“Tyron, where is my sword?” she said, her voice short.  

“Here m-my l-lady,” the short man replied as he cowered in her presence.

Lady Primrose Greenleaf was a striking figure as she stood in the doorway of the armory. The small pieces of armor laced into her leather tunic glinted in the sun that streamed through the window set deep in the castle wall. The streaks of raven color in her hair caught Tyron’s eye as she stalked toward him.

“You were supposed to have my sword sharp and arrows fletched hours ago. How did a blithering idiot like you become the swords master of the realm?” Her voice was cold. The sharpness in her voice sent a chill down Tyron’s spine.

“But but m-my l-lady…” The words twisted in his mouth.

Rose heard the jingle of metal against leather but paid no mind to it. Whoever was leaning against the door frame of the armory was of no consequence to her.

“Lady Primrose, I believe the cooks would like to use your temper to light the ovens,” a man in leather and armor said as he leaned against the door frame.

Rose picked up a dagger that rested on the table next to her and deftly threw it at him. The man refused to flinch as the sharp blade flew at him. It stuck in the wood of the door frame next to his head.

He laughed at her supposed failed attempt. “Lady Primrose, it seems you have missed your target. If your skill is a great as your legend, I would have expected more.”

“You know that the king frowns upon the killing of knights except in battle Skylark.” Her words were even colder, exasperated by this simple man. “I did not miss. I merely heeded the words of the king.”

Ever since her last mission almost a month ago, she had been cold towards Skylark. She had been captured and tortured by the enemies until blood had dripped from her body. Sky had been her savior and yet she hated him for it. He had treated her like a damsel in distress when she was nowhere near the sort. It had been obvious in the time that she had known Sky that he held some sort of romantic feelings for her. That fact scared her and her cold outer façade was a much better armor than chainmail.

Skylark bowed his head. She knew the laws that the king had set for the knights better than any of the men that were beneath her. That was why she had become the one who was in charge of the knights.

“You are right, m’lady. But even so, it seems that the disciplined Lady Primrose has a temper tantrum that she must dispel. You may borrow my blade, m’lady. It is at your disposal until your anger cools. At that time, you will find me in my chambers.”

Skylark left with a flourish, the clank of his armor echoing down the hall. She reached to pick up a blade that was polished to a perfect sheen, the inlaid silver rose in the hilt a striking contrast to the gold that surrounded it.

She knew that the rose inlaid in his sword was meant for her. She still denied his love and whatever feelings that she may have for him. Knights did not have time for love, only duty and honor.

The blade felt oddly balanced in her hand, more so than her own blade Ghrian. It was a fact that surprised her as Skylark was a much bigger man compared to her small willowy frame. Over time and through many hours of strict exercise, she had built her body to the point that she could handle the weight of a broadsword but even then, her blade had been made to her very exact specifications.

She hated that his blade fit her so well. She was angry that it seemed like he kept trying to save her when that was not what she wanted. Fate and the other women in realm may say that Skylark’s blade being perfectly balanced for her meant that the pair should be more than commander and the commanded but Rose refused to let her personal feelings for Sky undermine her ability to lead the knights.

“Will Skylark’s blade serve you m-my lady?” Tyron stuttered, still cowering from the shock of her earlier tone.

“This will serve me well Tyron. But be warned, my blade had best be done when I return.”

“Yes m-my lady.”

She slung the blade around her hips and stalked from the armory. The temperature dropped as she stepped into the dim hallway. The castle had been her home for many years but she had yet to get used to the dropping temperature. The corridors were damp and the torches could barely stay lit as the dripping water from the rafters made their flames sputter to a halt.

Her anger was not directed toward Tyron, or even Skylark for that matter. The anger in her heart spun from larger problems that darkened her life. She scratched her back and felt the warmth of blood as it ran down her spine. Her anger stemmed from the last mission that the king had sent her on and the aftermath that had nearly ruined her life.

Word had reached the king that assassins from another land had entered the land of Cré with the intention of killing his daughter, Aspen. It was told that the king’s daughter had come into an unknown magic and that she would be the one to undo the tragedies that came from the end of the war. While Aspen had no trace of magic in her blood, these assassins greatly worried the king and he had sent a group of knights to deter them and find out how these men had come about their information.

The group contained Skylark, his brother Riversong, Greenbriar the land’s mage, and Lady Primrose. It was supposed to be a simple mission but it had almost been something that she had not come home from. She had been scouting ahead of the men as she was the quietest and most easily hidden of all of them. The others were only a few steps behind her but with the thick trees in the Black Forest, she could not see them. She had worn her softest leather boots to keep her movements silent in a forest full of downed trees and twigs. A bird call that was a signal from one of her men rang through the air and she turned towards the sound. A twig snapping echoed through the quiet air. She looked down to see a broken twig beneath her foot. A simple misstep had the enemy bearing down on her.

