Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The forest canopy swayed gently in the afternoon breeze as Lord Hans Capon rode ahead, exuding the same air of confidence he carried everywhere. Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting golden patches on the forest floor, while birdsong was occasionally interrupted by the soft crunch of hooves on leaves.

Henry followed close behind, gripping his bow, his eyes sharp for any movement among the trees.

"So, lad," Hans called over his shoulder, his tone ever so smug, "are you sure you can actually hit something today? Or must I teach you how to hunt as well?"

Henry sighed, already bracing for a long day. "I don't need lessons from someone who spends more time in taverns than in the woods."

Hans laughed, shaking his head. "Ah! You're always so serious, Henry. That's why I prefer the company of women—far more entertaining."

Before Henry could retort, a sharp sound cut through the air—twigs snapping, the unmistakable weight of approaching footsteps.

"What the devil..." Hans muttered, his hand instinctively moving to his sword.

A war cry tore through the quiet, and in an instant, four Cumans emerged from the undergrowth, weapons drawn, their snarling faces masked beneath steel helmets. They had no intention of letting their prey escape.

Hans unsheathed his sword, but his movements, though trained, lacked the discipline of a seasoned fighter. Henry reacted faster, raising his blade just in time to deflect the first strike. Metal clashed violently as the two struggled to hold their ground.

Hans parried a blow from a towering Cuman, but left his stance open. The mercenary kicked him hard in the stomach, sending him sprawling to the ground. Henry, trying to help, exposed his side and was struck with the flat of a blade against his shoulder, making him stumble.

They were losing.

Then, out of nowhere, a figure burst from the trees with the grace of a predator.

A woman.

She wore a simple dark cloak, her chestnut hair braided messily behind her head. A light sword gleamed in her hands—quick, deadly.

Without a word, she launched into the fray.

Her first strike was swift, plunging her blade beneath a Cuman’s ribs before he could even react. He let out a choked gasp and fell.

The remaining three turned to face her, momentarily stunned, and it cost them.

She ducked under a wild swing and drove her sword into the throat of her next opponent. As another raised his weapon to strike her from behind, she spun, a dagger flashing in her free hand, and buried it into the gap in his armor.

The last Cuman, seeing his comrades fall so easily, turned to flee—only for an arrow to whistle through the air and lodge into his back. Henry lowered his bow, panting.

It was over in seconds.

Hans, still on the ground, stared up at the woman in astonishment. "By all the saints… Who the hell are you?"

She wiped her blade clean on a fallen Cuman’s tunic, her expression unreadable. "Someone who spends a lot of time in the woods," she replied curtly.

Henry studied her more closely. Now that the dust had settled, recognition struck him like a hammer. His heart skipped a beat. "Wait... I know you."

She turned to him, eyes narrowing slightly. "I doubt it."

Henry, however, was certain. "No… You’re Y/N, aren’t you? You lived in Skalitz."

Her face hardened. "I lived there," she corrected coolly. "A long time ago."

________________________________________________________________________________

The small cabin was hidden deep in the forest, a simple but sturdy shelter. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of dried herbs. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the walls lined with parchments, vials, and hanging plants.

Y/N helped Hans onto a wooden bench while Henry unbuckled his chainmail, wincing as he checked his bruised shoulder.

Hans, still watching her with a mix of curiosity and admiration, smirked. "I never expected a woman to handle a sword better than a soldier."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "And I never expected a noble to need saving."

Henry barely suppressed a chuckle as Hans grumbled under his breath. Then he turned to Y/N. "I haven't seen you in years… After what happened to your mother, people thought you were dead."

Her jaw tightened. "Better dead than living in a world that never wanted me."

A heavy silence fell between them. Henry knew Y/N's life had never been easy. Skalitz had always eyed her with suspicion, and after her mother’s execution, she had vanished into the wilderness like a ghost.

Hans, rubbing his sore arm, studied her with intrigue. "And now? What are you? A huntress? An assassin?"

Y/N met his gaze, her voice unwavering. "I’m just myself."

Henry nodded. "You survived. That’s what matters."

For the first time, there was something softer in her eyes. Perhaps, in all the bloodshed and loss, someone still remembered who she once was.

Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying away the echoes of battle and bloodshed. For tonight, at least, they were safe.

The warmth of the fire crackled against the stone hearth, casting flickering shadows on the wooden walls of Y/N’s cabin. The air was thick with the scent of dried herbs, and the faint metallic tang of blood still lingered from the recent battle. Y/N moved swiftly, her hands practiced and steady as she crushed a mix of plants with a mortar and pestle.

Hans Capon sat on a wooden bench, arms crossed, watching her with growing irritation. His face was bruised, his lip split, and his pride wounded far more than his body. Henry, on the other hand, sat nearby, his tunic stripped to the waist as he examined his shoulder. Unlike Hans, he didn’t seem particularly uncomfortable in Y/N’s presence.

"This is ridiculous," Hans muttered, shifting impatiently. "We shouldn’t be sitting around in some—some—" he gestured vaguely, looking around in distaste, "hermit’s den. We need to get back to Rattay. I have important things to attend to."

Y/N didn’t even glance at him as she smeared the crushed herbs onto a strip of cloth. "Oh yes, I’m sure the whores and wine can’t wait much longer," she said dryly.

Henry let out a short chuckle, quickly disguising it as a cough when Hans shot him a glare.

Hans turned his scowl on Y/N. "You dare speak to me like that?"

Y/N arched a brow, finally looking at him. "I dare, my lord." She said it with such an exaggerated bow of the head that it was clearly mocking. "Forgive me for not groveling at your feet. I must’ve missed my lessons on proper servitude while I was out hunting for my own food."

Hans’s face darkened. "You’re insufferable."

"Good," she said, dipping the cloth into a bowl of water before pressing it against Henry’s shoulder. "I’d hate to be tolerable to someone like you."

Hans opened his mouth to retort, but Henry cut in before he could escalate things. "Y/N, you still know how to mix a good salve," he said, his voice warm with familiarity. "I remember when we were kids, you used to patch us up after we scraped our knees climbing rocks."

Y/N smirked, not looking up as she secured the bandage over his wound. "Yes, and I remember you were the only one stupid enough to climb those rocks in the first place."

Henry grinned. "You climbed them too."

She shrugged. "I had to, or you would’ve fallen to your death without me."

Hans watched their exchange with a look of mild disgust. "Oh, wonderful. Now I’m stuck in a cabin with childhood sweethearts."

Y/N made a face. "Don’t be stupid. Henry and I are just... old acquaintances. We used to run around Skalitz together before people got it in their heads that I was cursed."

Henry nodded. "She wasn’t like the other girls. She could fight better than most of us, and she was smart. She could read and write before I even knew how to hold a quill."

Hans scoffed. "A woman reading. What a novelty."

Y/N shot him a glare as sharp as a dagger. "And yet, I suspect I’ve read more books than you have."

Henry sighed, rubbing his temples. "Hans, you should let her treat your wounds before we go anywhere."

Hans lifted his chin stubbornly. "I’ll be fine. I’m not some peasant who needs a healer’s touch."

Y/N crossed her arms. "Fine. Go ahead and let the wound fester. We’ll see how high and mighty you feel when you’re puking your guts out with a fever."

Hans hesitated, but her words clearly planted a seed of doubt. He muttered something under his breath before relenting, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Very well. But make it quick."

Y/N smirked in victory before kneeling beside him with a damp cloth. "Oh, don’t worry, I wouldn’t waste more time on you than necessary."

Hans gritted his teeth as she pressed the cloth against a cut on his side, the sting making him suck in a sharp breath.

"Poor noble," she teased. "Not used to pain, are you?"

Hans shot her a glare. "I’ve taken worse wounds in battle."

She raised a brow. "Oh, you mean that one time you got a scratch while playing soldier with Sir Bernard’s men?"

Henry chuckled again, and Hans swatted at him. "You’re enjoying this far too much."

Y/N finished tending to his wound with a little more force than necessary, making Hans wince. Then she stood, wiping her hands on a cloth. "There. Try not to die of infection."

Hans scowled but said nothing.

Henry, ever the peacemaker, changed the subject. "We lost our horses in the fight," he said, looking to Y/N. "We’ll need to borrow a couple to get back to Rattay."

Y/N leaned against the table, arms crossed. "I have two. I use them for hunting. You can take them."

Hans perked up. "Good, then we should leave."

Y/N shook her head. "Not so fast, princess. You’re not in any shape to ride through the night, and I’m not having two half-dead men collapse on my horses halfway to town. You’ll stay until morning."

Hans opened his mouth to argue, but Henry spoke first. "She’s right. We need rest."

Hans groaned, rubbing his temples. "This is turning into the worst hunt I’ve ever been on."

Y/N smirked. "And yet, it’s the only one where you made it out alive thanks to a woman. Funny how that works."

Hans shot her a look that promised future revenge, but Y/N only laughed.

Henry leaned back, exhaustion finally settling into his bones. "It’s been a strange day," he admitted.

Y/N nodded, her expression briefly softer. "Yes, but you’re still breathing. That’s more than most can say these days."

Hans muttered something about how insufferable she was again, but there was less venom in his voice this time.

As the fire crackled and the night deepened outside, the three of them—noble, soldier, and outcast—found themselves stuck together, whether they liked it or not.

And for the first time in years, Y/N wasn’t completely alone.

Chapter Text

The first pale light of dawn filtered through the cracks in the wooden shutters, casting soft golden streaks across the cabin’s interior. The embers in the hearth had burned low, but warmth still lingered in the small space. 

Y/N stretched, rolling the stiffness from her shoulders as she glanced at her two uninvited guests. Henry was still fast asleep on the floor, wrapped in a blanket she had tossed at him the night before. Hans, on the other hand, was awake, though he looked none too pleased about it. He sat on the edge of the bench where he had slept—if he had slept at all—rubbing a hand over his face. 

"Good morning," she said, her voice far too cheerful for his liking. 

Hans squinted at her, his hair a mess, his tunic wrinkled. "I’ve had better ones." 

Y/N smirked as she moved about the cabin, gathering supplies for the ride. "No doubt. Must be the first time you’ve woken up without a feather pillow and a half-naked woman next to you." 

Henry, stirring awake at her words, snorted. "She’s got you there, Hans." 

Hans shot him a glare before turning back to Y/N. "You speak to me with an astounding lack of respect, woman." 

She barely glanced at him as she packed a small satchel. "I speak to everyone the same way." 

"I am Lord Hans Capon of Perkstein," he insisted. 

"And I’m Y/N," she said simply, strapping a belt around her waist where her dagger rested. 

Hans let out a frustrated sigh. "You should address me properly." 

Y/N turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "I don’t see why. You breathe the same air as I do, bleed the same way, and without my help, you'd be food for the crows right now. Tell me, what exactly makes you more important than me?" 

Hans opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly not used to being questioned so directly. Henry, sensing an argument brewing, decided it was best to intervene. "We should get going before we waste half the morning." 

Y/N nodded. "I’ll saddle the horses. Try not to touch anything while I’m gone." 

Hans huffed as she stepped outside, muttering something under his breath that Henry wisely pretended not to hear. 

Y/N’s two horses were sturdy and well-trained, built more for endurance than speed. She had saddled them efficiently, making sure they were well-fed and ready for the journey ahead. 

When Hans stepped outside and saw only two horses, he frowned. "There are three of us." 

"Very good, Hans," Y/N said with an amused glint in her eye. "You can count." 

Hans ignored her sarcasm. "So what’s the plan? Do we take turns walking?" 

Y/N gave him a look as if he had just suggested something utterly stupid. "No. I’m riding with one of you so I can take the horses back after we reach Rattay." 

Hans blinked. "Absolutely not." 

Henry had already swung himself onto the saddle of one horse, adjusting the reins comfortably. He looked between them, catching on to the argument before it even started. 

Y/N gestured to the remaining horse. "Since you’re the one who got your noble arse handed to you yesterday, you’ll be riding with me." 

Hans scoffed. "I would rather—" 

"—walk all the way to Rattay?" she cut in. "Go ahead. I won’t stop you." 

Henry, watching from his saddle, chuckled. "Hans, just get on the horse. You’re in no shape to ride alone." 

Hans hesitated, his pride warring with common sense. His wounds still ached, and he knew that hours on horseback wouldn’t be pleasant, especially if he had to control the animal himself. Finally, with a deep scowl, he climbed up behind Y/N, gripping the saddle awkwardly. 

"If you throw me off, I swear—" 

"Relax," Y/N said, grinning as she nudged the horse forward. "I’ll be gentle." 

Henry rode ahead, shaking his head in amusement as they set off through the forest path. The sun had fully risen now, casting a warm glow over the landscape. Birds chirped in the distance, and the world felt momentarily peaceful. 

Hans, stiff and uncomfortable, kept as much distance as he could between himself and Y/N. "This is undignified." 

"You’ll live," she replied. 

They rode in silence for a while, save for the steady rhythm of hooves against the dirt path. Henry, despite his injuries, looked relaxed, used to long rides and the company of the road. Hans, on the other hand, fidgeted every time the horse shifted beneath them. 

Y/N smirked. "You don’t ride much, do you, Hans?" 

"I ride just fine," he snapped. 

"Then why do you look like you’re about to fall off?" 

Hans grumbled something she couldn’t quite make out, but it was likely unflattering. 

They continued through the winding paths of the woods, and after a while, Henry turned back toward them. "So, Y/N, why didn’t you ever come back to Skalitz? After your mother… well, you know." 

Y/N’s grip on the reins tightened slightly, but her voice remained even. "Because there was nothing left for me there. No one wanted me. No one ever did." 

Henry’s expression softened. "I did." 

Y/N glanced at him, and for a brief moment, her tough exterior cracked. "I know," she admitted. "But you were the only one." 

Hans, despite himself, found he was listening more intently than he wanted to. He had never met someone like her—so fiercely independent, yet completely alone. 

"You could have come to Rattay," Henry said. "Found work, made a life for yourself." 

Y/N let out a quiet laugh. "Doing what? Sewing? Serving ale?" She shook her head. "No. I’d rather live in the woods, where I answer to no one but myself." 

Hans scoffed. "You sound like some idealistic fool. The world isn’t kind to people who don’t belong anywhere." 

She turned her head slightly toward him. "You would know, wouldn’t you, Hans?" 

He stiffened. "I have a place." 

Y/N smirked. "If you say so." 

They rode on in silence for a while after that, the tension between them palpable. 

By midday, the walls of Rattay came into view, standing tall against the horizon. 

"We’re almost there," Henry said, sitting straighter in the saddle. 

Y/N sighed, patting the neck of her horse. "Good. Then I can finally get rid of a certain insufferable nobleman." 

Hans scoffed. "Trust me, the feeling is mutual." 

Henry just chuckled to himself, knowing full well that this was far from the last time these two would cross paths. 

The road to Rattay stretched ahead, the familiar silhouette of its walls and towers growing clearer as the morning sun climbed higher. The trio had ridden in relative peace for a while, though Y/N could still feel Hans shifting uncomfortably behind her. He had finally stopped complaining about the arrangement, but she could sense his irritation simmering beneath the surface. 

Henry, ever the peacemaker, had taken to reminiscing about Skalitz, sharing small stories about their childhood with Y/N. 

"You remember old Peshek?" Henry asked with a grin. "The grumpy miller who used to chase us away from his grain sacks?" 

Y/N chuckled. "Of course. You were always the slowest, Henry. I had to drag you away before he could beat you with that damn stick of his." 

Hans, who had been silent for some time, finally spoke up. "So, you really did grow up in Skalitz," he mused “and then you moved from the mines to the woods. Such a change." 

Y/N smirked but didn’t take the bait. "I was born there. Lived there until I was thirteen. Then I wasn’t welcome anymore." 

Hans raised a brow. "Because of your mother?" 

Her fingers tightened around the reins. "Yes. Folks didn’t like to be around the witch’s daughter. Figured it was better to just leave.”  

Hans twitched on his seat, eyes wide open. “Your mother was a witch?!” 

“She wasn’t.” Y/N’s discomfort in talking about her childhood always turned to sarcastic annoyance when she got to that part. “She just got burned like one.” 

“WHAT?!” 

Y/N almost let out a short, humorless laugh, to hide her pain. “Funny right? Lords with armies and castles that still get scared by some woman. And they feel like what’s best is cooking her on a pyre.”  

Henry frowned at the memory. He was there. Everyone was. Everyone saw it. 

And Hans did slightly the same, but she was also too curious not to ask. "And what did she do to deserve that?" 

"She knew how to heal people. Knew things they didn’t understand. She was the smartest person around. She knew how to read, to write, how to do math. She was just free. And having me without being married only got things worse.” 

Hans didn’t reply immediately, which surprised her. She had expected some snide remark, but instead, he seemed to be considering her words. 

"So, you just ran and never came back?" he asked after a moment. 

Y/N shrugged. "Better than staying where I might have met the same fate." 

Hans still looked skeptical. "And you survived all these years alone? Hunting? Fighting? That’s not exactly normal for a woman." 

Y/N turned her head slightly, giving him a teasing smirk. "And yet, I’m here, and I saved your sorry hide, didn’t I?" 

Hans huffed. "Unfortunately, yes." 

Henry grinned at their exchange, but before he could say anything, the gates of Rattay came into view. 

As they rode toward the entrance, the guards standing watch suddenly stiffened. A moment later, there was a flurry of movement—armed men rushing forward, their hands on their weapons. 

"Sir Capon! Henry!" one of them called, clearly relieved but tense. "By God, we thought you were dead!" 

More men gathered, and Y/N slowed the horse to a stop as Hans and Henry were quickly surrounded. Sir Hanush and Sir Bernard pushed through the gathered guards, both looking grim. 

"Where in the blazes have you been?" Bernard barked. "You vanish into the woods and come back looking like you’ve been trampled by a herd of oxen!" 

Hans slid off the horse with a groan, wincing as his injuries protested. "Had a bit of trouble," he admitted. 

Henry dismounted as well, offering a small, sheepish smile. "We ran into Cumans. It was close." 

Hanush’s sharp eyes darted between them before settling on Y/N, who remained seated on her horse. "And who, exactly, is this?" 

Y/N felt the weight of their stares but remained unfazed. She swung her leg over and landed lightly on the ground, brushing dust off her clothes. "Y/N," she said simply. 

The guards exchanged wary glances. 

"And what were you doing out there, miss Y/N?" Bernard asked, his tone carrying suspicion. 

"Saving their hides," she replied. "I happened to be in the area, heard a fight, and stepped in before they got themselves killed." 

Hans scoffed. "Stepped in? More like stormed in, killed three Cumans, and insulted me while doing it." 

Henry grinned. "She did help us, Sir Bernard. If it weren’t for her, we’d be lying dead in the forest right now." 

Bernard folded his arms, eyeing Y/N carefully. "You fight well, then?" 

Y/N met his gaze without hesitation. "I do." 

There was a long pause. The men shifted uncomfortably, clearly uncertain of what to do with her. Hanush exchanged a glance with Bernard before clearing his throat. "Well… we owe you thanks, then." 

Y/N smirked. "You're welcome." 

Henry, sensing the hesitation in their voices, spoke up. "Surely, she deserves a reward." 

Hanush hesitated. "Well… yes, of course. But—" He gestured vaguely at her. "She’s a woman. She shouldn’t be out there fighting like some mercenary." 

Bernard nodded in agreement. "Indeed. She should be in a proper home, not roaming the wilds." 

Y/N raised a brow. "You say that like I have a choice in the matter." 

Hanush cleared his throat again, clearly uncomfortable. "It’s just… unconventional." 

Henry, still determined, pressed on. "But she did save Lord Capon. And me. Surely, she deserves something." 

There was an awkward silence. The nobles were clearly at a loss. What could they offer a woman like Y/N? Money? A place in a noble household? None of it seemed fitting. 

Y/N sighed, rolling her shoulders. "Don’t bother. I don’t want anything." 

Henry frowned. "Y/N—" 

She shook her head. "I didn’t do it for a reward. I saw two men about to die, so I helped them. That’s it." 

