddie more than he intended, noting the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the light dusting of flour on her cheeks, the way she hummed softly under her breath. Years of her work in a scullery were clear to him. It was a skill he never thought much of, something he once thought of as women’s work, but he admired the skill involved. He had underestimated her—again.


    When the bread rolls were ready, Haddie and the old woman removed them from the oven and placed them on a wooden slab. Haddie carried the loaves into the parlor, her steps light despite the weight of the tray. Felix watched her, staying near the doorway.


    The mercenaries, loud and boisterous, turned their attention to Haddie as she set the bread on the tables. The men grabbed at the rolls with their hands and dipped them into bowls of broth in front of them, gulping them down in large chunks.


    “Well, look at this,” one of them drawled with his mouth full, a burly man with a scar across his cheek. “The kitchen’s sent us a little angel.”


    The others hooted and hollered, their laughter filling the room. Haddie forced a smile, ignoring their comments as she placed the last few rolls of bread.


    But the scarred man wasn’t content with just words. He grabbed Haddie by the wrist, pulling her onto his lap. “Stay a while, sweetheart. We could use some entertainment.”


    Haddie tensed, her smile vanishing. Before she could react, Felix was there, his hand clamping down on the man’s wrist with a grip that made the mercenary wince.


    “Let her go,” Felix growled, his voice low—serious.


    The room went quiet, the other mercenaries rising to their feet. Tension crackled in the air like a storm about to break.


    “Easy now,” the innkeeper said, stepping forward with her hands raised. “No need for trouble. Let’s all calm down.”


    Haddie placed a hand on Felix’s arm, her touch gentle but firm. “It’s fine,” she said quietly. “Let it go.”


    Felix’s jaw clenched, but he released the man’s wrist and stepped back. The mercenary glared at him, rubbing his arm, but didn’t push further.


    “You should go,” said Haddie. “I can handle this.”


    Felix went purple, ready to protest. But with her soft hand on his, he melted into submission. Felix looked around the room. Twelve drunk Swiss Reisl?ufer, still in their armor. The Swiss were dangerous soldiers, and had been a terror in the war between England and France, selling their swords—or more often pikes—to the highest bidder. Their tight, trained formations had changed the tide of battle at Morgarten and Laupen, defeating heavily armored knights. They were skilled fighters. Haddie was right. His presence was making things worse. Dejected, angry, and defeated, he stormed away towards the barn.


    Felix paced near a small fire he’d built, his frustration simmering just below the surface. Caesar watched him with what Felix swore was a knowing look, the goat’s presence as comforting as it was irritating.


    “I’m a man of God,” Felix muttered, running a hand through his hair. “She’s getting under my skin. It’s dangerous. She’s dangerous.”


    Caesar bleated softly, settling down near the fire.


    Felix sighed, sinking onto a blanket beside the goat. “You think I don’t know? She’s not just some girl. There’s something about her… something that makes me forget why I’m here. Makes me think of things I have no right to want.”


    He leaned back, staring at the barn’s wooden beams, the flickering firelight casting shadows that danced like specters.


    “I’ve got a mission,” he said, as if trying to convince himself. “That’s all that matters.”


    The sound of soft footsteps made him sit up, his hand instinctively reaching for the sword at his belt.


    “It’s just me,” Haddie said, her voice quiet.


    Felix relaxed, though his scowl remained. “Shouldn’t you be back in the inn?”


    “I thought you could use some company.”


    Felix opened his mouth to argue, but Haddie knelt beside him, her expression unreadable.


    “I wanted to thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.


    “For what?”


    “For what you did back there. Standing up for me.”


    Felix shook his head. “I didn’t do enough.”


    Haddie smiled softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “Anything at all is more than most have done for me.”


    She settled beside him, wrapping her arms around him from behind. Caesar shifted closer, his warmth joining theirs as the fire burned low.


    For the first time in years, Felix allowed himself to relax, the weight of his guilt, his pain, and his penance lifting just enough for him to breathe.