Her men were nowhere in sight. The bird call had been to signal a retreat and she had been a second too slow. As this was just a scouting mission, she had not thought to bring her blade or her bow. While she had a small dagger in the belt at her waist, it would do little against the three large men that stood in front of her. Their smiles said that they had found what they were looking for and were not there to talk. They moved toward her and a brief scuffle ensued with her capture being the eventual end result.

On these missions she always took the precautions to hide the fact that she was a woman. As a female knight was unheard of, she always made sure that she could blend in with the men around her. Her loose tunic had been made to fit a man and cover the leather bindings with which she bound her chest. With her hair kept in a knot at the back of her head, she could pass as Skylark with the only difference being her raven hair.

Within the land of Cré in the Trisad realm, Rose’s existence as a knight was the king’s best kept secret. No one knew that a female knight existed of a skill level such as Rose. Rumors had been spread of the great knight Skylark and his conquests against other men. This reputation had been built upon the feats of both Sky and Rose so the two forms blended together into a story that could not be separated into what either individual had done.

Because of this reputation, it was not hard to believe that Rose was the famed Skylark. The earlier fight had done nothing but solidify that fact in her captors’ minds. In other realms, the bounty on Skylark’s head was plentiful and these men had just stumbled upon the most profitable mission they had probably ever had. It wasn’t enough to just find out information about Aspen and her magic powers, they had to show they had conquered the great Skylark Evergreen.

The men took Rose back to their camp. She knew that they would want information about Aspen and her supposed powers but her orders were not to give any indication whether or not Aspen had any powers. Quickly they figured this out and turned to torture to get what they wanted.

Rose flinched at the feeling of warm blood running down her back. That feeling mixed with the cool dampness of the hallway brought back the memory of the end of the whip cutting into the flesh of her back. It burned with each stroke but she remembered the musty taste of the gag in her mouth as she bit back a groan. She refused their orders for information and their fervor was felt in each cut of the whip.

She felt the tickling brush of a few stray hairs tumbling from the knot on her neck. What an odd thing to think of when her back was burning. It had been hours since she had been captured and the whipping was not the first of the tortures she had endured. She could feel the swelling in her face from the repeated beatings. Her wrists bled from the ties that bound her to the tree so they could use the whip to its full extent. The burning in her back was heightened by the sweat that dripped from her as she struggled to keep the tears from falling and the noises of pain to fall from her lips. Even with the pain and the torture she had endured, she prayed that the tattered tunic she still wore would be enough to cover her so that they would not realize that she was a woman. If these men knew she was a woman, her fate would be much worse.

Lost in the memory, Rose felt her body tense up, bracing for the next blow. Anyone walking past would see her strong body bowed, burdened with memories of pain. She braced for a blow that never came as she remembered the sound of the whip slicing through the air. She had finally allowed herself to close her eyes for a second, a time that was much longer than she thought. She remembered opening her eyes and hoping that she was not being prepared for the next round of torture.

Rose braced herself against the wall. She had to ignore the memories, the responses that they invoked in her still tender and torn flesh. Knights did not break and become weaklings after a torture. She refused to do that. She continued to the training room that was cast in a semi darkness. There was no point in lighting the torches. She did not want to see the blood that had begun to stain her tunic. She focused on the real thing that had sent her to the armory this morning in a fit of rage, her anger at Aspen.

Anger flared inside her. Why did they have to choose the end of that mission of all times to decide that she, the lady knight Primrose, had to be the one to babysit that bratty child that  was her half-sister? She was no governess. She was a knight, fierce and blinding in her striking coldness. She was not one to sit at home when the other knights were off doing her duties. She was the one in charge, not some lowly little peasant. She wanted to invoke her position as the king’s daughter but it was that damned title that had gotten her here in the first place.

The damned king and his cursed daughter. That daughter named Princess Aspen that had men flock to her and held them in her sway. She was nothing but a child, a wretched spoiled child. She did not deserve her title or the men that she kept. Might as well have been a harem for all the rooms that floated between the knights. Honor and chivalry, Rose huffed, those were nothing to the men that Rose had beneath her. Aspen lifted her skirt to any man that would give her the time of day. Her honor had left the moment she began acting like some lowly king’s concubine instead of the daughter of the king of the Trisad realms.