Hans, watching her closely, frowned slightly. Something about her tone struck him—like she had learned long ago that expecting anything from people was pointless. 

Bernard finally nodded. "Well, if that’s your choice." 

Y/N turned back toward her horses, patting one on the neck. "I should go before it gets too late." 

Henry stepped forward. "At least stay a while. Rest." 

Y/N gave him a small, tired smile. "I rest just fine in my own bed." 

Hans crossed his arms. "So, you’re just going to ride off into the woods again? Like some phantom?" 

Y/N smirked. "I like it better that way." 

She climbed onto her horse smoothly, pulling the reins. "Try not to get yourselves killed again," she called over her shoulder. 

Henry gave a small, grateful nod. "Take care, Y/N." 

Hans, still watching her, muttered, "Strangest woman I’ve ever met." 

Bernard sighed. "Well, that was… unexpected." 

Hanush clapped his hands together. "Alright. Let’s get you two cleaned up before someone else has to come save you." 

As Y/N disappeared into the trees, Hans found himself still thinking about her, about the way she had stood her ground against them, the way she had spoken to him without care for his title. 

It annoyed him. 

And yet… it intrigued him just the same. 

Chapter Text

The riverbank was peaceful that morning, the sound of rushing water mixing with birdsong and the occasional rustling of leaves. Y/N stood knee-deep in the cool stream, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing a tunic against a smooth stone. It was one of those rare moments of quiet in her life, just her and the rhythm of the water.

She barely looked up when she heard the sound of hooves approaching.

"Well, well. I didn't take you for the domestic type," Henry’s familiar voice called out.

Y/N smirked to herself before glancing over her shoulder. He was on horseback, traveling along the road toward Talmberg, but he had slowed upon spotting her. He looked better than the last time she had seen him—cleaner, for one, and without any visible bruises.

"Don’t get used to it," she called back. "It’s either this or stink like a bandit."

Henry chuckled, swinging down from his saddle and leading his horse closer. "Mind if I sit?"

Y/N shrugged. "You’re a free man. Sit where you like."

Henry found a flat rock near the shore and settled down, watching her work. He hesitated a moment before saying, "I wanted to say sorry. For the way Hanush and Bernard treated you."

Y/N snorted, wringing out the tunic. "Not your fault, Henry."

"Still," he insisted, rubbing the back of his neck. "They should’ve done more than just send you on your way. You saved our lives."

She glanced at him, eyes unreadable. "And yet, here I am. Back where I started. Shocking."

Henry frowned. "Doesn’t bother you?"

Y/N tossed the damp tunic over a nearby rock to dry. "Henry, I learned a long time ago that expecting fairness from nobles is like expecting a drunk to give up ale."

Henry sighed. "Yeah… I suppose you’re right."

For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, the river gurgling between them. Then Henry leaned back on his hands. "You never told me what happened after you left Skalitz."

Y/N’s hands stilled for a moment before she grabbed another piece of clothing. "Not much to tell. I wandered a bit, found a place in the woods, learned to fend for myself, stayed away from people."

"You were just a child," Henry said softly.

Y/N shrugged. "Wasn’t much of a choice, was there?"

Henry looked down, his expression troubled. "I used to wonder what happened to you. After your mother…" He hesitated. "You just vanished."

Y/N nodded, her face unreadable. "Figured it was better that way."

Henry exhaled. "I wish I had known. I could’ve done something."

Y/N smiled, a rare, genuine thing. "You were a boy, Henry. A kind one, but still a boy. No one could’ve done anything."

Henry shook his head. "Still. It’s good to see you again. Strange, but good."

Y/N huffed a small laugh. "Strange is right. Who’d have thought you’d end up serving Lord Capon?"

Henry groaned. "Don’t remind me."

Y/N smirked. "How is Hans, anyway?"

Henry raised an eyebrow. "Hans, is it? I have to get used of you calling him by his name."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Oh, don’t worry, I don’t think I’m going to call him much in any way."

Henry grinned. "Well, he’s fine. Still insufferable, still full of himself, but I think you got under his skin."

Y/N snorted. "Good."

Henry studied her for a moment before tilting his head. "You don’t like him, do you?"

Y/N wrung out another tunic. "Not particularly."

Henry smirked. "Then why are you asking about him?"

Y/N threw a wet rag at him. "Shut up, Henry."

He laughed, catching it before tossing it back. "Alright, alright."

After a beat, Henry leaned forward. "Listen. I’ve been meaning to train more, get better with a sword. You’re damn good—I could tell when you saved us."

Y/N arched a brow. "And?"

"And," Henry continued, "maybe we could meet again in a few days. You teach me a few things."

Y/N considered it, then shrugged. "Fine. But if you cry when I knock you on your arse, I’m not stopping."

Henry grinned. "Wouldn’t expect anything less."

She smirked. "Good. Now get out of here before you start looking too comfortable."

Henry chuckled, shaking his head as he got to his feet. "See you in a few days, then."

As he mounted his horse and rode off, Y/N found herself smiling.

Strange, indeed.

The evening sun cast long shadows across Rattay’s courtyard as Henry finally made his way back toward the upper castle. He found Hans Capon lounging on a bench near the hall, a goblet of wine in one hand and an air of boredom about him.

"You look deep in thought, Hans," Henry said, smirking as he approached.

Hans glanced up, raising a brow. "And you look like you’ve been up to something. Should I be concerned?"

Henry shrugged. "Ran into someone on the road earlier today."

Hans took a slow sip of his wine. "I assume you mean someone interesting, or else you wouldn’t be here wasting my time."

Henry grinned. "Y/N."

Hans nearly choked on his wine. He coughed, wiping his mouth before glaring at Henry. "That damn woman again?"

Henry laughed. "I didn’t plan it! I was on my way to Talmberg, she was by the river. Washing clothes, if you can believe it."

Hans scoffed. "That I don’t believe. You expect me to think she’s capable of something as normal as laundry?"

"Apparently so." Henry leaned against a wooden post. "We talked for a while."

Hans gave him a sideways glance. "About what?"

Henry shrugged. "Old times. Skalitz. What she’s been up to all these years."

Hans huffed. "And?"

"And," Henry continued, enjoying the fact that Hans was clearly more interested than he wanted to let on, "she asked about you."

Hans narrowed his eyes. "What for?"

Henry smirked. "Oh, you know. Wondering if you were still alive, still insufferable."

Hans rolled his eyes. "And you told her I was both, I assume."

"Of course." Henry grinned.

Hans sighed, swirling the wine in his goblet. "That woman gets on my nerves."

Henry chuckled. "Why? Because she doesn’t bow and scrape like everyone else?"

Hans shot him a glare. "She has no respect for anything. No sense of place, no understanding of how things work."

"She understands just fine," Henry countered. "She just doesn’t care."

Hans huffed. "Exactly my point."

Henry studied him for a moment, then smirked. "She is pretty, though."

Hans scoffed. "She’s wild."

"That wasn’t a no."

Hans glared at him. "I don’t like her, Henry."

Henry grinned. "Sure, sure."

Hans sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She’s too much. Too reckless. And she talks to me like I’m some peasant."

Henry chuckled. "Well, she talks to everyone like that. You’re not special."

Hans gave him a flat look. "Charming."

Henry shrugged, still grinning. "Still, you noticed she was pretty."

Hans waved a hand dismissively. "A woman can be pretty and insufferable at the same time, Henry. Those things are not mutually exclusive."

Henry laughed. "Fair enough."

Hans leaned back, stretching out his legs. "But at least now I understand you two. You’re just old friends."

Henry nodded. "That’s right."

Hans eyed him for a moment, then smirked. "And yet, you’re spending quite a bit of time with her."

Henry shrugged. "I asked her to train me."

Hans sat up straighter. "Train you?"

Henry grinned. "She fights better than most men I know, yourself included."

Hans scoffed. "That’s debatable."

Henry smirked. "Is it? Who saved us from the Cumans again?"

Hans scowled. "I was injured."

Henry laughed. "Of course you were."

Hans took a deep breath, clearly trying to rein in his annoyance. "You do whatever you like, Henry. But don’t come crying to me when she knocks you flat on your arse."

Henry grinned. "Oh, I fully expect it."

Hans shook his head, muttering into his goblet, "Madman."

Henry just laughed, already looking forward to the next meeting.

Chapter Text

The familiar path through the woods was peaceful, but Henry felt a little uneasy as he approached Y/N’s cabin. It had taken him a few days to get away from his duties, and he had the nagging feeling she wouldn’t let him forget it.

As he stepped into the clearing, he spotted her by the cabin, working on something at a wooden bench. A pair of makeshift swords leaned against the wall, along with a collection of strange-looking gadgets—wooden dummies, weighted bags, and even what looked like a slingshot.

Y/N glanced up, arms crossed, her expression smug. "Well, well. I was starting to think you got lost, Henry."

Henry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’ve been busy."

"Uh-huh." She picked up one of the wooden swords, tossing it to him. "Too busy getting your arse kicked by Bernard?"

Henry caught the sword, smirking. "Actually, I had guard duty. And a bit of work for Sir Hanush. The usual."

Y/N raised a brow. "Babysitting Hans again?"

Henry chuckled. "Not this time. More like running errands and keeping the peace."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Sounds like a waste of time."

"Pays better than living in the woods."

Y/N snorted. "Doubtful. Now, are we gonna fight, or are you just here to make excuses?"

Henry grinned. "Let’s fight."

Y/N handed him a helmet—nothing fancy, just a padded coif for protection—before picking up her own wooden sword. "Good. Let’s see if you’ve got anything worth teaching."

At first, Henry struggled to keep up. Y/N fought differently from Bernard or the guards—quicker, smarter, with unpredictable footwork and strikes that came from odd angles. She didn’t just rely on brute strength but mixed in feints, movement, and even dirty tricks.

"You fight like a street rat," Henry panted after barely dodging a well-placed thrust.

Y/N smirked. "And you fight like a drunk in a tavern brawl. Now shut up and focus."

They sparred for a while longer before taking a break, sitting in the shade as they caught their breath.

"You're fast," Henry admitted, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"I'm smarter," Y/N corrected. "Brute force doesn’t win fights. Thinking does."

Henry leaned back, grinning. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Y/N smirked. "Maybe."

After a moment, Henry shot her a knowing look. "You know, you keep bringing up Capon."

Y/N scoffed. "Because he’s a pain in the arse."

Henry chuckled. "Come on, what is it about him that gets under your skin so much?"

Y/N’s smirk faded. She tossed a pebble across the dirt. "You know why, Henry. He’s just like the rest of them. The nobles who do whatever they want, take whatever they want, and leave the rest of us to rot."

Henry frowned. "You think he’s like them?"

Y/N’s expression hardened. "My mother was burned alive because nobles decided she wasn’t worth the trouble. Not a single one spoke up for her. And why would they? What’s one woman to them? We’re nothing to them, Henry."

Henry was silent for a moment. "That’s not fair, though. Hans isn’t—"

"He is," Y/N cut him off. "He’s selfish. He only cares about himself, like all of them."

Henry sighed. "I don't know. He can be a bastard, sure, but I don’t think he’s as bad as you think."

Y/N scoffed. "You don’t want to think it."

Henry shook his head, knowing there was no changing her mind. Not yet, anyway.

Henry stretched his arms, changing the subject. "You know, you should meet Theresa sometime."

Y/N raised a brow. "The miller’s daughter? Is she your girl now?"

Henry grinned. "Yeah. She’s—" He paused, thinking. "She’s got a good heart. Tough, too. You’d like her."

Y/N smirked. "Who knows. But she must be something if she puts up with you."

Henry laughed. "You should tell her that yourself."

Y/N chuckled. "Maybe."

As the sun began to lower in the sky, Henry stood, brushing the dirt off his clothes. "I should head back."

Y/N nodded, grabbing one of the wooden swords and spinning it idly in her hands. "Come back when you’re ready to lose again."

Henry smirked. "We’ll see about that."

As he walked away, Y/N watched him go, her smirk fading slightly. She had spent years alone, but for the first time in a long while, she remembered what it felt like to have a friend.

She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

Chapter Text

The streets of Rattay bustled with life—merchants shouting their wares, blacksmiths hammering steel, and the scent of fresh bread mixing with the less pleasant smells of the city. Y/N moved through it with practiced ease, a sack slung over her shoulder, filled with pelts and trinkets she had crafted. She came to Rattay often, selling what the forest provided and buying what she couldn’t make herself. It was routine.

What wasn’t routine was the nobleman who nearly walked straight into her.

Hans Capon barely registered her presence before the collision almost happened, catching himself at the last second. His brows furrowed, confused, as if his mind was struggling to place her. Then recognition dawned. "You," he said, eyes narrowing.

Y/N raised a brow, unimpressed. "Me," she echoed.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

She huffed, shifting the weight of her bag. "Oh, you know, poisoning wells, casting curses, luring men into the woods to eat their hearts—usual witch business."

Hans rolled his eyes. "Very funny. You’re supposed to be hiding in the forest like a little savage."

"And you’re supposed to be ignoring peasants like a proper noble," she shot back. "Yet here we are."

Hans scoffed, folding his arms. "So what, you just wander into town like you belong here?"

"I do belong here. I come to Rattay all the time."

He looked skeptical. "I would have noticed."

Y/N smirked. "No, you wouldn’t. Because to you, people like me are just background noise. You only see the ones wearing velvet and gold."

Hans opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. She had a point, and that irritated him even more. He sighed, glancing at her sack. "What’s in there?"

"Pelts, herbs, a few things I made. I trade for things I need," she said, tilting her head. "What, do you think I live on tree bark and air?"

Hans smirked. "Honestly, yes."

Y/N snorted. "I’d offer to let you try it, but I doubt you’d last a day in the woods."

"At least I wouldn’t smell like a campfire and dead animals," he muttered.

"Oh, my apologies, Lord Capon," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Next time I get chased by a bear, I’ll ask it to wait while I bathe in lavender water."

Hans pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. "I swear, you’re insufferable."

"Likewise," she said, but despite her words, neither of them moved to leave.

Hans tilted his head. "Henry’s been training with you."

Y/N shrugged. "Yeah."

"Why?"

She gave him a look. "Because he asked."

Hans frowned. "He already trains with Bernard."

"Bernard teaches him how to fight like a knight. I teach him how to fight like someone who actually wants to live."

Hans scoffed. "And what do you know about fighting?"

Y/N gave him a slow, wicked grin. "Enough to have saved your noble arse in the woods."

Hans bristled. "That was—" He hesitated, knowing there was no way to argue that without sounding ridiculous. Finally, he exhaled sharply and changed the subject. "So, what’s the deal with you two, anyway?"

Y/N blinked. "Me and Henry?"

"Yes," Hans said, watching her reaction closely. "You seem… close."

Y/N shrugged. "You know. Played together as kids."

Hans narrowed his eyes slightly. "That’s it?"

"What else would it be?"

Hans hesitated, then shook his head. "Nothing. Just curious."

Y/N studied him for a moment, then smirked. "I could ask the same about you two."

Hans scoffed. "What? No! Henry is… tolerable. Most of the time."

"High praise," she muttered.

He ignored that. "He’s… different from other peasants. Doesn’t grovel, doesn’t whine. Annoyingly righteous sometimes, but at least he doesn’t stink of filth and desperation."

Y/N raised a brow. "A ringing endorsement, truly. So what, you tolerate him because he acts more noble than he is?"

Hans frowned. "No, I just—" He sighed. "I don’t know. He’s useful. And he doesn’t treat me like an idiot."

Y/N smirked. "I treat you like an idiot."

Hans rolled his eyes. "Yes, I noticed."

Y/N simply grinned and kept walking, Hans falling into step beside her as she moved through the market. Without really thinking about it, he found himself following her as she ran her errands—trading pelts for coin, buying dried goods, even stopping to haggle with a blacksmith over a new knife. It was strange, walking through the city with someone who didn’t seem to care about titles or propriety. No bowing, no unnecessary pleasantries. Just talking. Bickering, mostly. But still talking.

When she finished her last trade, she swung her sack over her shoulder and turned to him like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Well, Hans, it’s been thrilling, but I have better things to do."

Hans raised a brow. "Like what? Go roll around in the dirt?"

"Exactly," she said with a smirk. "Try not to fall off your horse on the way back to your cushy little castle."

Hans scoffed. "Try not to get eaten by wolves."

She winked. "No promises."

And just like that, she turned and walked off, heading toward the city gates without another word. Hans watched her go, arms crossed, irritation lingering on his face.

She was unbearable. Arrogant, sharp-tongued, completely unbothered by social order.

And yet, he realized only now that he had spent the last hour walking through the city with her, without really thinking about it.

He shook his head, exhaling sharply. "Unbelievable."

Chapter Text

Henry was barely catching his breath when he stormed into the chamber, the urgency in the guard’s summons still pressing in his chest. He had been in the middle of a routine patrol when they pulled him aside and told him to hurry to the castle. He expected trouble—but not this.

Inside, gathered around a long wooden table, were Sir Hanush, Sir Radzig, Captain Bernard, and Hans Capon. The atmosphere was thick with tension. Maps and reports were scattered across the table, some marked with inked lines and hastily drawn symbols. Henry glanced around, feeling the weight of their gazes.

"Henry," Radzig greeted him, his voice serious. "We have a problem."

Hanush exhaled, rubbing his temple. "A messenger from a village near Uzhitz arrived not long ago. The Cumans raided them—burned everything to the ground." His tone was grim. "And that’s not the worst of it. They’re still out there. Moving."

Henry felt a cold pit settle in his stomach. "You think they’re heading for Rattay?"

"They’re not far," Bernard confirmed. "If they’re bold enough, they might try to do the same thing here attacking the folks outside the walls."

Henry clenched his jaw. The Cumans were relentless. "How many men do we have to send after them?"

Radzig exchanged a glance with Hanush before shaking his head. "That’s the problem. Most of our forces are already occupied—patrolling roads, escorting supplies, handling security. We don’t have the numbers to send an army."

Henry thought for a moment. "Then we don’t send an army. We take a smaller group, wait until nightfall, and strike when they least expect it. Catch them off guard."

Hanush frowned. "That’s a fool’s plan. The Cumans aren’t ordinary bandits. They’re disciplined, brutal. If you miscalculate, you won’t live to regret it."

Radzig nodded. "Even if we sent a few men, the risk is high. We don’t know how many are out there and what are their intentions."

Henry was about to argue when Hans spoke up. "Then let’s ask Y/N."

The room fell silent.

Henry turned toward Hans, eyebrows raising in surprise.

Hanush’s expression twisted in disbelief. "Who?"

Hans crossed his arms. "The woman who saved my life in the woods. The one who’s been training Henry. The one who clearly knows how to deal with Cumans better than any of us."

Bernard scoffed. "You want to rely on some wild girl?"

Hans gave him an unimpressed look. "She took down three Cumans by herself when Henry and I were about to be slaughtered. I’d say she knows what she’s doing."

Radzig watched Hans carefully. "You trust her?"

Hans hesitated, then sighed. "I wouldn’t say that," he admitted, earning a side glance from Henry. "But I do think she’s useful. And right now, we don’t have better options."

Henry smirked. Hans suggesting Y/N's help? That’s new.

Hanush still looked uncertain, but eventually, he sighed. "If she’s as capable as you claim, then fine. But I don’t want this spreading. If word gets out that we’re relying on a peasant woman to handle Cumans, we’ll be the laughingstock of Bohemia."

Radzig nodded in agreement. "We keep it quiet. You and Henry will take a couple of men and find her. If she agrees, she helps. If not, you come back here and we think about something else. We mainly want to figure out what’s going on, not send you to slaughter. "

Henry and Hans exchanged a look.

The ride to Y/N’s cabin was tense, but Henry couldn’t help but feel a little satisfied that Hans was now the one suggesting they seek Y/N’s help. He knew Hans didn’t like her much, but clearly, he was starting to respect her skills—even if it killed him to admit it.

They arrived in the late morning, the scent of pine and damp earth thick in the air. Y/N was outside, sharpening a knife by the fire, her two horses tied nearby. The moment she saw them—Hans, Henry, and two Rattay guards—she tensed.

"You lost?" she asked dryly, not getting up.

Hans slid off his horse, giving her an expectant look. "We need your help."

Y/N scoffed. "That’s new."

Henry dismounted as well, stepping forward. "It’s serious. Cumans attacked a village near Uzhitz. They might be moving toward Rattay."

Y/N frowned, setting her knife down. "And what do you want from me?"

Hans crossed his arms. "You know the Cumans better than anyone here. You fight differently. We need that."

Y/N studied him, then glanced at Henry. "You put him up to this?"

Henry smirked. "Nope. This was all Sir Hans’ idea."

Hans scowled. "Don’t make a big deal out of it."

Y/N exhaled through her nose, looking at the group. "So, let me get this straight. You lot, nobles and knights, need my help?"

Hans clenched his jaw. "Yes."

Y/N leaned back against the log she was sitting on, enjoying this a little too much. "And what do I get in return?"

Henry sighed. "The satisfaction of not letting Cumans slaughter innocent people?"

Y/N gave him an unimpressed look. "That’s noble of you, Henry. But if I do this, I need guarantees."

Hans raised a brow. "What guarantees?"

She stood up, brushing dirt off her trousers. "One, you don’t tell anyone where I live. Two, you don’t tell anyone who helped you. Three, when this is over, you leave me alone."

Hans crossed his arms. "You’re awfully demanding for someone who should be grateful we’re asking for her help at all."

Y/N smirked. "You’re awfully desperate for someone who supposedly hates my guts."

Henry rubbed his temples. "Y/N…"

She sighed, finally serious. "Fine. I’ll help. But if you break our deal, next time you find yourselves bleeding in the dirt, don’t expect me to show up."

Hans exhaled sharply, then nodded. "Fine."

Henry smiled. "Then let’s get to work."

Y/N moved with purpose, gathering supplies while the others watched with varying degrees of skepticism. Hans stood nearby, arms crossed, while Henry adjusted his sword belt. The two extra men, both Rattay guards, had the relaxed air of men who thought they’d seen it all.

"We’re ready," one of them, a broad-shouldered man named Marek, said. "Just say the word."

Y/N shot him a look. "No, you’re not."

The other guard, Jindra, scoffed. "We’ve fought Cumans before."

"Have you?" Y/N asked, not looking up as she packed several strange types of little blades and gadgets into a pouch. "Have you fought them on their terms? At night, in the woods, when they know the land better than you do?" She finally glanced at them, unimpressed. "No. You’ve fought them on battlefields, with banners and formations. This isn’t that kind of fight."

Hans watched her, frowning slightly. "Then what kind of fight is this?"

Y/N strapped a small knife to her boot. "A smarter one."

She gestured to the table where she had laid out weapons—daggers, knives, short blades meant for close combat. "Take these. Your swords will be useful if things go bad, but if we do this right, you won’t need them."

Marek picked up one of the knives and frowned. "A knife? What do you expect us to do with this, peel apples?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Stick it in someone’s throat, preferably before they see you coming."

Jindra smirked. "I think I’ll keep my sword, thanks."

"Suit yourself," Y/N said. "But don’t come crying to me when your fancy steel gets caught on a tree branch."

Henry sighed, picking up one of the knives without argument. He knew better than to ignore Y/N’s advice. Hans, though still visibly irritated by her attitude, took one as well after a moment of hesitation.

Y/N studied them all, noting the glint of heavy armour under their cloaks. "If you were smart, you’d ride back to Rattay and change into something quieter. Lighter. Your metal’s going to give you away before you even see them."

Marek scoffed. "We’ll be fine. We know how to move in armour."

Y/N exhaled, shaking her head. "You think you do."

Hans narrowed his eyes. "You keep acting like we’re useless."

Y/N smirked. "Not useless. Just loud."

Hans scowled but didn’t argue.

She fastened her own leather armour, lightweight and silent, then slung her quiver over her back. "If we move fast, we’ll reach Uzhitz by sunset. That gives us the whole night to find them before they disappear again."

Henry nodded. "Then let’s move."

The group mounted their horses and rode out, tension thick between them.

The journey to Uzhitz was swift and quiet. They stopped only to ask villagers for information, piecing together the Cumans’ movements. Some had seen smoke in the distance. Others spoke of missing livestock, signs of a nearby camp. The closer they got, the heavier the air felt.

As the sun dipped low, they reached the outskirts of a dense forest. The last whispers of daylight filtered through the trees, casting long shadows.

Y/N pulled her horse to a stop and dismounted, scanning the darkening woods. "This is it."

Hans looked around, adjusting his grip on his reins. "Where?"

Y/N pointed ahead. "Somewhere in there. If we don’t find them fast, they’ll move by dawn, and we’ll lose them."

Jindra shifted in his saddle, his chainmail rattling softly. Y/N closed her eyes for a second, shaking her head. Idiots.

Henry slid off his horse, checking his weapons. "We go in quiet. Find them first, then decide how to take them down."

Y/N nodded. "Exactly."

Hans exhaled sharply. "Let’s get this over with."

As darkness fell completely, they stepped into the trees, the hunt beginning.

Chapter Text

The moment they stepped into the darkened forest, the problem became obvious. Metal clanked, boots crunched too loudly against the underbrush, and every movement sent noise rippling through the trees.

Y/N stopped in her tracks and turned, unimpressed. "I told you."

Henry grimaced, hearing the sound of Jindra’s chainmail shift as the man adjusted his stance. "She’s right," he admitted, sighing. "We’re too loud. If the Cumans hear us before we even see them, we’re dead, armour or not."

Without hesitation, he pulled off his cuirass and set it against the base of a thick tree. It was a risk, but stealth was their only advantage. If they lost that, there was no fight—just slaughter.

Hans watched him, face unreadable, then exhaled sharply through his nose. "Fine," he muttered, pulling off his own breastplate and dropping it beside Henry’s. He shot a glare at the two guards. "You two. Do the same."

Marek hesitated. "Sir—"

"That wasn’t a request," Hans snapped.

Jindra clenched his jaw but unbuckled his armour, following suit. Marek grumbled but obeyed.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, almost impressed. "Well, well. Maybe you can listen."

Hans shot her a glare, but she was already turning away, moving forward in a crouch, silent as a shadow. The rest followed, much quieter this time.

For nearly an hour, they moved carefully through the trees, scanning for signs of movement. The deeper they went, the thicker the silence became, broken only by the distant sounds of the night. Then, at last—

A dim glow flickered ahead, barely visible through the dense branches. Voices murmured low in an unfamiliar language.

Y/N gestured for them to stop. They crouched, eyes narrowing as they peered through the trees. The Cuman camp was ahead—a few tents, a central fire reduced to embers, and men sprawled in various places. Some were talking quietly. Others were already asleep.

"We found them," Henry whispered.

Y/N studied the camp, then glanced toward the edges. "Sentinels. There have to be some," she murmured. "If we rush in now, we’ll get caught between the ones patrolling and the ones waking up."

Hans nodded. "So what’s the plan?"

They huddled lower, whispering as they worked out their approach. Several ideas were thrown around—waiting for deeper night, sneaking in immediately, setting a distraction—but in the end, they agreed: patience. They’d wait until most of the Cumans were asleep, then split into two groups.

Marek and Jindra, the least experienced in stealth, would handle the easier task—slipping into the camp and cutting the throats of the sleeping men. Meanwhile, Y/N, Henry, and Hans would circle the perimeter, taking out any guards or sentries before they could raise the alarm.

As they finalized the plan, Hans found himself watching Y/N more closely. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t second-guess. Every suggestion was sharp, calculated, decisive. How did she know all this? She had lived alone for years, but this was more than just survival instincts. She was trained—or had trained herself.

The thought unsettled him. What else does she know?

But there was no time for questions now.

When the moment came, they moved.

The first group of sentinels was three men standing near the edge of the trees, speaking in low tones. Y/N led the way, gliding between the shadows, gesturing with precise movements. She pointed toward their targets.

One. Two. Three.

Henry, Hans, and Y/N each crept toward a man, daggers drawn. At Y/N’s subtle nod, they struck in unison. Hands clamped over mouths, blades sliced through throats, and bodies dropped silently into the undergrowth.

Not a sound.

Hans felt his pulse hammering in his ears as they dragged the corpses deeper into the foliage. He stole a glance at Y/N, who was already scanning ahead, searching for the next threat. She’s too good at this.

They moved on.

The second group of sentries was farther from the camp, three more men keeping watch near a narrow path. They were more alert, their hands on their weapons, but they never saw what hit them. Y/N’s silent signals guided Henry and Hans into place, then—another synchronized strike. Blood spilled, bodies slumped, and they moved on.

The third group was near a ridge, where the trees thinned out. These men were more relaxed, unaware that the others were already dead. Their mistake.

Y/N positioned them again, then—three quick deaths, barely a whisper of struggle.

It was done.

Hans stood there for a second, breathing hard. He had killed before, but this—this was something else. Precise. Merciless. Efficient. He glanced at Y/N again, finding himself caught between admiration and unease.

But there was no time to dwell on it.

They hurried back toward the camp to check on the other two.

 Moving swiftly through the forest, Y/N, Henry, and Hans reached the camp, their breath steady despite the adrenaline coursing through them. What they found was unexpected—Marek and Jindra standing among six dead Cumans, their blades still slick with blood.

"Well, I’ll be damned," Henry muttered, stepping forward to inspect the scene.

"Six of them?" Hans raised an eyebrow, looking at the two men with newfound respect.

Marek wiped his sword on a fallen Cuman’s tunic, still uneasy. "They were asleep. Not much of a fight."

"Doesn’t make it any less impressive," Henry pointed out, glancing around. "Fifteen Cumans dead in one night without a single scratch on us. That’s a feat."

Hans folded his arms, reluctant to voice his agreement, but the results spoke for themselves. It had been a perfect operation—almost.

Jindra sighed, still looking unsettled. "This ain’t how war is fought. Sneaking around in the dark, cutting throats… feels wrong."

Hans snorted. "If you’d rather charge in headfirst and get yourself gutted, be my guest next time."

Henry gave Jindra a reassuring slap on the back. "Survival’s the only rule in a fight like this. You think the Cumans wouldn’t do the same to us?"

Jindra hesitated but didn’t argue.

Meanwhile, Y/N had already lost interest in their conversation. She moved through the camp with practiced ease, stepping over bodies, scanning the supplies. Among the tents, she found a locked chest. Her fingers twitched with muscle memory, and without hesitation, she pulled a small pick from her belt pouch.

Click.

The lock gave way with satisfying ease, and Y/N smirked as she flipped the lid open. Her hands were already rummaging through coins, trinkets, and valuables when Marek’s voice cut through the night.

"The fuck do you think you’re doing?"

Y/N didn’t even look up. "Taking what’s useful."

Marek stomped closer, voice rising. "Are you out of your goddamn mind? This is looting!"

"And?" Y/N retorted, stuffing a coin purse into her satchel.

Marek stared at her like she’d grown a second head. "‘And’? It’s not ours!"

Y/N scoffed, standing up. "It’s not theirs anymore either, is it?"

"It doesn’t mean we should take it!"

"Why the hell not?" Y/N snapped, stepping toward him. "You think it’ll magically grow legs and walk itself back to whoever they stole it from?" She jabbed a finger at him. "You can either leave this shit to rot, let some bandits snatch it up, or—" she patted her satchel, "—someone actually uses it. And I don’t know about you, but I’ve got better fucking plans than leaving it for the next bunch of Cumans to waltz in and take it."

Marek’s jaw tightened. "That’s not the point."

Y/N barked a laugh. "Then what is the fucking point, Marek? You wanna leave a ‘sorry we murdered you’ note on their corpses too?"

"You don’t steal from the dead."

She rolled her eyes. "You’re an idiot."

Marek took a step closer, fists clenching. "And you’re a goddamn—"

"Take cover!"

Hans’ voice snapped through the air like a whip.

Everything happened in a second.

Y/N barely had time to turn her head before she saw the Cuman—one of the bastards must’ve wandered off to take a piss, and now he was coming back. His eyes widened at the sight of the camp, his mouth opening—

Hans was already moving, grabbing his bow and drawing in a single fluid motion.

The Cuman moved at the same time, pulling an arrow—

Hans loosed first.

The arrow whistled through the night, slicing the air between them before slamming into the Cuman’s chest with a dull thwack.

The man staggered, his bow slipping from his grasp. He gurgled, stumbling back before collapsing into the dirt. His body twitched once, then went still.

Silence.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

She had not seen that coming. She had been so wrapped up in that stupid fucking argument—distracted, careless. That could’ve gotten them all killed.

Her heart pounded. She turned her head toward Hans, still gripping his bow, his face unreadable in the dim light.

For the first time since they’d met, Y/N looked at him differently.

She didn’t hate nobles. She hated useless nobles. Arrogant, pampered men who thought their bloodline made them superior while contributing nothing. But Hans? He had just saved their asses without a moment’s hesitation. No stumbling, no fumbling, no second-guessing.

That deserved some damn respect.

Y/N swallowed, her pride making the words stick in her throat. She wasn’t about to say anything, but she gave him a look—one he hadn’t seen from her before. A nod. A silent acknowledgment.

Hans noticed. His lips quirked slightly before he turned away.

Henry let out a long breath. "Well, that was close."

"Too fucking close," Y/N muttered, still pissed at herself.

Hans slung his bow over his shoulder. "We need to go. Now."

No one argued.

Chapter Text

They moved fast, slipping through the trees, making their way back to where they had left their horses. Once they reached them, they mounted up without another word.

With the moon high above, they turned their horses toward Rattay and set off at a gallop.

The group rode in silence for the first few miles. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth as they moved through the darkened forest. Y/N had taken the lead immediately after they left, guiding her horse a few paces ahead of the rest, her silhouette barely visible in the moonlight. She didn’t look back, didn’t speak—just rode forward, alone.

Hans scoffed, watching her from behind. Typical. She was still pissed at herself for getting distracted, that much was obvious.

Meanwhile, behind him, Marek was shifting in his saddle, his posture stiff. Hans turned his head slightly, just enough to glare at him. "You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?"

Marek blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"You heard me," Hans snapped. "You had one job—keep your mouth shut, do as you’re told, and you still managed to fuck it up."

Marek scowled. "Sir, I was just—"

"You were just running your damn mouth when you had no right to. You don’t question the one person who actually knew what the hell she was doing. If I wasn’t there, we’d all have an arrow through our skulls right now."

Jindra, riding beside them, let out a low whistle. "He’s got a point."

Marek huffed but didn’t argue further.

Jindra, however, turned to Henry with a curious look. "So, Henry… who is she, anyway?"

Henry glanced up from where he had been watching Y/N’s back. "Y/N?"

"Yeah. I mean—she’s strange, isn’t she? Skilled as hell, but doesn’t act like no ordinary peasant. Doesn’t act like a noble either. What’s her deal?"

Henry smiled a little. "That’s a long story."

"We’ve got time," Jindra pointed out.

Henry sighed, shifting in his saddle. "We grew up together in Skalitz. Well—sort of. She had it rough. Her mother was…" he hesitated, glancing at Marek, who was still in a foul mood. He didn’t feel like explaining the whole thing with Y/N’s mother right now. "Not well-liked."

Jindra hummed. "So she left?"

"Not by choice," Henry muttered. "After her mother died, she had no reason to stay. Nobody helped her, so she helped herself. Survived however she could. When we met her again, she was… well, like she is now."

Jindra shook his head, clearly intrigued. "She’s got balls, I’ll give her that."

Henry chuckled. "You’ve got no idea."

Jindra thought for a moment. "You trust her?"

Henry nodded without hesitation. "With my life."

Jindra considered that, then turned his gaze back toward the lone rider ahead of them.

Henry watched her too. After a moment, he sighed, giving his reins a tug and urging his horse forward.

Hans, still keeping an eye on things, immediately noticed. His brows furrowed as Henry sped up, catching up with Y/N.

She didn’t react.

"You alright?" Henry asked.

She didn’t even look at him. "Fine."

Henry sighed. "Come on, Y/N. Talk to me."

"I said I’m fine."

"You’re mad at yourself."

Y/N’s grip on the reins tightened.

Henry lowered his voice. "It wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?"

"Drop it, Henry."

Henry stared at her for a moment but didn’t push it. He knew that tone. He sighed and slowed his horse, letting her ride alone again.

Hans had been watching from behind, and something about the exchange made him narrow his eyes. He wasn’t sure why, but seeing Henry fail to get through to her made him want to try.

So he did.

He clicked his tongue, urging his horse forward until he was riding beside her.

Y/N glanced at him, already annoyed. "What do you want?"

"To talk," Hans said simply.

She raised an eyebrow. "Since when do we talk?"

Hans smirked. "Since I saved your ass and you finally realized I’m not completely useless."

Y/N scoffed, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "You got lucky."

Hans chuckled. "Maybe. But you were reckless back there, weren’t you?"

Y/N’s smirk faded.

Hans let the silence linger for a second. "It’s not like you."

Her fingers drummed against the reins before she finally sighed. "No, it’s not. I don’t… usually work with people."

Hans tilted his head. "That so?"

She nodded. "I’m used to watching my own back, making my own calls. I don’t have to worry about someone else’s screw-ups getting me killed." She shot him a look. "Or about some stubborn idiot dragging me into an argument while we’re standing in the middle of a fucking Cuman camp."

Hans grinned. "Yeah, Marek’s a real piece of work."

Y/N huffed. "That’s putting it lightly."

Hans studied her for a moment. "Still, you handled yourself well. More than well. That wasn’t just skill—that was experience." He paused. "Where the hell did you learn all that?"

Y/N tilted her head slightly, watching him. He looked genuinely curious, not mocking, not belittling. Just… interested.

She sighed. "When I was a kid, I wanted to be a knight."

Hans blinked, surprised. "A knight?"

Y/N shrugged. "Yeah. I wanted to do good. Be a hero. I thought—if I could fight, if I could prove myself, maybe people would respect me. Maybe they’d forget who my mother was." She scoffed at herself. "Stupid, right?"

Hans shook his head. "Not at all."

Y/N glanced at him, surprised by his sincerity.

She continued. "Some of the Skalitz guards taught me a few things when I was younger. But after my mother died, I had to learn fast. Travelled a lot, picked up whatever I could from whoever I could. Thieves, mercenaries, hunters—you name it. I did what I had to, and I got good at it."

Hans nodded slowly, taking it all in. "And now you live alone in the woods, away from all the bullshit."

Y/N smirked. "Exactly."

Hans exhaled. "Honestly… I’m jealous."

Y/N turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "Of what?"

Hans sighed, glancing up at the moon. "You’ve been everywhere. Learned things on your own terms. I’ve spent my life taking lessons, training with tutors, being told what I should be, where I should go. I’m the heir of Rattay—I can’t just wander off and disappear. I can’t even leave town most of the time unless there’s a damn war on."

Y/N stared at him. For the first time, she saw something different. Not just the arrogant nobleman, not just the spoiled brat—she saw the real Hans. And somehow, it softened something in her.

Not much. But a little.

"You wouldn’t last a week on your own," she teased.

Hans smirked. "I’d last at least two."

She rolled her eyes, but there was no venom in it this time.

Behind them, Henry was watching the exchange with mild amusement. Well, would you look at that.

By the time the first rays of morning light touched the horizon, they reached Rattay’s gates. The guards eyed them curiously, clearly not expecting them back so soon.

As they rode in, the weight of the night’s events settled over them. There would be questions. Reports to give. But for now, they had made it back in one piece.

And, somehow, things had changed.

Just a little.

Chapter Text

The sky had just started to brighten, casting a dull gold glow over the horizon as the group reached Rattay’s gates. The horses’ hooves clattered against the dirt road, and the familiar sight of the town creeping into view should’ve been a relief. The mission was done. They were alive. They had won.

But just as they reached the entrance, Y/N pulled on her reins, bringing her horse to an abrupt stop.

She didn’t move forward.