Rose wondered if Riversong had been one of the men that her whorish sister had lain with. Of all the knights Aspen could have, she went after the two that had been Rose’s solid foundation. River would fall in the clutches of Aspen’s feminine wiles but Sky was much more of a knight than many with that title. Sky would not have given in to her sister’s lustful needs, unless a direct order had been issued by either herself or the king. But Rose, Lady Primrose Greenleaf, was the king’s eldest daughter and would not see the two best men she had in her arsenal soiled by the likes of the beloved princess.

She took a deep breath as she finally made it to the armory. Blood soaked her tunic but she needed the time alone with a sword and a dummy to dispel anger that had built up over the last month. Her anger either had to be dispelled or it would consume her. If that happened, she would end up doing something that she regretted and could possibly end her career as a knight.

Her anger at Aspen morphed into adrenaline as she struck at the straw dummy before her with her blade. Thrust. Parry. Go for the heart. Slash. Twirl away. Cleave the helm. Repeat. Sweat dripped into her eyes as she ran her body through the complicated symphony of moves. She pushed the black wave of pain away as she kept moving. The sword was an extension of her body and her anger hummed through the blade. Thrust. Parry. “Wretched child,” she spit. Spin Slash. “Whorish wraith.”

“Primrose.” The anger drained from her body and was replaced by fear and loathing. Her father. The King of the Trisad realms. The man who had sired the youngest knight in the realm and the atrocity known as Aspen. The man standing behind her had no right to ask that she call him her father. He was nothing. He was trash. But he was the king.

He had come to her in the middle of the night when she was sixteen, less than a year away from becoming a knight. His sudden appearance that night scared her. What had she done wrong? Those that she trained with always joked that she would be the first one of them to be cut and forced to return back to the streets from which she came. He had told her that he was her father, using secrets that she shared with only her mother to prove his claim. They had talked for a few moments about her new status but then his order tore all visions of grandeur from her mind. She was told that she must keep her status a secret and that she must renounce the life she had led before. If she promised to be the king’s faithful servant, he would care for her mother. The only catch was that Rose would never be allowed to see her mother again.

“Yes Father?” The bile burned the back of her throat as she spit the words. That title burned her tongue like acid and how she wished that she could tell him so. He was a monster, just as his child. But his blood ran through her veins. Although his body had not given her life, she was forced to treat him more highly than her mother.

“We have much to discuss little one. Put down your blade.” How dare he call her ‘little one’? She was not the smallest of his children or the weakest. She was much more than the simple status of knight that he gave her credit for but he cared not. It did not matter that her brawn was matched by her brains. His only happiness in life would be to have an heir to the throne other than his supposed worthless daughters. But no one, not even her cursed sister, knew that she was the king’s daughter. She had no claim to the throne nor any want to grant the king an heir. Lady Primrose was not the woman that her title dictate that she should be. She was a knight and those who mentioned that she was a woman and had no right on the battlefield did not live to tell of her response.

“Yes Father.” Again the acid taste burned her mouth. Why did she have to suffer and play in this delusion that the king had for her? She would never be the person, more specifically the woman that he expected his daughters to be.

She laid Sky’s blade on the ground next to her. She crossed her arms, the only act of defiance that she would allow herself. She was still a knight and subservient to this man, whether he was her father or not.

“How are you? Have your wounds healed?” he asked, with a tone that feigned concern.

She had to bite back a laugh. Her green tunic was stained black with blood and she knew blood dripped from her wrists. She was far from healed but she refused to be her sister’s keeper any longer.

Rose had already suffered for a month in the position of governess over her sister as her injuries made it impossible to fulfill her duties as a knight. She had listened to Aspen’s babble over men and clothes as the other women in the castle had tried to teach her the proper ways to do things that a lady of her stature should know. Rose knew that her father had given her this position as some form of preparation for her possible ascent to the throne but she also knew that he had given her this position because of the precarious nature of the situation involving seeing her mother.

“I am fine Father. Why have you come to see me?”

“There have been more threats against Aspen.”

“From whom?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“The same group that gave you those wounds,” the king replied with a smirk.

You arrogant bastard, she thought to herself.

“Can you handle a new mission Primrose?”

“I believe so sire.”

Her anger reverted her back to her knight training. The king was not her father. She served this man as a knight. She knew that the pain in her back would come and go and be difficult to deal with but she was ready to get back to doing things that she had been trained for instead of the worthless task of governess over her sister. Rose knew that the king would not allow her to go alone and that the person she would be forced to take would be Sky.

“Go tell Aspen of your departure. Then come to my chambers and I will give you the final information of my decision.”