Hans and Henry were a few paces ahead before they realized she wasn’t following. Henry turned first, frowning. "Y/N?"

Hans glanced over his shoulder and let out a sigh, already knowing she was about to be difficult. "Oh, for fuck’s sake."

Y/N sat still in her saddle, her fingers tapping lightly on the reins. She wasn’t looking at them—she was staring at the town, at the gate, at the people just beginning to stir as the morning came to life.

And she didn’t move.

Henry guided his horse back to her, his brow furrowed. "What are you doing?"

"I’m going home," she said simply.

Henry blinked. "What? But—"

"I did my part," she continued, shrugging. "You wanted help, I helped. Now I’m done."

Hans groaned, riding back to them as well. "Oh no, no you don’t. You’re not just running off after that."

Y/N scoffed. "Why the hell not?"

Hans gestured toward the gate. "Because we’re supposed to report back, you idiot. We just wiped out an entire Cuman camp in one night, we actually pulled it off—and you’re just going to disappear like it didn’t happen?"

Y/N huffed. "Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m going to do."

Henry ran a hand down his face, already exhausted. "Y/N, come on. You could at least—"

"At least what?" she cut in. "At least meet with the nobles? Walk into their castle and stand there like some dog waiting for a fucking pat on the head? No thanks."

Henry hesitated, glancing at Hans.

Hans groaned. "Oh, get over yourself. It’s not about them, it’s about—"

"What?" Y/N narrowed her eyes. "About what, Lord Capon?"

Hans clenched his jaw. "About the fact that you just saved their damn town and maybe, just maybe, you should get some fucking credit for it."

Y/N tilted her head, clearly unimpressed. "I don’t want their credit."

"Then what do you want?"

Y/N opened her mouth, but for a second, she didn’t answer. She just stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then she sighed, shaking her head. "I just want to go home."

Henry’s frown deepened.

He had known her long enough to understand what that really meant. She wasn’t just refusing to go inside—she was refusing to be part of this. Refusing to let herself get tangled in whatever came next.

She had helped them. But she wasn’t one of them.

Henry sighed. "Alright. Fine. But at least—at least come rest for a bit."

Y/N raised an eyebrow.

"You barely slept," Henry pointed out. "None of us did. You ride straight back to your cabin and you’ll be dead on your feet by the time you get there."

Hans smirked slightly, folding his arms. "He’s got a point."

Y/N exhaled sharply, but before she could argue, Henry added, "And—and you should at least get something for the trouble. A reward. It’s only fair."

Y/N scoffed. "I didn’t do it for a reward."

"Maybe not, but you still deserve one," Henry said. "You need money. Supplies. You can’t just keep living off scraps and stolen coin forever."

Y/N frowned at that, shifting in her saddle. She hated when he made sense.

Hans smirked again. "Come on, wild girl. Sleep in a real bed for once. Might actually do you some good."

Y/N shot him a glare, but after a long pause, she exhaled through her nose.

"Fine," she muttered. "But I’m not stepping foot in that fucking castle."

Hans rolled his eyes. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

With that settled, they guided their horses through the gates. The city was waking up, people moving through the streets, carts rolling in, merchants setting up their stalls. The town guards gave them curious glances, no doubt wondering where the hell they’d been all night, but nobody stopped them.

Y/N didn’t follow them toward the castle. She turned toward the tavern instead, swinging off her horse with ease.

Henry watched as she dug into her pouch, pulling out a few coins to pay for a room.

He wasn’t sure why it made him feel weird, the fact that she wouldn’t even let them pay for it after everything. She was always so stubborn.

She caught him staring and smirked slightly. "What?"

Henry shook his head. "Nothing."

Hans leaned forward on his saddle. "Get some sleep, wild girl. Try not to stab anyone in there."

Y/N grinned. "No promises."

And with that, she disappeared inside.

Hans and Henry exchanged glances before finally continuing on their way.

The castle was quieter than usual, the main hall still dimly lit by candlelight as Henry and Hans stepped inside. Lord Hanush, Sir Radzig, and Captain Bernard were all waiting, their expressions sharp and expectant.

Hanush spoke first. "You’re back already? She didn’t accept? What happened?"

Hans smirked, still running on adrenaline. "We took care of it."

Bernard frowned. "What do you mean took care of it? How many of them were there?"

Henry straightened. "We counted sixteen. Can’t tell if there were more scattered around the region."

Hanush blinked. "And you’re telling me the five of you killed all of them? In one night?"

Hans grinned. "Every last one."

Radzig folded his arms, clearly skeptical. "Explain."

Henry nodded and gave them a quick breakdown. "We reached the woods near Uzhitz at sundown, gathered information on their location, and scouted the camp. They were lightly guarded, so we split into two groups—Marek and Jindra went inside to take out the sleeping ones while Hans, Y/N, and I handled the perimeter guards."

Hans cut in, a little smug. "And handled them we did."

Henry continued. "We moved quietly. Took them out without raising an alarm. By the time it was over, we had killed all sixteen of them without so much as a scratch on our side."

Silence.

Bernard leaned back, eyeing them both. "And you’re saying that worked? Just like that?"

Hans shrugged. "It worked because of Y/N. She knew exactly what she was doing. The rest of us? We were just along for the ride."

Radzig exhaled through his nose. "I take it she was the one who planned it?"

Henry nodded. "Most of it, yeah."

Hanush rubbed his temple. "That damn woman."

Hans smirked. "You can be pissed about it, but the fact is—she just saved your town."

The lords exchanged glances before Hanush finally sighed. "Fine. Well done. You’ll receive your rewards. And Y/N as well, if she’s willing to take it."

Henry nodded. "She is. Barely."

Radzig smirked slightly but didn’t comment.

With the report done, the tension eased. Bernard leaned back, eyeing them both. "You two should get some rest. You look like hell."

Hans scoffed. "Thank you, captain. Always a pleasure."

As they left, Hans sighed. "She should be here, you know."

Henry nodded. "Yeah."

But they both knew—Y/N didn’t want to be.

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over Rattay as Hans and Henry strode through the streets, making their way toward the tavern. The town was alive with its usual mix of merchants peddling their wares, craftsmen shouting orders, and beggars loitering near the alleys.

Hans ran a hand through his hair, still looking half-asleep despite the few hours of rest. "You think she’s still here?"

Henry shrugged. "She said she’d sleep a bit. Knowing her, though, she probably—"

The distant roar of laughter and shouting from the tavern yard cut him off.

Hans arched an eyebrow. "Well, that sounds promising."

As they got closer, they could see a sizeable crowd gathered outside, all focused on a makeshift table where two people sat hunched over a game of dice. People were cheering, jeering, placing bets—some drunk off their arses, others just caught up in the excitement.

And right there, at the center of it all, was Y/N.

Hans blinked. "You’ve got to be shitting me."

She was leaned back lazily in her chair, a smirk playing on her lips as she flicked a dice between her fingers. The man across from her—some burly local with a crooked nose and a sour look—was visibly fuming as he stared at the dice board like it had personally insulted his mother.

Another man slammed a hand against the table. "Fucking hell! Again?"

Y/N let out a low chuckle, lazily scooping the coin pile toward her. "Would you look at that. Another win. What are the odds?"

The crowd erupted into laughter, some clapping her on the back while others cursed under their breath.

Hans and Henry pushed their way to the front. Henry crossed his arms. "I knew you wouldn’t just be sleeping."

Y/N glanced up at them, still smirking. "Well, I tried to sleep, but then I realized there were idiots just giving their coin away here, so…" She trailed off, jingling her pouch meaningfully.

Hans scoffed, leaning against the table. "And here I thought you were above robbing drunks."

Y/N snorted. "Oh, I am. That’s why I’m doing it legally."

The man across from her slammed his fists on the table. "This is bullshit!"

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "What’s wrong, Jakub? Not enjoying the game anymore?"

Jakub’s face was red with fury. "You cheated!"

The surrounding crowd let out a mix of laughs and groans. This wasn’t the first time a sore loser had whined about it.

Y/N feigned offense. "Now, that’s a bold accusation."

Jakub jabbed a finger at her. "I know you’re using rigged dice, you thieving whore!"

Henry straightened, already sensing this was about to go south. Hans, on the other hand, just looked amused.

Y/N, however, simply tilted her head, rolling one of the dice between her fingers. "Oh? And here I thought you just fucking sucked at the game."

The crowd howled. A few people smacked Jakub’s back, laughing at his expense.

His face turned even redder. "You bitch!"

Y/N’s smirk widened. "Yeah, yeah. Are you gonna cry about it or—"

Jakub lunged.

He shoved the table forward, sending coins and dice scattering as he swung a wild fist toward her. Y/N ducked just in time, the punch whiffing past her ear.

And just like that, chaos erupted.

Hans, grinning like a madman, barely had time to roll his sleeves up before another drunk bastard swung at him. Henry, already sighing in exasperation, threw his first punch before he could even think twice about it.

Y/N, meanwhile, grabbed Jakub by the front of his shirt and headbutted him so hard he staggered back, crashing into a bystander.

"You fucking—" he started, but she cut him off with a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him.

Hans laughed, dodging a lazy swing from another drunkard before retaliating with a solid punch to the ribs. "Well, this is more fun than dice, I’ll give you that!"

Henry grabbed one of Jakub’s mates by the collar and threw him over the dice table. "Oh, yeah. Loads of fun."

Y/N caught another man trying to tackle her and drove her knee into his groin. He immediately crumpled to the ground, clutching himself and wheezing.

"That’s what you get for picking a fight over dice," she muttered, shaking her hand out.

By now, the brawl had completely spiralled out of control. People were throwing punches left and right, some even fighting for no reason other than that everyone else was.

Hans cracked his knuckles, grinning at Henry. "This reminds me of our tavern brawl!"

Henry grunted as he dodged a wild swing. "Hans, this is not the time for reminiscing!"

After a few minutes of pure chaos, the tavern owner finally had enough. A couple of the bulkier regulars stepped in to break things up, dragging people apart and tossing the worst offenders out of the yard—including Jakub and his mates, who were still cursing and grumbling as they hit the dirt outside.

The rest of the crowd, still laughing and breathless, slowly started to calm down.

Hans dusted himself off, shaking out his hand. "Well, that was fun."

Henry sighed. "Fucking hell."

Y/N, still grinning, flopped onto one of the benches outside. "You both fight like absolute shit."

Hans scoffed. "Excuse me?"

Y/N stretched, cracking her neck. "I mean, you held your own, but fuck, you’re slow."

Henry dropped onto the bench beside her. "You could’ve just not rigged the dice, you know."

Y/N snorted. "Where’s the fun in that?"

Hans chuckled, sitting across from them. He gestured for a round of drinks, leaning back with an easy grin. "Alright, wild girl. I’ll admit it—that was entertaining."

Y/N smirked. "Better than your fancy noble games, huh?"

Hans chuckled. "Much better."

Henry shook his head, but he was smiling too. "So, what now? You gonna run off to the woods again?"

Y/N hesitated. She glanced at the horizon, at the fading sunlight, then back at them.

Then she shrugged. "Nah. I’ll stick around a little longer."

Hans raised an eyebrow. "What, you actually like our company now?"

Y/N grinned. "Not at all. But I do like free beer."

Hans laughed as the tavern girl set the drinks down.

They clinked their mugs together, bruised, battered, and still laughing.

It was the first time in a long while that Y/N didn’t feel the urge to run.

And maybe—just maybe—she didn’t hate the company either.

Chapter Text

The evening air was thick with the smell of ale, roasted meat, and the distant smoke of a blacksmith’s forge. The three of them—Y/N, Henry, and Hans—sat outside on the wooden benches, their bruises from the tavern brawl already forgotten as they nursed their drinks. The raucous laughter and chatter of the crowd filled the night, but the trio had settled into a more relaxed, easy conversation.

Y/N rolled her cup between her fingers before casually breaking the silence. "So, what did the lords say about the mission?"

Hans and Henry exchanged a look, both raising an eyebrow.

"You care?" Hans smirked, tilting his head.

Y/N shrugged. "Just curious."

Henry chuckled. "Didn’t think you gave a damn about what noblemen think."

"I don’t," she said, taking a sip of ale. "But I do like knowing if my work was worth something."

Hans grinned and knocked back a gulp of his drink. "Well, if you must know—They were impressed. Didn’t expect us back so soon. And they didn’t expect you to be so useful."

Y/N smirked. "They expected me to fuck up?"

"More or less," Henry admitted. "But in the end, they were grateful. They gave us a fat reward, including your share." He reached into his pouch, pulling out a heavy coin purse and tossing it to her.

She caught it with one hand, weighing it before pocketing it. "That’s more like it."

Hans leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "You were impressive, you know. I mean, I like a good adventure, but that was something else. Never felt adrenaline like that in my life."

Y/N looked at him sideways, genuinely surprised. "You enjoyed it?"

Hans chuckled. "Wouldn’t do it every day, but it was a damn thrill. Better than stuffing my face at noble banquets and listening to old men talk about taxes."

Y/N snorted. "To dead Cumans, then?"

Hans raised his cup. "To dead Cumans!"

Henry sighed but lifted his drink too. "To dead Cumans."

They clinked their cups together, laughing as they drank deep.

And so the toasts began. One for battles. One for gold. One for good ale. The topics grew lighter, the laughter louder, the drinks stronger.

Before long, the yard was filled with drunken cheers, off-key singing, and bold dares. Hans was arm-wrestling a burly blacksmith. Henry was deep in conversation with a tavern girl. And Y/N? She was just watching, amused, until she suddenly leaned toward Henry.

"So," she blurted out. "How’s Theresa?"

Henry nearly choked on his drink. "What?"

"You heard me," she grinned. "Still the love of your life?"

Henry shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "We’re… good. I think. She’s busy at the mill, I’ve been busy getting into fights and hunting bandits. But I like her."

Hans snorted. "Of course you do. She’s sweet. Sweet girls are boring, though."

Y/N smirked. "Then tell me, Sir Hans Capon, what kind of girls do you like?"

Hans shrugged, taking another sip of ale. "A bit of everything. Never really stuck with one."

"Because you didn’t find the right one, or because you’re too busy chasing tavern girls?"

He laughed. "Both." He paused, spinning his cup between his fingers. "Doesn’t matter, anyway. I’ll probably end up in an arranged marriage like every other noble."

His voice was light, but there was a flicker of something else beneath it.

Y/N, surprisingly, didn’t tease him. She just watched him for a second before shrugging. "Well, that’s your problem, not mine."

Hans smirked, shaking off whatever moment of sincerity had almost crept in. "And you? Who’s the lucky bastard that stole your heart?"

She scoffed. "No one. Never cared for it."

"Not even once?"

Y/N leaned back, crossing her arms. "Didn’t like people. And people didn’t like me. Had some encounters, but that’s it. Never felt the need to stick around."

Hans arched a brow. "Cold."

She shrugged. "Realistic."

Hans tilted his cup toward her. "To realism, then."

Y/N clinked her drink against his. "To realism."

The night continued. More drinks, more toasts, more dares. Hans and Henry ended up dancing with the tavern girls, their laughter echoing in the night. Y/N sat on her bench, idly watching, arms crossed, until she noticed something strange.

She was annoyed.

She frowned. The fuck? She was not jealous. That would be ridiculous.

Hans spun his girl in a clumsy circle, laughing as she twirled away from him. He turned, searching for another dance partner—

And then he saw Y/N.

He grinned, tilting his head as he gestured toward her. "Come on, wild girl. You like to fight, you like to drink. Don’t tell me you don’t like to dance."

She hesitated. Fuck. She did like to dance. But not with him.

But Hans, impatient as ever, strode up to her and grabbed her hand, pulling her from her seat.

"Wait—!"

Too late.

She stumbled forward, and before she knew it, he had spun her into the crowd. And then they were dancing. It was clumsy at first, playful, just drunk enough to be reckless. She resisted for all of two seconds before letting herself go.

She laughed. He laughed.

And then, somehow, they were closer. His hands on her waist. Her fingers curling against his arms. The world spun, and for a moment—just a moment—neither of them tried to fight it.

Hans noticed things he hadn’t before. The way her hair fell over her shoulders. The way her smirk softened when she wasn’t being a pain in the ass.

Y/N noticed things too. The way he smelled faintly of ale and something expensive. The way his touch wasn’t as irritating as she expected.

They were drunk. That’s all it was.

That’s all it was.

Midnight came. The air turned crisp, laced with the distant scent of damp earth and burning firewood. The last of the drunken merriment filled the night, but soon, the usual routine came knocking—guards arriving to shoo out the final stubborn drinkers.

Hans, lounging lazily against the wooden table, raised a hand as if waving off a servant. “I’m a nobleman. I can do whatever I damn well please.”

Y/N, still flushed from the dancing, leaned against the table beside him. She gestured vaguely at the guards, her voice slurred but firm. “Yeah, he’s a nobleman. He can do whatever he damn well pleases.”

The guards were unimpressed.

One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a thinning hairline, crossed his arms. “Oh, pardon us, Sir Capon. We must’ve forgotten you own the town.”

Hans smirked. “You must have. Don’t worry, I forgive you.”

The other guard sighed. “Just get moving. You’ve had your fun.”

Y/N scoffed. “We’ll leave when we decide to.”

The first guard rolled his eyes. “Listen, I don’t give a rat’s arse if you’re the son of the King—get out, or we’ll throw you out.”

Hans chuckled, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t dare.”

The second guard stepped forward and grabbed Hans by the arm. “That’s nice, sir. Now get moving.”

Y/N reacted without thinking.

Her fist cracked against the guard’s jaw, sending him stumbling back in shock. Before anyone could fully process what had just happened, she grabbed Hans by the sleeve and shoved Henry forward. “RUN!”

And just like that, the three of them bolted.

They raced down the darkened street, laughter and drunken cursing echoing through the night as the guards stumbled after them in clunky armor.

“This is the worst idea—” Henry started.

“Shut up and run, Henry!” Hans shouted back, half laughing, half gasping for air.

They weaved through alleyways, kicked over barrels, darted between crates and carts. The guards gave chase for a good minute, but Rattay’s streets were a maze, and the trio knew how to use the shadows better than any clunky soldier. Soon enough, the shouts faded, and the only sounds left were their heavy breaths and the distant hooting of an owl.

The three of them collapsed against a wooden fence in a secluded courtyard, gasping for breath. Henry slid down until he was sitting in the dirt, groaning. “God’s sake… why do I still hang around you two?”

Y/N grinned, barely winded. “Because your life would be boring otherwise.”

Hans, still breathless, wiped sweat from his brow. “You punched a guard.”

She smirked. “What, Sir Capon, scared of a little trouble?”

Hans let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Not at all.” Then his grin turned sharp. “But now we definitely need another drink.”

Henry groaned. “No. Absolutely not. We need to go to bed before we end up in the stocks.”

Hans turned to Y/N. “Ignore him. I know where they keep the best wine in Rattay.”

Y/N’s smirk widened. “Let me guess. The town hall cellar?”

Hans placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “I would never steal from my own town.”

Y/N arched a brow.

He grinned. “Alright, I would—but only for the finest vintage.”

Y/N chuckled. “Let’s do it.”

Henry groaned louder. “For fuck’s sake—”

But he was already outnumbered.

Breaking into the cellar wasn’t hard. The guards were still likely circling the tavern looking for them, leaving the rest of Rattay’s night watchmen spread thin. Hans, to no one’s surprise, knew exactly where the key was kept. A little bit of sneaking, a well-placed shove to a door, and suddenly, they were inside the dimly lit, cool cellar, surrounded by barrels and bottles of the lords’ finest stock.

Hans picked up a bottle, inspecting the label. “Ah, now this is proper wine.”

Y/N grabbed one without looking and yanked the cork out with her teeth. She took a deep swig, wiped her mouth, and grinned. “Proper wine, my ass. It all gets you drunk the same way.”

Hans laughed, taking a bottle for himself. Henry, grumbling about how he was going to regret this, took one too.

Somehow, they ended up sprawled in the grass of a random courtyard, their backs against a wooden cart, drinking straight from the stolen bottles. The night had settled into something slower, calmer.

Henry was the first to go. His head lolled to the side, and within minutes, he was snoring softly.

Y/N nudged him with her foot. “Lightweight.”

Hans chuckled, tipping his bottle toward Henry. “Poor bastard never stood a chance.”

Y/N smirked but didn’t say anything right away. She swirled the last bit of wine in her bottle, staring at the dark sky. After a long moment, she exhaled. “He’s a good one, though.”

Hans glanced at her, intrigued by the sudden shift in her tone. “Henry?”

She nodded. “Yeah. He’s got a big heart. Always did. When we were kids, he was the only one who really gave a damn about me.” Her voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “I was just some wild brat, stealing bread and running through the woods like a stray dog. No one wanted much to do with me… except him. Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of glad he’s back in my life.”

Hans listened, watching her carefully. He’d never heard her talk like this before—without that usual layer of sarcasm or stubborn defiance. He found himself smiling. “I get it,” he said simply. “Henry’s my only real friend too.”

Y/N turned her head toward him, mildly surprised. “Oh, come on. You’re Sir Hans Capon. You must have plenty of friends.”

Hans let out a short, dry laugh. “You think so?” He leaned back on his elbows. “Among lords, you never really know who’s a friend and who’s just being polite… or scared of your status. Henry, though—he’s different. He doesn’t care that I’m a noble. He’s honest, he’s stubborn as hell, and he’s got real values. That’s rare.”

Y/N watched him for a moment, then shook her head with a small smirk. “You’re really sitting here feeling sorry for yourself?”

Hans scoffed. “Excuse me?”

She leaned in slightly, poking his chest with her finger. “You’ve got everything. Money, food, a damn castle to sleep in every night. Meanwhile, people out here struggle to survive. And you’re whining about not knowing who your real friends are?” She rolled her eyes. “You should believe in yourself more, my lord, because I’m starting to think you’re not a complete idiot. You just need to be committed to something.”

Hans blinked, genuinely taken aback. “Well, shit. I didn’t know you were capable of kindness.”

Y/N scoffed, leaning back again. “Blame the wine.”

Hans looked at her again, really looked. The way her messy hair framed her face. The way the corners of her mouth twitched, like she was trying not to smile too much. He was used to seeing her smirk, scoff, scowl. But here, in this moment—barefoot in the grass, cheeks flushed from alcohol, eyes a little softer than usual—she didn’t seem so… sharp.

Hans had met countless women. Slept with plenty. But none of them had ever punched a guard for him. None of them had ever insulted him one minute and then danced with him the next. None of them had ever made him feel like he had something to prove.

He wondered, vaguely, if that was a good thing.

She caught him staring. “What?”

Hans smirked, watching her for a second longer. Then he raised an eyebrow, his grin turning smug. “You like me, don’t you?”

Y/N didn’t even look at him. “Not a chance.”

Hans chuckled. “Liar.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Alright, fine. I can’t deny you’re fucking handsome. And funny, sometimes.”

Hans’s smirk widened. “Go on.”

She shot him a glare. “But that’s it. You still get on my nerves, and I still can’t forget you’re a lazy, privileged noble.”

Hans held a hand to his chest in mock pain. “Ah, so close to a compliment.”

Y/N smirked, then tilted her head slightly. “What about you? You like me?”

Hans was better than her at hiding his real thoughts. He dodged the question with a lazy shrug, grinning. “Eh. You’re tolerable when you’re drunk.”

She let out a dry laugh. “Coward.”

They sat there for a while, the night wrapping around them like a thick, quiet blanket. The city was still, the stars above blinking lazily.

Eventually, their words faded into quiet murmurs, and before they realized it, both of them drifted off to sleep—Y/N leaning against the cart, Hans slumped beside her, and Henry snoring softly a few feet away.

Somewhere in the distance, the first hints of dawn were starting to creep over the horizon.

But for now, the night still belonged to them.

Chapter Text

The pounding in Y/N’s head was unbearable, like a blacksmith hammering away at a particularly stubborn piece of iron. Her stomach twisted in protest, her mouth tasted like spoiled ale, and her entire body ached like she’d been trampled by a herd of horses. She barely had time to groan before rough hands yanked her to her feet.

“Wake up, you drunken piece of shit,” a gruff voice spat as she was shoved forward, stumbling over her own legs and she immediately swung an elbow back at the mysterious figure. She missed completely, stumbled, and cursed silently. She blinked against the harsh morning light, only to see Henry being hauled up in the same undignified fashion, his face twisted in misery.

“Oh, fuck off,” Henry groaned, trying to bat the guard’s hand away, but failing miserably as well.

Hans woke to the sound of their protests and the guards’ growling insults, cracking one bleary eye open. His head felt like someone had split it open with a warhammer, his stomach churned, and the sun burned against his skull like an executioner’s torch.

“What the fuck…” he muttered, pushing himself up on his elbows before a shadow loomed over him.

Hanush.

 “Oh, fuck,” Hans croaked.

His uncle looked livid. “Up, you fucking disgrace! What in God’s name is wrong with you?” Hanush’s voice was like a whip, sharp and full of venom. “You lot started a brawl in the tavern, got piss drunk, ignored curfew, punched a guard, stole from the city hall, and invaded a peasant’s property like a pack of brainless mongrels!”

Hans blinked sluggishly, the memories from the previous night coming back in messy fragments. Drinking. Dancing. Running from guards. Breaking into the cellar. Lying in the grass with Y/N.

Oh, shit.

Henry was already standing, his expression grim as he processed the situation, while Y/N—of course—was still trying to wrestle herself free from the guards holding her. But she was in no state to fight, her limbs weak and her movements sluggish.

Hans groaned, wobbling as he pushed himself to his feet. “Uncle, listen—”

“No, you listen, you reckless little shit,” Hanush snapped, stepping forward so fast that Hans nearly flinched. “I have had it with your childish, idiotic behaviour! You're acting like a street rat with no dignity, no discipline! You think you can do whatever you want just because you’re a noble? That your title protects you from consequences?” His eyes burned with fury. “If this is how you behave, maybe it’s time I send you back to your mother. Let her find you a wife to chain you down before you embarrass this family further.”

Hans felt his stomach lurch—not just from the hangover, but from the words themselves. That struck a little too deep, too fast. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening. But he didn't say anything.

Hanush, on the other hand, was not finished yet. "Every single time I let you off the leash you prove, without a doubt, that you’re not fit to be trusted! You don’t think, you don’t take responsibility, you just act like the world is your playground. You’re pathetic.”

Y/N, who had finally stopped struggling, stood still, staring at Hanush with a look Hans had never seen before. She wasn’t smirking. She wasn’t sneering. She wasn’t even glaring.

She was listening.

And then, before Hans could even process his own emotions, maybe because he looked like a kicked dog, or maybe because the sheer arrogance of Hanush just was pissing her off beyond belief, before she could even think twice about it, her mouth moved.

“Oh, fuck you,” she snapped.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Hanush’s head snapped toward her so fast that for a moment, Hans thought he might just cut her down where she stood. Henry audibly sucked in a breath, looking at her like she’d just signed her own death warrant. The guards gripping her stiffened, as if waiting for the command to beat her senseless.

But Y/N wasn’t done. “You sure know how to talk shit to your own kin, right? You talk about him like he’s the biggest fuck-up in the world, but how do you expect him to act when you fuckers have got him locked up like some prized pig his whole damn life?” Her voice was hoarse and unsteady, but the words still carried weight. “If you didn't have that stick so far up your arse, you'd realize that of course he acts like a rebellious little shit- he can't fucking live. Hunting trips, political meetings, a bunch of stiff-arses in fancy clothes pretending to give a fuck. He's not even allowed to leave the town without a damned escort. What kind of life is that? How is he supposed to know how to do fucking anything?"

Hans could barely process what was happening. Y/N—Y/N—was defending him. The same woman who had spent the last several days mocking his privileged arse at every given opportunity was now standing there, hungover as hell, practically chewing his uncle out.

He didn’t know whether to be grateful or terrified.

Hanush, on the other hand, was utterly livid. “You insolent little bitch- I have had it with your foul mouth,” he hissed. “Guards, take her to the dungeon. Let’s see if a few nights in a cell teaches her some goddamn respect.”

Henry and Hans both erupted in protest, "That's ridiculous! We were just celebrating a victory-" Hans tried to argue, but Hanush cut them off with a sharp glare. “I don't care if you just won the war against the fucking Hungarians! One more fucking word, and you’ll be joining her.”

Y/N barely put up a fight as the guards dragged her away. She was too weak, too exhausted. As she was hauled toward the prison, she let her head drop back with a loud groan. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Hans and Henry stood there, watching as she disappeared, their fates sealed as Hanush turned to them. “Get your arses to the stables. I told the stableman to put you to work— real work. Maybe a day shovelling shit will knock some sense into you.”

They couldn't argue further, even if they wanted to, even if they would have liked to have the same outrageous balls Y/N just showed to all of them. Their legs just moved, slowly, aching, but they just started walking towards the stables not daring to meet Hanush's gaze again. They didn't even dare to speak to each other, while they were going through the town in a miserable walk of shame.

As they walked, Hans was replaying in his mind what just happened. The way Hanush had torn into him wasn't new. But Y/N speaking up for him? That was. She didn't even hesitate, she just insulted the Lord of Rattay straight to his face like he was some filthy peasant, and she did it for Hans. He felt something he rarely did- guilt. And he couldn't bare it. He needed to do something.

He abruptly turned and spoke out to Henry. "I need to do something. You go ahead, I'll catch up." Henry stopped on his feet, spreading his arms. "Where the fuck are you going? Hans!" But Hans didn't answer, he was already going towards the prison, quickening his steps, and Henry damned himself to have let himself being involved in that mess.

The cell stank of piss, old straw, and misery. The moment the guards threw her in, she landed hard on her knees, the sudden movement sending her stomach flipping.

“Fuck all of you,” she spat. “Hope you choke on your supper.”

The guards ignored her, slamming the door and leaving. Y/N sat there for a moment, her head spinning, and then— She puked her guts out. “Goddammit,” she groaned, leaning back against the damp, stone wall. Her whole body ached. Her head throbbed like she had taken a hammer to the skull. But she was feeling a little better after she threw up all the poison she drank the night before. She wiped her mouth and exhaled. “Alright,” she muttered to herself. “Get it together.”

Ten minutes. That’s how long Y/N lasted in the cell before she got herself out.

The guards hadn’t searched her. Idiots. She still had her lockpicks. She had her money. And most importantly, she had no fucking intention of rotting in that cell for the next two days.

The lock was easy. The only problem was the exit. Going through the front door was suicide, so she inspected the barred window. To her shock, one of the bars was loose.

Huh. Lucky fucking day.

She yanked on it, twisted it, cursed under her breath as her muscles ached with effort. Finally, the cement gave, and the bar came free. Perfect. She slipped through the gap, her body barely fitting, hit the ground running, and disappeared into the alleys.

Hans never made it to the prison. He stopped dead when he saw her.

Y/N was just standing there in a side alley, looking around to check if anyone was coming.

Then she spotted him. And instead of looking guilty or concerned, she grinned like the devil himself- the biggest, most shit-eating grin he had ever seen. She just raised her hand and flipped him off.

Hans burst out laughing, as Y/N winked at him before she sprinted away disappearing into Rattay alleys.

He stood there in the street, hands on his hips, laughing like a complete idiot. The past forty-eight hours had been the most insane, reckless, hilarious, chaotic, and dangerous of his life. Probably the best forty-eight hours of his life. And somehow, it had all being because of her.

That wild, unpredictable, infuriating, brilliant woman. That crazy woman he didn’t even like.

Right?

Chapter Text

Henry hadn’t had a moment to breathe since that night. Sir Radzig, likely tipped off by Hanush, had been keeping him under relentless work—guard duty at dawn, grueling training sessions with Captain Bernard, hours of lectures about warfare and politics, and long days riding between settlements delivering messages or escorting nobles. It was exhausting, but it was shaping him. He was stronger, sharper, more disciplined. Bernard had even started to acknowledge his improvements, which was rare praise from the gruff captain.

But despite all the progress, Henry couldn’t shake off his thoughts about Y/N and Hans. Their wild night out had been a moment of absolute madness, but it had also been… fun. He found himself laughing at random times when he thought back to Hans dancing like an idiot or Y/N throwing punches at guards.

Still, he hadn’t seen her since. Not surprising—she probably preferred the woods to city life. But a part of him wondered if she’d ever show up again.

One afternoon, after finishing a patrol, Henry made his way to Theresa’s house. After days of barely seeing her, he finally had an evening free to spend some time with his girl. When he arrived, she was sitting outside on a wooden bench, patching up an old shirt.

"You look like you’ve been through hell," she said, eyeing the dried sweat and dirt on his face.

"Feels like it too," Henry sighed as he sat down next to her, stretching out his sore legs. "Captain Bernard nearly killed me this morning, then I had to run to Samopesh and back. I swear, Radzig’s trying to break me."

Theresa smirked. "And yet you’re still alive. Who knew a blacksmith’s son could handle this much noble hardship?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Barely. And you? What have you been up to?"

"Oh, the usual," she said, setting down the shirt. "Helping Peshek with the mill, running the household, making sure we don’t go hungry. And, you know, keeping an eye out for troublemakers sneaking into my home." She nudged him playfully.

Henry grinned. "I wouldn’t call myself a troublemaker. More of an unfortunate victim of circumstance."

"Sure, sure," she said, rolling her eyes. "So, what’s new in the grand adventures of Henry of Skalitz?"

That was when he hesitated for a moment, then said, "Actually… I ran into someone from Skalitz."

Theresa turned to him with curiosity. "Oh?"

"Y/N. You remember her?"

Theresa’s expression shifted slightly. "The witch’s daughter?"

Henry winced at the nickname. "She’s not a witch, Theresa. And neither was her mother."

Theresa shrugged, but there was a hint of unease in her voice. "I remember her. She never spoke to anyone much. Always in the woods, always alone. She was odd. I never liked her."

"She had her reasons," Henry defended. "She’s… different, yeah. But she’s a good person. She helped us on a mission for the lords. She fights like a demon, can hunt anything, and honestly—" He smirked. "She might be the only person in Bohemia who can make Lord Capon shut up."

That made Theresa snort, but she still seemed wary. "And you trust her?"

"I do."

She studied him for a moment, then sighed. "Alright. If you say so. But she’s trouble, Henry. I can feel it."

Henry laughed. "Oh, she’s trouble, alright. Just not the kind you think."

Theresa leaned back against the bench, eyeing him. "And what about Lord Capon? You’re saying she actually puts up with him?"

Henry’s grin widened. "Puts up with him? More like puts him in his place. And I think he likes it."

Theresa let out a short laugh. "A nobleman and a wild girl from the woods. Now that’s a story."

"That’s what I said!" Henry chuckled. "I swear, the two of them bicker like an old married couple."

Theresa smirked. "So, are you playing matchmaker now?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. Any advice?"

She rolled her eyes with a smile. "Oh, you idiot. If they like each other, they’ll figure it out themselves. But if you really want to help, just give them reasons to spend time together. See what happens. People need time to understand their own feelings."

Henry nodded. "Now that sounds like fun. But it’s a good point."

Theresa leaned in slightly. "But tell me the truth—do you think Capon would actually go for a peasant girl?"

Henry smirked. "Hans doesn’t even know what the hell he wants. But I think he’s about to find out."

Y/N had barely left her cabin since returning to the woods. The first day back had been a relief—she could breathe again, away from the stink of the city, the noise of people, and the suffocating presence of nobles. But as the days passed, something felt… off.

She was going about her usual life: tending to the animals, hunting, crafting, trading furs when necessary. But in the quiet moments, her mind kept drifting back to Rattay. To the brawl, to the drinking, to the laughter. To them.

She hadn’t had that much fun in years. Hell, she hadn’t even realized how much she’d missed people. Henry had been a childhood friend, but even Hans—arrogant, spoiled, infuriating Hans—had somehow wormed his way into her thoughts. And that pissed her off.

Standing outside, chopping wood, she spoke aloud to her dog, Cyril, who lay nearby watching her with lazy amusement.

"Don’t look at me like that," she huffed at the dog. "I’m not thinking about him. Or Henry. Or Rattay. I’m not."

Cyril cocked his head.

“This is your fault,” she muttered. “If you were a better conversationalist, I wouldn’t need to think about those two idiots.”

The dog yawned, completely unbothered.

She swung the axe down with more force than necessary. “Stupid lords. Stupid fucking nobles.” She muttered, reaching for another log. “They think they own the whole damn world.” She lined up the axe. “They think they can do whatever they want.” Chop. “Get people killed, start wars, and we’re just supposed to deal with it.” Chop. “They think they can tell people how to live their lives.” Another chop. “Mom died because of them.” Chop. “And now I’m out here missing one of them? Not a chance.”

Cyril laid his head on his paws, unimpressed.

She growled under her breath, throwing a log aside. But then she sighed, dropping the axe for a moment. "Alright, fine. Maybe a little. It’s just—" She hesitated. "It was nice, you know? Being back in town. Being… with people." She hated admitting it, even to herself. "I forgot what it felt like. And those two idiots… they actually treated me like a person. Not a freak. Not a witch’s daughter. Just… Y/N."

She picked up the axe again, gripping it tightly. "But that doesn’t change anything. I don’t belong there. I don’t belong with them. I have my life here. It’s simple. It’s safe." She chopped another log, frustration bubbling in her chest. "I don’t fancy Hans. I don’t. He’s just fun to make fun of. That’s all.”

The dog huffed.

"And I’m not getting involved in their world," she added firmly. "Not their politics. Not their wars. None of it. I’ve got enough blood on my hands."

She wiped sweat off her forehead, scowling. She would stay away. At least, that’s what she told herself. But as she reached for another log, she tried to ignore the fact that she still felt something whenever she thought about those damn fools.

Hans had spent the last few days throwing himself into work, and he hated it.

Not because the work was dull—he was actually handling more responsibilities, from overseeing guards to settling disputes among townsfolk—but because he couldn’t shake off the fact that he was doing it for her.

Y/N’s words had sunk into his skull like an arrow. She had believed in him. That was new. No one had ever believed he could be more than a spoiled brat. And now, for some fucking reason, he wanted to prove her right.

The worst part? He missed her.

He missed her stupid jokes, her reckless attitude, her goddamn smirk. He missed how she made everything feel like an adventure.

And that pissed him off beyond belief.

One afternoon, after resolving a dispute between some peasants arguing over stolen grain, he had found himself standing before Hanush once again, but this time, his uncle wasn’t fuming. In fact, Hanush actually looked at him with something that almost resembled approval.

"You handled that dispute well today," Hanush admitted, arms crossed. "Normally, you’d let the bailiff deal with it. Or worse—turn your nose up and walk away."

Hans gave a lazy shrug. "I just told them to stop acting like idiots."

Hanush let out a small chuckle. "A noble’s duty is more than that. You listened to them. You settled it fairly. You made them feel heard. That’s what a good lord does."

Hans raised a brow. "Careful, uncle. That almost sounded like a compliment."

Hanush exhaled sharply. "You’re finally changing, Hans." He studied him for a long moment. "But I’ll tell you this—whatever the reason for it, you’d best make sure it’s for the right one. A lord must become a better man for his people and his king. Not because of some girl."

Hans immediately scoffed. "A girl? Please, what kind of fool do you take me for?"

Hanush gave him a pointed look but said nothing more.

"Don’t worry," Hans said with a smirk. "I’m still the same charming bastard I’ve always been."

"God help us all, then.” He sighed. “Keep your head straight, boy. No matter how much you enjoy running around with peasants, you’re still a lord. Remember that.”

Hans just gave a lazy salute and walked off, but inside, his mind was racing.

Maybe Hanush was right. Maybe he was losing his damn mind. Because all he could think about was some wild girl from the woods who shouldn’t matter to him at all.

And yet, she did.

Chapter Text

Hans Capon had spent the last two weeks doing exactly what was expected of him—attending councils, sitting through tedious war tactics lectures with Bernard, showing his face at mass, and occasionally even stepping in to settle disputes among the common folks. He had done everything to prove he was a responsible lord, and for the most part, it had worked. Hanush was actually pleased with him.

But none of that mattered right now.

Because despite all the duties, the meetings, the training, and the forced conversations with nobles, Hans had found his mind wandering far too often. Wandering back to the woods. Wandering back to a certain half-wild girl with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue.

Y/N.

One evening, he had found himself sitting outside the tavern with Henry, sharing a drink after a long day. The conversation had drifted naturally, until Henry—who had been unusually quiet—finally spoke up.

"You seen Y/N lately?"

Hans had scoffed, taking a sip of his ale. "No. You?"

Henry shook his head. "Not once. She hasn’t been to town at all I think."

There was a pause.

Hans frowned, staring at the bottom of his cup. “She’s probably just avoiding us.”

Henry sighed. "Yeah… Probably." But he didn’t sound convinced.

Neither of them were.

And that was when the itch had truly begun. The nagging feeling that something was missing. The ridiculous realization that he actually wanted to see her.

It had taken him a ridiculous amount of time to admit it, even to himself. He missed her. The realization had been frustrating beyond belief. He, heir of Rattay, was actually missing some untamed poacher who lived like a savage in the middle of nowhere? It was absurd. It made no sense.

And yet, here he was, waking up early with only one thought in mind—he was going to the woods to see her. Hell to the daily mass and Bernard’s lecture, that day he was going to desert those useless duties to go to the woods. Not that he’d say it outright, of course.

He made his way to Henry’s room, pushing the door open without bothering to knock. Henry, barely awake and rubbing his eyes, looked up with mild irritation.

“What is it, Hans?”

Hans crossed his arms. “I need to borrow your sense of direction, you’re coming with me to the woods.”

Henry blinked. Then, suddenly, a grin threatened to break across his face. “The woods?” he repeated, feigning confusion. “Whatever for?”

Hans sighed, rolling his eyes. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe for a lovely morning stroll? A bit of fresh air? What does it matter?”

Henry sat up, pretending to think. “Hmm… I’d love to, but you know, Sir Radzig’s got me running errands. Important errands. I’d hate to keep him waiting.”

Hans scoffed. “That’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m serious!” Henry insisted, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face. “Lots of work. Bernard’s got me patrolling, Radzig’s sending me to Ledetchko, and I think Theresa wants me to fix a fence or something. Really, no time at all.”

Hans narrowed his eyes. “You’re avoiding coming with me on purpose.”

Henry just shrugged, looking far too smug.

Hans huffed, shaking his head. “Fine. Sit here and polish Bernard’s boots or whatever it is you’re pretending to do. I’ll go myself.”

Henry barely held back a laugh as Hans turned on his heel and stormed out.

Once the door shut, Henry finally let himself smile fully. “About time, you idiot,” he muttered to himself before getting dressed.

Y/N sat perched on a thick branch high above the forest floor, one leg dangling lazily as she chewed on a blade of grass. Her bow rested across her lap, and she watched the ground below with sharp, patient eyes.

Her dogs were doing their job well—pushing small game through the undergrowth, stirring up prey right beneath her. It was an effortless method of hunting, one she had perfected over the years. No running, no chasing, just waiting.

She sighed, stretching her arms over her head. It had been two weeks since Rattay, and she was still trying to shake the feeling it had left behind. The noise, the people, the laughter. She had grown too comfortable, too warm. It made her uneasy.

“Stupid town,” she muttered under her breath. “Stupid lords.”

One of her dogs barked in the distance, but she barely paid attention. She was thinking of Henry. She was glad to have seen him again, even if it had been under chaotic circumstances. He hadn’t changed too much—still stubborn, still reckless, but stronger now. More confident. She liked that about him.

And then there was Hans.

She scoffed to herself. “Idiot.”

Yet, as much as she tried to push it aside, she found herself recalling the way he had looked that night outside the tavern, sitting beside her in the grass. The way he had listened to her, truly listened. The way he had admitted things no noble ever would. The way he had made her laugh.

She shook her head. No, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to get caught up in their world. She had her life, and she was going to keep it that way.

Then, suddenly, she heard footsteps. Heavy, clumsy footsteps crashing through the underbrush, snapping twigs and rustling leaves.

Y/N immediately stiffened, her hand going to her bow.

Then came the cursing.

 “Fucking—ow! Stupid—what the hell is that? Thorns?!”

 Her eyes widened in disbelief.

 Hans.

She squinted, watching as he stumbled through the forest like a lost child, dressed in fine clothes entirely unfit for the woods, muttering curses under his breath. He was swatting at branches, kicking at the ground, trying to get rid of some unseen pest buzzing near his face, looking utterly out of place.

She bit her lip to stifle a laugh.

This was the same man who had kept up with her during the mission in the woods? What had happened to him?

She let him struggle for a little longer, just for her own amusement. If only the castle could see him now. Serves you right, you spoiled bastard. But then he nearly tripped over a root. "For fuck’s sake! Bloody trees everywhere, damned bushes grabbing at me like a tavern wenches—ow!—fucking shit! Sure, let’s leave the damn horse behind and walk like a moron in this cursed fucking forest! Brilliant idea, Capon! I swear to God, Saint... whoever-the-hell, strike me down now and save me from this miserable death!"

And that's when she finally decided to make her presence known. With a smirk, she slowly pulled an arrow from her quiver and she took aim—just next to his foot.

She let the arrow fly.

It struck the ground with a sharp thunk.

Hans yelped, freezing in place. His eyes darted around wildly, his body tensing as he realized he had no cover, no place to run. He looked almost comically terrified.

Y/N chuckled quietly to herself, letting him sweat for a moment before she finally whistled sharply.

Hans turned his head frantically, searching for the source of the sound before finally spotting her. His eyes went wide. She was still grinning, sitting comfortably on her branch like a mischievous spirit, legs swinging idly.

“You look lost, Hans.” she called down mockingly.

Hans’ panic quickly turned to rage. “What in God’s name is wrong with you, woman?!” he bellowed, still catching his breath. “Are you insane?! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

Y/N hummed, tilting her head.

Hans threw up his hands, pacing in a tight, angry circle. “Unbelievable! Absolutely unbelievable! I trek through this damned forest, get attacked by every goddamn bush, nearly die—”

“Oh, come on. You weren’t going to die.”

“—AND THEN SOME LUNATIC SHOOTS AN ARROW AT ME—”

Y/N, still grinning, began to climb down, ignoring his rant entirely.

“—DO YOU REMEMBER WHO I AM?!” he continued, gesturing wildly. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY LAWS YOU’VE PROBABLY BROKEN TODAY?!”

She landed lightly in front of him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing here, Hans?” she asked, entirely too cheerful.

Hans sputtered, momentarily thrown off by her complete disregard for his outburst. “I— What? That’s—” He narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Hunting.”

Hans straightened, brushing dirt off his coat. “You do know this is the king’s land, don’t you?”

Y/N shrugged. “Yes.”

“You do realize that makes you a poacher?”

Y/N’s grin widened. “Yes.”

Hans sighed, rubbing his temples. “Of course you don’t care.”

“Not at all.”

He exhaled slowly, as if trying to find patience. “Right. Well, seeing as I nearly died getting here, I may as well ask—”

“Wanna join me?”

Hans blinked.

Y/N leaned in slightly, smirking. “I mean, you clearly need to learn a thing or two. What better way to get back at the forest than hunting in it?”

Hans crossed his arms. “And why, pray tell, would I agree to this?”

She shrugged. “Because you walked all this way, because you’re curious, and because you hate the idea of being bad at something.”

Hans hesitated, then clicked his tongue. “Fine. But if I get eaten by wolves, I’m haunting you.”

Y/N grinned. “Deal.”

And so, for the next few hours, they hunted.

Y/N, much to her amusement, found that Hans wasn’t entirely useless. He was clumsy, sure, but he was quick to learn. He listened when she explained how to track animals, how to move quietly, how to tell when something was nearby. His aim with a bow was surprisingly good.

They talked as they worked, exchanging stories of the past two weeks.

“So, you actually attended all those noble duties?” Y/N asked, watching as Hans attempted (and failed) to skin a hare.

Hans huffed, tossing the knife down. “Unfortunately, yes. Bernard has been drilling war tactics into my skull, and Hanush seems almost pleased with me.”

Y/N snorted. “Almost.”

“I’m convinced he’s physically incapable of genuine praise.”

Y/N nodded sagely. “Sounds about right.”

Hans smirked, then gestured at her. “And what about you? Still terrorizing the forest?”

Y/N grinned. “As always.”

She continued teaching him as the hunt went on, showing him how to set traps, how to listen to the sounds of the forest, how to gut and prepare an animal properly. By the end of it, they had caught several hares and even managed to bring down a small boar.

Hans, covered in dirt and sweat, looked at the pile of game and let out a tired laugh. “You know, this was actually fun.”

Y/N stretched. “Told you.”

With their spoils gathered, they made their way back to Y/N’s cabin.

As they sat beside the fire, Hans leaned back, stretching out his legs. “So, since I nearly died coming here and spent all day hunting, what do I get in return?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “The satisfaction of learning something new?”

Hans scoffed. “No, no, I mean food and drink. You do have something to offer your poor, weary guest, don’t you?”

Y/N pursed her lips in thought, then nodded. “Wait here.”

She disappeared inside, and when she returned, she held out something wrapped in cloth. Hans unwrapped it, only to freeze.

“… What is this?” he asked flatly.

“Lizards,” she said, completely deadpan. “Hares are for selling, not eating.”

Hans stared at her. She stared back, unblinking.

He genuinely couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

“… You cannot be serious.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly.

Hans looked at the lizards, then at her, then back at the lizards. His face slowly twisted in revulsion.

Y/N held it a moment longer, then suddenly cackled and tossed the lizards to her dogs. “God, your face,” she wheezed, wiping a tear from her eye.

Hans exhaled loudly. “I hate you.”

Y/N, still grinning, began preparing the hares for cooking. “No, you don’t.”

Hans grumbled something under his breath but made no move to leave.

And so, they sat, preparing their meal, the warmth of the fire between them.

The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows over the small clearing outside Y/N’s cabin. The air smelled of roasting hare, mingling with the earthy scent of the forest. The warmth of the flames was welcome against the cool afternoon breeze. Y/N sat cross-legged on the bench, while Hans stretched his legs out, sitting beside her.

Y/N reached behind her, rummaging inside the small wooden crate she had dragged outside. She pulled out a glass bottle filled with a clear liquid and shook it slightly, the liquid catching the firelight.

“Here,” she said, holding it out to him. “Something you have never tried.”

Hans narrowed his eyes, eyeing the bottle with suspicion. “What is it?”

Y/N grinned. “Just something I make myself.”

Hans hesitated. “After the lizards, I’m not sure I should trust you with food or drink anymore.”

Y/N chuckled, taking a swig straight from the bottle before passing it to him. “It’s strong, I’ll give you that, but it’s good. Try it.”

Hans sighed, deciding to take the risk. He took the bottle from her hands and lifted it to his lips. The moment the liquid touched his tongue, he regretted his decision. It burned like fire, running down his throat with a heat so intense that he coughed, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Holy shit—” he gasped, clearing his throat.

Y/N laughed, patting his shoulder. “Not bad, huh?”

“That’s not liquor, that’s poison,” Hans rasped, his voice hoarse. He took a deep breath, shaking his head. “God’s wounds, how are you still alive if you drink this?”

Y/N took another sip effortlessly, smirking. “Builds character.”

Hans wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shook his head. “And here I thought I had seen everything…” He looked at the bottle again, still in disbelief. “Did you make this?”

She nodded proudly. “Of course.”

Hans glanced at her with genuine curiosity. “How the fuck can you make literally anything?”

Y/N’s smile softened. She leaned back slightly, staring at the fire as if the memories were playing in the flames. “My mother taught me about the forest. Herbs, hunting, tending animals, crafting stuff."

Hans noticed the shift in her voice. "How was she?"

Y/N turned to him, slightly surprised he actually wanted to know about her mother. "Her name was Helena. She was beautiful. She had that kind of beauty that scared people off. Too beautiful, too smart. Too different from any other woman. That’s where all the ‘witch’ nonsense came from.”

Hans watched her closely, listening intently.

“She never talked about her parents,” Y/N continued. “I don’t know if she ran away from them or if something happened, but she did talk about my father.” She looked at Hans, her expression unreadable. “Lorenzo. An Italian knight. Came to Skalitz escorting some nobleman. He was the only one who ever looked at her like she was a person, not a monster. She fell for him. And then he left, never knowing about me.”

Hans frowned. “And she never tried to find him?”

Y/N shook her head. “No. She was… romantic -much more romantic than me-, but not foolish. She never wanted to trap him. She just accepted it and moved on.” She smiled faintly. “She raised me on her own, on her own terms. She taught me to be free. Like she was.”

Hans was quiet for a moment. He heard stories like those in legends, read them in books. But for Y/N it was real. That was her story, her life. He looked at her once more, finding himself thinking it was clear she got her beauty from her mother and those spunky Italian traits from her father, but he immediately pushed the thought back, before saying, “She sounds like an incredible woman.”

Y/N nodded, not really expecting Hans to agree with such an unconventional story. “She was.”

There was a comfortable silence between them before Y/N tilted her head at him. “What about your parents?”

Hans exhaled, stiffing up his body a bit. “My father was the Lord of Perkstein. An old, grumpy bastard, but he was funny in his own way. Died when I was eight, so Hanush took over.”

“And your mother?”

Hans hesitated, then shrugged. “She was much younger than my father when he married her. Married for politics, of course, since her family's noble as well. I can't say she's bad, I guess she's just exactly how you'd imagine a noblewoman to be.”

Y/N furrowed her brows. “Don't make me imagine, Hans. Tell me.”

Hans waved a hand. “You know how noble families are. Everything is about duty, politics, and bloodlines. She did what she was supposed to do, nothing more, nothing less. As soon as I was sixteen, she sent me here to learn from Hanush. To be prepared to take the lead of the region.”

Y/N stared at him, then smirked. “So that’s why Hanush is so eager to send you back to her, marry you off and be done with you. They just can't deal with anything different from usual.”

Hans rolled his eyes. “God, don’t remind me.”

“I mean,” Y/N became even more serious. “He really talked shit about you the morning after we got drunk. That do is kind of bad.”

Hans huffed, taking another sip of the liquor—this time more carefully. “I’m used to it. I probably deserve it anyway.”

Y/N’s expression darkened slightly. “You don't. And you shouldn’t be.”

Hans glanced at her, surprised by the seriousness in her tone.

“Family is supposed to love you, not just… control you,” she said. “If they don’t, then they’re no better than strangers.”

Hans scoffed. “Look at you. So sentimental. I thought you didn’t believe in love.”

Y/N blinked, then snorted. "Because what I said that night? God, how can you remember anything from it.”

Hans smirked. “I remember every word of that night.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You do?”

“Oh, yes.” Hans grinned. “Especially the part where you admitted I was handsome.”

Y/N groaned, shaking her head. “Of course that’s what you remember.”

Hans chuckled. “How could I forget? It was the first and only compliment you ever gave me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “And yet you don’t remember the part where I called you a coward.”

Hans’ smirk faltered slightly. “I do remember that as well.”

“So,” Y/N said, leaning forward. “Why did you dodge my question?”

Hans exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t ready to answer it.”

“And now?” she challenged.

Hans met her gaze, his expression unusually serious. He took a slow breath, then finally said, “I’ve been… confused about you. About what to think of you.” He glanced away. “You frustrate me, you challenge me, and you refuse to respect the world as it is.” He looked back at her. “But the more I’ve gotten to know you, the more I’ve realized that I admire that about you. That I… respect you.”

Y/N stared at him. She hadn’t expected that.

Hans let out a dry laugh. “And it drives me mad.”

Y/N hadn't expected him to say that—not the honesty, not the respect, not the sheer frustration in his voice. She had expected him to keep dodging, keep playing, keep being the arrogant nobleman she had first met. But this? This was different. This was real. And for the first time, she wondered if she had found something rare—a true friend, someone who saw her for who she was, not just for what she seemed.

Of course, that was all it could be. A friend. Nothing more. She never thought of herself as someone who could be more than that to anyone.

Hans, though—he wasn’t quite so sure anymore. The irritation, the fascination, the undeniable pull he felt toward her—it wasn’t something he could ignore much longer. He wasn’t ready to name it, wasn’t sure what to do with it, but he knew one thing: Y/N was getting under his skin in a way no one ever had before.

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head once again. “You’re impossible, Capon.”

He smirked. “So are you.”

They sat there, drinking and eating, talking about the stupid things they had done that night in Rattay—the brawl, the dice game, the dancing, the running. When the sun started to sink lower, Hans sighed.

“I should go.”

Y/N stretched her arms. “Yeah. Wouldn’t want Hanush to send out a search party for his lost little heir.”

Hans stood up, stretching, then looked down at her. “Thank you, Y/N. For everything.”

Y/N looked at him, slightly surprised by the sincerity in his voice. Then she smirked. “Don’t mention it.”

Hans hesitated, then added, “I think your talent is wasted out here.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You wanted to be a knight once. You told me that.” Hans said. “You should go to Rattay. Talk to Captain Bernard. Prove them all wrong.”

Y/N snorted. “You’re delusional.”

Hans smirked. “Just think about it.”

She watched as he walked off into the woods, heading back to Rattay. As she sat there, staring at the fire, she realized that for the first time in years, she didn’t feel alone.

And that scared her more than anything.

Chapter Text

Y/N had thought she had buried that childhood dream long ago, under layers of disappointment, grief, and survival. Yet Hans’ careless suggestion had rooted itself deeper in her mind than she cared to admit.

She found herself recalling nights spent sneaking into the barracks as a child, swinging sticks like swords, pretending to be a knight. That was before her mother's death — before everything changed. After that, she'd buried that dream. Hard. For her own good. But now, damn him, Hans had scratched open that old scar. And it itched.

Still, she couldn't just walk among people, not like that. Living half-wild on the edge of the woods meant her anonymity was her greatest shield. If anyone truly knew who she was, the life she lived, it could put her in danger she wasn't ready for.

So if she ever followed through with this reckless idea, it would be on her own terms: riding to Rattay each day, training, working, and then returning to her cabin before nightfall. No moving into town. No crowds. No eyes on her.

As days passed, Y/N tried to push the thought aside, but it lingered, like a stone in her boot — annoying and persistent, when, finally, one morning, after tossing and turning all night, she swung her legs off her bed with a grunt of frustration.

“Fine,” she muttered to herself. “Let’s get rejected and be done with it.”

She arrived at Rattay under the rising sun, riding hard and fast, dressed in her usual way: practical, worn man’s clothes, boots caked in mud, a heavy sword strapped to her saddle.

As she clattered through the upper castle gates, heads turned, guards straightened and servants paused mid-step. The sight of a lone rider, especially one dressed like a soldier but bearing no banner, was enough to raise suspicion.

Y/N ignored the stares. Sliding off her horse, she adjusted her belt, when one guard called, eyes narrowing. "Oi, you lost, lass?"

“I need to speak to Captain Bernard,” she said curtly.

The man raised an eyebrow. “What for?”

“Personal matter.”

The guards exchanged doubtful glances, but one of them — younger and clearly eager to get rid of her — grumbled and set off.

Y/N stood there, arms crossed, under the heavy gaze of the soldiers loitering nearby. Muttered whispers started, a few snickers following, as some recognized her from the rumours: the wild girl from the woods who had dragged Hans Capon and Henry back half-dead from a hunting trip, and who had led a daring attack against a Cuman camp. But rumours were one thing. Standing here, in the flesh, asking for Bernard like she had any right, was another.

Eventually, Bernard appeared, muttering curses under his breath about "wasting his time."

But the moment he laid eyes on her, his demeanour shifted. He remembered: the strange, stubborn girl who had done what most seasoned soldiers wouldn’t dare.

"Well, shit," he said. "You again."

She gave a short nod, "Me again."

Bernard scratched his beard, suspicious. "So what’s this about?"

Y/N took a breath. “I want in. I want to work. Train. Go through whatever steps it takes to become a knight.”

For a moment, there was only stunned silence.

Then a burst of laughter ran among the guards as they nudged each other, whispering, snickering louder. Bernard stared at her like she'd grown two heads.

“You’re serious?” he finally asked

“As a sword to the gut,” she said without blinking.

Bernard let out a dry chuckle. “Alright, if you're so eager to waste my time, show me what you can do.”

The training yard quickly buzzed with excitement. Word spread like wildfire: a woman was challenging the guards. Soldiers came with their weapons and armour, eager to test her. Others gathered along the walls, the whispers growing louder. It wasn’t long before townsfolk started trickling in, abandoning chores and shops to witness the strange spectacle.

Meanwhile, high on the castle wall, Henry was patrolling when he overheard excited chatter among the guards running down towards the main yard.

"Some girl's challenging the entire damn barracks to a tournament."

"A woman? You're joking."

"No joke. Captain's letting her fight."

Henry frowned. A woman? And then it hit him. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

Without a second thought, he sprinted toward the castle. He burst into Hans' chambers, finding the young noble still in bed—alone, surprisingly. Hans groaned, barely stirring, but Henry yanked the sheets off him. “Get up. Now.”

Hans squinted at him. "Unless you're on fire, Henry, I swear-"

"It's Y/N."

Hans sat up immediately. “What? She hurt?”

Henry tossed him a shirt and he grabbed his arm. "Move, you bastard!"

In seconds, they were on the balcony overlooking the training yard, Hans still dragging on a coat, Henry practically dying of anxiety not knowing what was going on.

Hans leaned on the wood railing, a smug smirk already curling his lips as he saw her down there, adjusting her gauntlets.

“Looks like I was right,” he murmured.

Henry stared. “What the hell is she doing?”

Hans chuckled. “She’s proving a point. To all of us.”

Down below, Y/N jumped into the ring, armoured up in borrowed gear that was slightly too big for her.

The first opponent came forward, a young soldier clad in chainmail. He smirked at her, clearly not taking the fight seriously.

“Sure you don’t want to back out, girl?”

Y/N grinned. “And miss the chance to humiliate you? Never.”

“Don’t cry when you lose, sweetheart,” he jeered.

The duel began. The soldier fought with trained precision, keeping his stance perfect. Y/N, however, played by her own rules. She feinted left, then abruptly kicked dirt into his face. He stumbled back, coughing, and she capitalized on it, striking his arm and knocking his sword away before sweeping his legs out from under him.

The watching soldiers groaned and laughed. Some were annoyed by her tactics; others found them amusing. Bernard, however, was watching closely, arms crossed.

The next match went similarly — and the next. Opponent after opponent, Y/N won. She wielded different weapons, adapting quickly, fighting dirty, using every trick she knew. While the crowd cheered her or booed her, enjoying the duels like an entertaining show, the Captain studied every move she made: he soon realized her victories weren’t just skill—they were cunning. She fought smart, she read her opponents, she exploited their weaknesses and cared little for formality. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t knightly. But it was damn effective.

Hans was amused. He couldn't get his eyes off her. “She’s playing them like fools.”

“That’s... not regulation.” Henry replied. He's seen Y/N fighting dirty before, that day she trained him, but he realized she had gone soft on him. She wasn't fighting to win, like she was now. And it was making him uncomfortable.

“Oh, fuck regulation, Henry.” Hans replied, clearly enjoying himself.

Y/N’s last opponent was bigger — a seasoned soldier with heavy plate armour. This time, she switched tactics, dancing around his slow strikes, wearing him down, until she landed a brutal hit behind his knee. He crashed to the ground, and she pointed her sword at his neck.

The crowd roared. But before Y/N could claim her victory in the tournament, Bernard jumped over the fence, into the ring.

People got instantly silent, only murmurs and gasps running among them. Captain Bernard never fought in tournaments and games. He only trained the best soldiers and lords. He had been Captain in Rattay for decades. He fought more wars and battles he could count. Y/N must have made a damn impression on him to make him get into the yard.

Hans wondered if it was a good or a bad one.

“I’ll be your last opponent,” Bernard announced, "Let’s see what you’re really made of.”

Y/N was unbothered. She didn't realize how unusual that was. To her, the Captain was just another man she had to prove wrong. And that was enough. She raised her sword to salute. So did Bernard. And then, the fight began.

They squared off. The tension in the yard shifted. Unlike her previous opponents, Bernard didn’t hesitate. He lunged immediately, forcing her to dodge. He fought like a warrior who had seen real battle—dirty, brutal, and unrelenting. When she tried to kick his knee, he caught her ankle and yanked her forward, making her stumble. When she went for his ribs, he twisted away and rammed his elbow into her shoulder.

For the first time in the tournament, Y/N was struggling. As soon as she realized she had underestimated the old captain, her smirk faded. She started fighting seriously. Her strikes turned vicious. Her footwork sharper. It was like watching two predators tearing into each other.

Hans leaned forward, watching intently. He had never seen Y/N like this. No jokes, no grins, only cold, fierce determination. It was scary and amusing at the same time.

“She’s...” Henry murmured.

“A demon,” Hans finished, eyes gleaming.

The duel stretched on much longer than the previous ones — both fighters were battered, panting, bleeding from shallow cuts.

Then, finally, Bernard feinted left, spun, and knocked Y/N flat on her arse.

Silence lingered on the crowd for a moment longer, until it erupted in shouts and laughs. Of course people cheered for their captain instead the wild girl who knocked on their arses the previous 10 trained soldiers.

Y/N sat there for a moment, stunned, breathing heavily. Bernard extended a hand, but she pushed herself up without taking it.

That made Bernard laugh, while he brushed blood from his lip. “You fought dirty.”

She wiped her mouth and shot him a look. “So did you. Wars aren’t won by playing clean.”

Bernard barked a laugh. “And what would you possibly know about wars, girl?”

“Enough,” she said simply.

They stared at each other for a moment longer, while the crowd was starting to disperse and people to come back to their usual business. Then slowly, Bernard nodded in respect. “It was dirty, but it was damn good. You fought well. You got skill. But skill isn't enough for knighthood”

Y/N scoffed. She knew he was right, but she didn't like to actually hear it out loud. "I guess I have too much manners to learn, then." She thought that was it: the excuse to reject her. The excuse she was waiting for, so she could go back to her life and forget about that stupid hitch Hans had put in her head. Bernard opened his mouth to answer, but he got interrupted by Hans and Henry who had ran down the castle balcony.

Henry beamed. “That was incredible, Y/N!”

Y/N turned to him, smiling softly, and hugged him tightly. "It's so good to see you, Henry.

“Seems like I was right,” Hans grinned proudly, gaining only a side eye from Y/N. "Oh, come on, don't be petty." But she still didn't speak to him.

So Bernard took a step forward, gaining Y/N's attention back. "If you want a place, you're in. It's guard duty first. Standard training, standard pay."

The group fell silent, waiting for Y/N to answer. But she wasn't expecting that. Not in a million years. So she didn't know what to say. She thought she was going to be kicked out of town, she thought the Captain would have never allowed a woman to fight at the castle, let alone to offer her a job. She frowned, and she shook her head. “I’m not wasting my time standing around with a halberd. I don't want a job, or a shitty pay. I make my own money. I want the knighthood."

Bernard scratched his beard thoughtfully. He wasn’t used to negotiating — least of all with savage girls who fought like demons. But he saw something in her, watching her fighting, and he didn't want to let it slip away back to the wood's wilderness. "You need to train for that, you need to study, there are steps you need to follow..." He paused, trying to read her expression. It seemed like she was still waiting for rejection. Like she had already given up. Then he gave up, so she couldn't. "Fine. Here's the deal. I'll guide you. I'll train you. And you're working for me, reporting directly to me. Either is guard duty or missions or shovelling shit. You think you can do that?"

Y/N took a moment to elaborate. She needed to see Henry and Hans smiling like idiots at the Captain's words to fully realize he really just accepted to make her a knight. A little grin slowly started to appear on her face. "I'm not shovelling shit. But yeah, that's a better deal."

Bernard stretched his hand towards her. And this time she took it, sealing the deal. "I'll have to find a proper place for you to stay. Even if you could gut my men in their sleep, I'm not comfortable to throw a girl in the quarters."

Y/N let out a laugh. "I'm not staying in town; I have my own place I have to come back to."

Bernard shrugged, "Good. But if you come in late in the morning, you're out."

 Y/N only nodded.

"Let's find you some proper armour. You look ridiculous in that shit." Bernard started walking, and Y/N fell into step with him, before quickly turning around one last time to look at her friends. Their proud, amused smirk calmed for good that little worry that was still hanging inside her. Worry to leave her hidden, quiet life behind. Worry to find out she wasn't good enough after all.

She was doing it. She was chasing that dream she had buried down since she was 10. And it felt strangely good. It felt right, like that might have been her place, even if she denied that for years.

As Y/N left with Bernard, Henry and Hans headed back to castle. "What the hell just happened, Hans?" Henry asked, still confused.

“What do you mean what happened? Didn’t you see her kicking ass?” Hans was giving away far too easily his excitement for seeing Y/N. And Henry of course noticed it.

“Yeah, Capon, but why? What was that about knighthood?”

Hans turned to him, surprised, almost stopping. “She wants to become a knight. So I suggested she should have swallowed her pride and stop hiding in the woods.” Henry’s face was a picture, and that made Hans frown. “Didn’t you know?”

“No! I didn’t!” Henry finally snapped. “A knight? She’s smart, but she’s a woman-”

“So what?” Hans interrupted him.

“They’re never going to give her knighthood!”

Hans rolled his eyes and started walking again. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Henry. When will you pull that stick out of your arse? She’s no regular woman. If she really wants it, she’ll get it.”

Hans was right, but Henry couldn’t help but still worry about Y/N and about how dangerous it could be for her. Especially after what happened to her mother. The way the young lord was defending her though, made Henry smirk.

“How did you know about it anyway?”

Hans miserably tried to play it cool. “She told me.”

“When?”

“I don’t know- that night of the Cuman camp.”

“And you told her then to come here?” Henry wasn’t going to give up.

But Hans stopped their stroll once again, since they were almost inside the castle. “What’s the matter with you? I don’t know when it was- who cares?”

Henry couldn't hide his grin anymore, and he let out a little chuckle. “You bastard, it was the other day, wasn’t it? When you asked me to escort you to the woods. I knew you wanted to see her!”

Hans’ eyes grew wider and he hushed Henry, checking if there was anyone around. “Are you mad, Henry? Of course not! I met her by chance-”

Henry shook his head, still chuckling. “Oh, come on. You were alone with her. In the woods. All day. What happened?”

Hans stiffened. He grabbed Henry by the arm, and he walked quickly inside, to his rooms. “Nothing happened. She scared the shit out of me with a bow. We hunted. We ate. That’s it.”

Henry raised a brow. “And you talked, apparently.”

Hans sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just told her she should stop wasting her time hiding in the forest and chase what she really wants.”

Henry laughed under his breath. “And she listened to you- how romantic.”

Hans was embarrassed like he’d never been in his life, but he smiled despite himself, the memory apparently not entirely unpleasant. “Shut up, Henry. There’s nothing romantic. We’re not even friends, and most certainly I don’t like her- she’s a peasant who lives like a savage, I’m Lord Capon of Pirkstein.”

Henry shook his head at the poor attempt of denying the truth. “Don’t worry, my Lord,” He put a hand on Hans’ shoulder. “Since you’re always right, she’ll soon stop being a peasant and she’ll become a knight.” He winked, and he left without waiting for Hans to reply.

“Romantic,” Hans muttered by himself. “That wasn’t romantic.”

While he was getting dressed properly, he tried to convince himself by recalling in his head what happened that day in the forest, by denying the fact he was eager to see her, by ignoring the way he was starting to look at her, that he actually liked her. Really liked her. That would have been not only inconvenient, but also utterly stupid. Because there was no way on earth Y/N could ever like him back. Right?

Chapter Text

Y/N had never worked so damn hard in her life.

From the moment she’d stepped into Bernard’s ranks, the bastard had made it his personal mission to break her. No fancy welcomes, no soft start. Just sweat, bruises, and pain from dawn till dusk. And it wasn’t just swordplay—though in that, at least, she shone. The weapons came naturally, like old friends she hadn’t seen in a while. Axe, mace, longsword—she handled them all with a ferocity that made even seasoned men keep their distance in the ring. Horse riding too: fast, agile, fearless. She was damn near unbeatable.

But then came the rest of it.

Latin. Literature. Etiquette.

Holy shit.

“Sit like a lady,” they'd say. “Walk like a noble,” they'd say. “Don’t curse, don’t slouch, don’t snarl.” Fucking miserable.

Y/N did snarl. She slouched when she was tired. And she had no time for frilly court manners. Her back ached more from holding stupid upright posture than from all the sparring.

Still, she listened. Begrudgingly, yeah, but she did. Because, for the first time in years, she had something real to chase. Something that felt like hers.

Bernard, much to his own surprise, had grown fond of her. Not that he said it out loud, but it showed—in the way he corrected her less harshly, in the way he handed her the heavier sword with the ghost of a smirk. She was rough around the edges, but she worked like hell. He respected that.

The missions started soon after. Guard duty. Escorts. Runners. Patrolling with Henry when their shifts lined up. One day, though, she nearly clocked a guard in the jaw when he grabbed her arm too rough during a routine check.

That led to her worst day yet. Shovelling horse shit in the stables from dawn till midday.

“Discipline,” Bernard had said with that maddeningly calm voice. “And if you’ve got energy to throw punches, you’ve got energy to clean stalls.”

She did argue. But it was useless. So she did it anyway.

But despite the chaos, her days started to fall into rhythm. Train, work, eat, ride home. Every night she returned to her cabin in the woods, to the quiet and the trees and the smell of pine. But even that started to wear thin. She was too tired to ride an hour each way, every day. So she started selling off her animals, slowly. One goat. Then a few chickens. Until one day, she packed what little mattered, whistled for her dogs, and moved into a cramped, one-room hut just outside Rattay’s walls.

It wasn’t much. But it was hers.

And she felt... good. Happy, even. For the first time in years, she didn’t feel like she was drifting. She had purpose.

One night, for once, all three of them had the evening free.

There was a bard in town, something rare enough to cause a stir. Word spread that he came from some remote hole up north, dragging tales and songs with him. So of course, the tavern was packed. Lanterns glowed warm across the yard. Music floated from the back, half-lost under the thrum of voices and clinking mugs.

Y/N spotted Hans and Henry already at their usual table, two battered benches wedged into the corner of the courtyard under the shadow of a timbered roof. She dropped onto the bench with a groan, her sword thunking against the wood.

“Beer,” she muttered.

Hans slid his mug toward her without a word.

She chugged half of it before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “If I have to spend one more afternoon learning how to curtsey like a fuckin’ duchess, I swear I’ll hang myself with my own belt.”

Hans grinned. “I’d pay to see that.”

“Very funny,” she mocked him. “You try sitting straight for three hours while some prune-faced hag jabs your back with a stick.”

Henry chuckled. “She’s not wrong. Those posture drills are cruel.”

Hans laughed loudly. “I did those lectures. When I was 12. And I complained way less than what you’re doing now.”

Y/N didn’t believe it a second. “Oh please, you complain when your feather cushion isn’t soft enough. You surely cried your eyes out for hours.”

Hans smirked. “Someone’s touchy tonight,” he leaned back, watching her with half a smile. “You’re talking like Bernard’s been torturing you. Come on, you’ve survived worse.”

“Oh, for sure. But at least when I was stabbing bears in the woods, no one told me my elbows were unladylike.”

That made Henry snort, while Hans chuckled again. “You said you wanted the knighthood. This is what you get.”

Y/N silenced him with a gesture of her hand, wanting to change the topic. “Yeah, yeah, lucky me. So,” she took another swing of her beer, “what about you two? Still pushing quills for your lordly duties?”

Hans shrugged. “Same as always. Reports, meetings, making sure the guards don’t drink themselves blind.”

“Got assigned to tutor the new lads,” Henry added. “Young, green, and cocky. One of them is the bailiff’s boy.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Y/N muttered, eyes narrowing.

And just like that—speak of the devil—Lukas strutted into the yard with two friends, all piss and vinegar. Laughing loud, talking louder. He didn’t spot them yet.

Y/N pointed with her chin. “There. That’s the little shit.”

Hans frowned. “What’s the matter with him?”

Henry spoke first. “He’s been sniffing around her like a dog in heat for weeks.”

Hans’s hand tightened slightly around his mug.

Y/N exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “He’s relentless. Starts with sweet words—‘You’re different from the other girls, Y/N’, ‘You’ve got a fire in you’—bullshit like that. Then he asks me to go walking with him, or says he can show me ‘how a real noble treats a lady.’ I told him to piss off.”

“Charming,” Hans muttered.

“Oh, it gets worse,” she said, twisting in her seat to watch Lukas as he laughed at some joke. “He doesn’t like hearing no. Thinks it’s a game. Starts saying how he could show me a good time, you know? And I quote, ‘You’re probably just wound up from all that sword-swinging, need a man to help you relax.’”

Hans choked on his beer.

“I swear, I nearly rammed my fist down his throat,” she growled.

Hans coughed. “To be fair… he’s a good match. Noble blood. Rich. Might even put a good word with the king for you.”

Y/N turned on him, squinting. “Oh, fuck off.”

“I’m just saying. You could do worse.”

“I could do better by getting a donkey drunk and marrying it.”

Jealousy was already eating Hans from inside out, and he was desperately trying to hide it by teasing Y/N. At the same time, he was also trying to find out what Y/N was really feeling for Lukas. Or for any other guy, actually.

Henry immediately saw the miserable attempt, and grinned, noticing that Y/N didn’t instead, being too busy complaining about her suitor or too blind to notice Hans.

“He’s sleeping with a different girl every night. He doesn’t want to get married; he just wants to get between my legs. That fucker-”

Hans tightened his jaw. A sudden urge to teach Lukas a lesson was starting to raise.

“So what’s the problem?” Henry spoke up. “You don’t mind one-night deals, do you?” The slay bastard said it on purpose, to make Hans even madder and hoping to get something else out of Y/N. And that he did.

“What has gotten into you, Henry?” Hans muttered.

“No, I don’t. But he’s more distant to be my type than anyone else. The asshole is rude, he stinks and he’s a whiny little bitch. As I said, I’d prefer a donkey.” That said, Y/N raised a hand, waving for more beer.

Henry grinned one more time seeing Hans getting a little calmer.

Hans still wanted to beat Lukas for good, but he started wondering what Y/N’s type was then. And he spaced out, staring at her. For about a minute. His mind was running wild to places he didn’t want to admit, not even to himself, fantasising on her liking him despite being a rich, whining noble himself. Much like Lukas.

He was dragged out of his daydream when the tavern girl passed by with a jug of ale. She poured beer to Henry and Y/N, and then she leaned down low over Hans to top off his cup, flashing a little too much cleavage for coincidence.

Y/N watched the exchange, then turned to him with a crooked smile.

“Huh. You don’t chase the tavern girls anymore. Why’s that, Hans? Getting old?”

He rolled his eyes. “Busy.”

“Busy not getting laid, maybe.”

Henry nearly spat his beer.

Hans waved a hand. “I have… standards.”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Y/N said. “Since when?”

“Since I realized most of them reek of cheap perfume and desperation.”

“Funny. I thought that was your natural scent.”

Henry wheezed. “Gods, stop. I can’t breathe.”

The three of them burst out laughing, the easy kind that made their chests ache. It had been too long since they’d sat like this, shoulders close, the firelight flickering, the music in the distance giving a backdrop to their noise.

Eventually, the hour grew late, and the bard’s lute grew slow and soft.

Y/N stretched, cracking her neck. “Right. I’m off. Dogs’ll be waiting.”

Henry stood too. “Back to patrol for me.”

Hans sighed. “Guess I should go too, then.”

They stepped out into the cooler night air, parting ways with tired smiles and full hearts. For once, the world didn’t feel heavy. Not tonight.

Not with them together again.

Chapter Text

The morning sun was barely warming the walls of Rattay upper castle yard, and yet Y/N and Henry were already slouched on a bench, boots caked in dried mud, trying not to yawn too loudly. The stone under their arses was still cold, the kind of cold that crawled up your spine and made you grumpy before breakfast. The place was quiet, too quiet for that hour. Normally by now Bernard would’ve shown up out of nowhere, barking orders like a ghost that never sleeps.

But not today.

Y/N squinted toward the gate and scratched the back of her neck. “He’s late.”

Henry looked around, arms crossed. “He’s never late. Ever.”

“Maybe he died in his sleep,” she said, half serious, half hoping.

“That’d be a bloody miracle. But no, he’ll show up with that grumpy face of his and scream at us for not already being halfway to Talmberg.”

Y/N stretched her legs out with a groan. “If we leave and go find something to do, he’ll kill us.”

“If we stay here and look lazy, he’ll still kill us,” Henry muttered.

They sat in silence for another minute or two, watching the occasional guard shuffle by. Then, finally, the door to the Lord’s chambers opened, and Bernard stepped out.

But not alone.

Y/N straightened up. “There he is—wait…”

Henry stood too. “He never comes from there.”

Bernard was walking briskly, his face carved in stone, flanked by two of his most trusted men. He didn’t look pissed, he looked focused—deadly focused. They could see his mouth moving quickly, giving orders, pointing toward the stables, then toward the gates. Soldiers started moving around with purpose. It didn’t take long to understand something was wrong.

Y/N and Henry exchanged a glance.

“Shit,” Henry muttered.

Bernard stormed toward them. His eyes raked across the yard before landing on them. “You two, gear up. We leave in less than an hour. You,” he barked at the younger recruits nearby, “take the day off. Enjoy it. You’ll miss it tomorrow.”

Y/N tilted her head, “What’s the mission?”

“Get dressed, get your horses. I’ll brief you when we’re all gathered.”

Which meant: don’t ask questions.

Y/N and Henry didn’t argue. They were already across the yard, heading for the barracks.

“Sheesh,” Y/N muttered, buckling her belt, “he’s barkier than usual.”

“We’ll see why in a bit. I can smell the mess from here.”

They gathered close to the upper gate, a dozen mounted soldiers all waiting silently, their horses shifting nervously under them. Y/N and Henry arrived fully geared and took their place. The tension was thick. Everyone could feel it, that tight pressure in the chest, the one that said this wasn’t a routine patrol.

Bernard rode in front of them, steel in his voice. “News from Neuhof came at dawn. They were attacked last night. Badly. We’re going to find out what happened.”

That was all.

No details, no theories. Just that.

“Great,” Y/N muttered under her breath. “Could’ve just told us it was hell and saved time.”

Henry shrugged. “Welcome to working under Bernard. No details, just action.”

They rode out through the gates, the sound of hooves muffled by the morning mist. The further they went, the heavier the air felt. And once they reached Neuhof… they understood why.

It looked like the world had ended.

Half the barns were burned down, their charred skeletons black against the sky. Houses were smashed open like rotten fruit. Dead cattle lay in the mud, bloated and bloody. Even the dogs were dead—some of them cut down mid-run. The entire ground stank of smoke, shit, and blood. So much blood that the dirt was stained red like clay.

Y/N pulled her horse to a halt, mouth dry. “Holy fuck…”

Henry didn’t answer. He was already climbing down.

The group entered the main yard slowly, like walking through a graveyard. Eyes wide, weapons still in hand. But there was no more fighting to be done—just aftermath.

They started spreading out, some soldiers checking buildings, others talking to the few survivors who looked more like ghosts than people. Y/N and Henry stuck together, heading toward the back of the yard where an old woman sat on the ground, cradling a bloodied man.

He was clearly dead.

Y/N crouched. “Ma’am… hey… we’re here to help.”

The woman didn’t seem to hear her. Her hands were shaking, stained dark. There was a gash across her leg, deep and caked with dried blood. Y/N winced.

“You’re hurt. Let me help.”

She dug through her saddlebag for a cloth and some of the ointment she brought from her hut. It stank like vinegar and old herbs, but it did the job. She worked fast but not too rough, glancing up at the woman every so often.

Henry knelt by the dead man and gently pulled his cloak over his face. “Poor man.”

Eventually, the woman blinked and seemed to come back to herself.

Y/N sat beside her, wiping her hands. “What happened here?”

“They came… in the dark,” the woman whispered. “They came with fire and blades. All black. Hoods… no faces…”

“How many?” Henry asked.

“Too many. We heard screaming first. Then the fire. My husband—he went out to stop them. They cut him down.”

Y/N kept her voice calm. “What did they take?”

The woman looked around. “They didn’t… take gold. Or food. They just—killed. Burned. And then… some of the men… they dragged them away. And the boys. But not the women. Not the old.”

Henry frowned. “They took people?”

“Alive,” she whispered. “Screaming.”

Y/N stood up slowly, her hands clenched.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Henry said under his breath as they walked away. “Bandits don’t leave loot. They don’t take prisoners.”

Y/N shook her head. “They weren’t after coin.”

“Then what?”

She stopped walking and looked around. “They were after people. The strong ones. Workers. Fighters.”

“You think it’s slavers?”

“Maybe. Or worse.”

They circled back and asked the few survivors who had the strength to speak. It matched up. The missing were mostly young men, boys, or those strong enough to resist. Old men were killed outright. Women and children were left behind.

Y/N scribbled on a piece of parchment. “Twenty-seven gone. That’s more than half the men.”

Henry sighed. “What the hell are we dealing with?”

They walked back to the center of the yard. Bernard was standing there, arms crossed, barking at soldiers.

But next to him—what the fuck?

Y/N slowed down. “Is that—?”

“Hans?” Henry blinked. “What the hell is he doing here?”

Hans Capon was there, red cloak, perfectly brushed hair, standing like someone who was supposed to be somewhere else. He turned when he saw them and gave a short nod.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Now I’m really curious.”

Henry just groaned. “This day’s getting stranger by the minute.”

As Y/N and Henry crossed the blood-soaked yard toward Bernard, they saw him locked in what was clearly an argument with Hans. The two were talking in hushed but sharp tones, faces tense, Bernard’s arms crossed and his brows drawn tight, while Hans gestured with one hand like he was trying to explain away a crime he hadn’t quite committed—yet.

Y/N and Henry exchanged a look. Henry gave a soft whistle. “That’s gonna end well.”

“Depends on your definition of ‘well’,” Y/N muttered, adjusting the belt of her sword as they approached.

As soon as Bernard noticed them, he cut the conversation short with a pointed glance. Hans straightened and put on that slippery courtly smile of his, the one that always reeked of trouble.

“M’lord,” Henry greeted him with an exaggerated bow, way too polite to be sincere.

Y/N followed suit, deadpan serious. “Lord Capon.”

Hans rolled his eyes, though a grin tugged at his lips. “Oh fuck off, both of you. He knows we’re pals”

Bernard turned to Hans again, voice hard. “You’re gonna tell me what you’re doing here. Now.”

Hans gave a shrug, trying to stay casual. “Just came to have a look. You said yourself it was bad, didn’t you? Thought I should see it myself, as the future lord of the region.”

“You thought,” Bernard repeated, with the kind of disgust that usually came with scraping something unpleasant off his boot. “Hanush didn’t send you?”

“No,” Hans admitted, with just a bit too much pride. “He didn’t. I saddled up and came myself.”

Henry sighed, already imagining the fallout. “Shit.”

Y/N actually chuckled, arms crossed. “Took some balls, I’ll give you that.”

“Balls and no bloody brains,” Bernard snapped. “You’re a noble, not a knight. This isn’t a fucking field trip.”

“I can handle myself—”

“No. You can drink yourself under a table and flirt with the tavern girls until your cock falls off, but this is real.” Bernard jabbed a finger at the burning remains of a stable. “People died here. You screw up, I have to clean it. Again.”

Hans held up both hands. “I’m not here to make things worse. Just want to help. I can keep my head down. Learn something.”

Bernard rubbed a hand across his face, already regretting not posting guards at Hans’ door.

“You’ll stay. But one screw-up, and I’m sending your arse back to Hanush in a sack,” Bernard grunted. “Henry, you’re on him. Keep him breathing.”

Henry nodded grimly. “As always.”

“And you,” Bernard turned to Y/N, “you stick with them. Consider it a lesson. Escorting nobility isn’t about banter and throwing punches.”

“Yes, Captain,” she answered, barely managing not to grin.

“Report,” Bernard ordered.

Henry stepped forward, quickly summarizing what they’d seen: burned homes, slaughtered livestock, no signs of looting. Y/N added the bit about the missing people—mostly men and boys.

Bernard’s face tightened. “Shit.”

He fell silent, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Then he turned and shouted to the other soldiers, barking orders. Some would stay behind to help the peasants, others would keep questioning the survivors. He was going back.

Y/N, Henry, and Hans were in the second group. Investigation duty.

They walked the ruined farm again, filling Hans in on everything.

“No signs of looting?” he repeated, brow furrowed. “So it wasn’t bandits.”

“Exactly,” Henry said. “And too organized to be some roaming thugs.”

“They came for the people,” Y/N added, her voice low. “That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Hans didn’t reply, but his jaw tightened. He wasn’t the kind of man who liked feeling useless, and this wasn’t some noble courtly game he could bluff through. When they reached the western edge of the property, Y/N suddenly stopped, eyes fixed on the ground. Wagon tracks, faint but clear enough to someone who knew what to look for.

“There,” she said, pointing. “Those lines. Two wheels, deep marks. They head into the woods.”

Hans squinted. “There are tracks all over the damn place.”

“Yeah, but these go into the forest,” she said. “Not around the farm. No looping back. They left.”

Henry leaned in. “She’s right. That’s a proper trail. Could be something.”

Back in the saddle, the three followed the tracks under the trees, weapons ready, tension rising with each step deeper into the woods. For nearly an hour they saw nothing but bent branches, hoofprints, the occasional broken twig.

Then the trees opened into a wide grassy clearing, and at the far end stood an old roadside tavern.

“Well, that’s convenient,” Hans muttered.

But as soon as they reached the tavern yard, the wagon tracks vanished—mixed into dozens of others from carts and travellers.

“Fuck me,” Y/N growled. “They’re gone.”

Hans chuckled. “I missed this. You swearing at mud.”

“Don’t push me, Capon.”

Henry dismounted first. “We’ll ask around.”

They questioned the innkeeper, two tired girls scrubbing mugs, a handful of locals. Everyone had the same story: they’d seen carts come and go, but nothing suspicious. Or maybe they just didn’t want to talk.

Frustrated, the trio sat down on a bench outside the tavern. Y/N stretched out her legs, arms folded. Hans leaned back against the wall, arms behind his head, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Henry was scribbling in his little notebook. “Let’s just assume for now they passed through. We need to find where they went next.”

Then came the noise.

A crash. A loud, slurred voice. The door of the tavern burst open and a man stumbled out, shirt half torn, shouting into the sky.

“They’re here!” he bellowed. “The black men! I saw them!”

“The fuck?” Y/N muttered.

The innkeeper shoved the man further away, clearly done with him. “Piss off, Jaro! Come back when you’re sober!”

Y/N snorted. “Bit early to be that drunk. Lad’s better than me.”

Then she heard it:

“They come at night—cloaks, all in black—they serve the Devil himself! The Red Lord! We’re all dead, you know? All dead!”

The three of them snapped upright at once.

“Henry,” Y/N said sharply.

“On it.”

They rushed over, trying to calm the man down, get him somewhere away from the growing group of curious drinkers.

“Easy, friend,” Henry said gently. “Let’s get you sat down, huh?”

“I saw them! Cloaks like shadows! Burned it all—took them! The Red Lord knows your name—he knows!”

“Shut the fuck up and sit down,” Y/N muttered, trying to steady him. “We just wanna talk.”

But then the man swayed, blinked hard. His face had gone pale as death. He coughed, staggered—and suddenly blood poured from his mouth.

Hans recoiled. “Holy shit—!”

The man dropped like a sack of rocks, twitching, spasming. Within moments, he lay still, blood puddling beneath him.

Henry crouched beside him, eyes wide. “He’s gone.”

Y/N stared, then something clicked in her gut. That look. That smell. That—

“Poison,” she whispered. “Fuck, that was poison.”

She turned and sprinted inside the tavern, straight to the terrified innkeeper.

“You! What did he drink? What did he eat?” she barked, grabbing his tunic.

“I—I don’t know! The same as always, beer, stew, bread—”

“Don’t lie to me!” Y/N hissed.

Henry ran in and pulled her back. “Let him talk!”

“I don’t know,” the keeper repeated, shaking. “He drinks himself out every night. The same cheap beer as the others. He was sat over there!”

Y/N stomped over to the table, nose wrinkling. “There.”

A bowl. Still there, empty, some crusted edge left. She sniffed. Then cursed and dropped it. “Fuck. I know this.”

Hans leaned in. “What is it?”

“Bikh. Indian Aconite. The real shit. You breathe it wrong and you’ll piss your guts out and drop dead. It’s a proper killer. Works in minutes.  It comes from far east. It’s made from this rare flower—tall, blue blossoms, has to be refined slow,” Y/N muttered. “I only saw it once, in Sasau...behind a locked door.”

“And you know this how?” Henry asked, already suspecting the answer.

Y/N gave him a crooked smile. “I lived in Sasau for a while. Worked as a herbalist, sort of. Did some... unofficial trading with the monastery. They showed me stuff. Recipes. Books. I remember this one because the monk said the plant wasn’t local—they bought the seeds from some foreign merchant.”

Henry straightened. “The monastery has a book on this?”

“They have a book on everything. But this- there’s only one copy,” Y/N said. “I’m sure of it.”

The three of them stood in silence. The tavern bustled around them, unaware that a man had just been murdered by something ancient and hidden.

Hans exhaled. “So what the hell are we into?”

Y/N looked at them both. “Something that goes deeper than bandits or missing farmers. This—this is something else.”

Henry nodded grimly. “We ride back. Now.”

Without another word, they mounted their horses and turned back toward Rattay, hooves pounding the dirt as they left the tavern—and the poisoned corpse—behind.

Whatever that was, it was bigger than them now. Time to tell Bernard. And the lords.

Chapter Text

The hooves of their horses thudded rhythmically against the dirt path, but even the sound couldn’t chase away the tension. The woods on either side swayed gently with the morning breeze, golden light seeping through the trees, but the mood among the three riders was heavy as iron.

Henry rode ahead, a few meters in front of them. His posture stiff, his shoulders tight, his gaze locked dead ahead. He didn’t look back once.

Y/N watched him for a while in silence, the wind lifting the loose strands of hair from her face, then turned slightly in her saddle toward Hans, who was riding beside her. “What’s up with him?” she asked, voice low. “He looks like he’s already back in Rattay, reporting this whole mess to Hanush with a dagger in his gut.”

Hans glanced at Henry, then back to her. His face had none of his usual smugness. He spoke calmly, even gently. “He always gets like this when things go south. Ever since Skalitz.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You mean the massacre?”

Hans nodded once. “He carries it with him. Every damn day. He sees threats where there might be none, conspiracies under every stone. That village broke him in a way he won’t let anyone see.”

Y/N turned her eyes forward again, watching Henry’s back as he rode, silent and unmoving. “I never asked him about it,” she admitted. “Could always tell it still… hurt. Figured it wasn’t my place.”

Hans looked down at his reins for a moment, his voice quieter now. “It’s not just pain. It’s guilt. Deep, rotting guilt he can’t shake. When the Cuman army came, his father told him to run. Henry did. His father went back for his mother.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked toward Hans again, her expression unreadable. He went on.

“They didn’t make it. Henry got far enough to watch them die. From a hillside, helpless. He saw it all.”

A cold breath settled over Y/N’s spine. “Fuck…” she whispered.

“Yeah.”

She shook her head slowly, eyes narrowing. “But it wasn’t his fault. He would’ve died too if he’d stayed. He couldn’t fight back then.”

Hans nodded. “He knows. I know. But it doesn’t matter. He still thinks he should’ve done something. Anything. The guilt doesn’t give a shit about reason.”

A silence fell over them, broken only by the wind in the trees and the steady clop of hooves.

Hans rubbed the back of his neck, thoughtful. “Since then, it’s like he’s been on this path. Vengeance, justice, whatever you wanna call it. He’s still chasing the bastard who led the attack. Still searching for that sword his father forged. He thinks everything he sees now ties back to that day. Like the world’s still trying to finish what it started.”

Y/N glanced sideways at him. “I didn’t know any of this.”

Hans shrugged. “Most don’t. He doesn’t talk about it. But I know him. He carries that day in his blood.”

Y/N was quiet for a long stretch, then said, “I don’t want him to live like that. All twisted up inside, always hunting something, seeing shadows in the light.”

Hans looked at her. The edge of her profile was softened by the morning sun. She wasn’t snarling. Wasn’t teasing. Her voice wasn’t biting or defensive. It was warm. Concerned. Honest.

And that did something to him.

“You say that,” he said quietly, “but aren’t you doing the same?”

She turned to him, eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t flinch. There was no sarcasm in his tone, no smug smile playing on his lips—just a calm, earnest question. “You hate nobles. You live like the world’s got a blade to your throat. You see enemies in fine boots and clean hands.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. Not because he said it, but because of how he said it—like he was worried. Like he cared.

She turned away. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“My whole life is… outside their world,” she muttered. “I don’t have the luxury of pretending I belong. Henry chose to be someone. A knight. A fucking banner to ride behind. I don’t even have a banner.”

Hans smiled faintly. “You’re not wrong. Your way of living could piss off a lot of powerful people. But you’re stepping into the world again, Y/N. Even if it’s just a toe. You train. You take orders. You’re with us. That matters.”

She didn’t respond right away. Just stared straight ahead, her jaw working slightly as if chewing on the words.

Hans glanced at her from the side. “I’m glad you’re doing it,” he added, softer now. “Even if it’s on your own terms.”

Y/N smiled. Not her usual smirk, not the sarcastic twist of lips she used to mock and deflect—this one was small. Honest. For a second it slipped out before she noticed it, and then, almost embarrassed, she pulled it back like a cloak too far off her shoulders.

“…Thanks,” she said quietly. “For telling me about Henry. And for what you said.”

Hans blinked. No sass. No biting comeback. Just… thanks.

He didn’t expect it. And something inside him stirred—something warm and unnameable and far too dangerous to be left unchecked.

He looked at her again, not as the wild, unpredictable girl who always barked at guards and walked barefoot through horse shit like she didn’t care—but as someone who’d fought to survive, who never bowed, who smiled like it hurt and still managed to shine.

And suddenly, Hans felt it.

Not a crush. Not a passing infatuation with the only girl who could beat him at dice and fistfights.

Something deeper. Something slow-burning and terrifying. Something that made the world around them blur for just a second—trees, road, wind, all gone silent except for the thunder in his chest.

He loved her.

He loved her crooked grin and her sharp tongue and the way she never let anyone define her. He loved that she knew pain and still got on her horse every morning. He loved that she listened without pity, and smiled without needing anything back.

God help him, he loved her.

And it hit him right there—on a cold Thursday morning, after a massacre and a poisoned drunk, with the wind against his cheeks and the stink of blood still in his nose.

She didn’t love him. Of course not. They were friends, in that weird, impossible way only they could be.

But the truth was out now, and he couldn’t shove it back in.

He turned his head away from her, clearing his throat softly, heart thudding.

“Anytime,” he murmured.

Y/N glanced sideways. She caught something in his voice—something just below the surface. But she didn’t press. She just rode in silence, her eyes now occasionally flicking toward Henry ahead, but her mind—unwillingly—lingering a little longer on Hans.

And Hans… he kept his eyes forward.

But inside, nothing was the same anymore.

Not after that smile.

Not after that moment.

And not after that truth.