Rose bowed her head in response. She assumed this was enough of an acknowledgement and bent to retrieve Sky’s sword. When she stood up and moved to sheath the blade, the king wordlessly asked to see it. She handed him the shining blade hilt first, as was customary to do. The freshly sharpened blade cut into her palm as the king removed it from her grasp.

“D’ardaigh,” the king said, brushing the symbol on the pommel with his thumb. “Do you know what it means?” the king asked in his condescending way.

“Rose,” she could barely say.

“If I recall, D’ardaigh is the name of Skylark Evergreen’s blade. It seems that young Skylark has feelings for you Lady Primrose.”

“A lie to be certain, sire. There are many other women named Rose in the kingdom.”

Rose knew that the words she had spoken to be a lie as the silver rose inlaid in the pommel was a primrose. She was the only one by that name in the numerous realms.

The king returned the sword to her. She gripped the hilt, trying to stanch the bleeding in her hand.

“I give you leave Lady Primrose. Visit Aspen and return to me for your orders.”

“Yes sire,” she curtsied.

She heard the flourish of his cloak as he left. When she raised her eyes, she watched as the tip of his cloak fluttered out of sight. She felt the gush of blood around the pommel of Sky’s sword. The sight of blood reminded her once again of her last mission. She did not remember how she had gotten away from her captors. There was nothing but a blank space in her mind before she opened her eyes. When she did, she was no longer bound and her tattered tunic was gone. She lay on her stomach on a cot. The sounds of men talking and clattering armor told her that she was in an encampment. She only hoped that it was one of friends.

The tent flap opened and it wasn’t long before she felt the soothing touch of something being spread on her wounds. Rose knew that if this was the enemy, that another round of torture was eminent. But the way this person’s hands felt on her heated skin made her believe that she was among comrades.

“Lady Primrose, why did you allow yourself to be captured?” River asked.

“Because they wanted Skylark. They believed I was him so they captured me. They wanted to know of Aspen and her powers,” Rose replied, her voice shaky.

“I must report this to the king. He worries enough about Aspen without this development.” With that, River rushed out of the tent.

She knew that if River had left, then it had been Sky that had been attending to her wounds. He had paused when she said that the enemy had thought that she was him.

“Why did you do it Rose? We were coming. You should have waited for us.”

“I had to know what they wanted Sky. If they had known who I was, they would have killed me. I pretended I was you. I had to know…”

Rose remembered her words trailing off as Sky’s lips brushed along the tops of her shoulders. He was the group’s healer but she knew that his hands were better suited for other things. Skylark was a fearless warrior, one who could rival her in battle. His only weakness was women.

“How are you feeling?” he whispered in her ear as he pulled the tie from her hair.

“Better,” she said through clenched teeth as he touched a particularly painful spot.

“I’ll go get Greenbriar to heal you.”

“Please don’t,” she whispered as he opened the flap to the tent.

She tried to justify to herself why she had said that. As much as her wounds hurt, she wanted them. It was not just self-preservation that had led her to say that she was Skylark. She knew that the torture would end in nothing but death. And she could not stand to let him die. Rose refused to admit that she held some bit of love for him. Her love for him had grown from the days that they had spent together as they waited for their fathers to come home and bring them a better life. Sky had known that would never happen but he had promised Rose’s mother that he would take care of her. He had done just that every day since the day River and Sky had saved her from the rabbit snare ten years ago.

“And why not?” Sky snapped at her.

“Just please Sky. Let them heal naturally.”

She refused to look at him. His anger permeated the room and she couldn’t bear to face him.

“Rose, look at me,” he growled.

She kept her eyes down. At this point, she knew she was in trouble.

Rose saw the anger in his eyes as he pulled her up by her hair to face him. She was not scared but she was close to admitting that she loved him.

“When you do heal, we have much to talk about Lady Primrose. I want to know the real reason that a warrior such as yourself begged me to leave your wounds be.”

Rose felt the tears run down her face as she remembered the way her heart broke when Sky walked out of that tent. She had almost died yet she still couldn’t admit that she loved the man that had taken care of her for so long. Ever since she had been caught in the rabbit snare when she was ten, Sky and River had taken care of her and treated her like family. She hastily wiped away the tears and thought about what she had to do next.

She had no desire to visit her spoiled sister but she relished the fact that she was no longer a governess. With Sky’s blade sheathed at her hip, she was prepared to meet her sister.

The dark stone corridors were cold as she marched her way to Aspen’s room. The last four years in this castle had done nothing for her love of the royal family, especially Aspen. She repressed the urge to spit on one of the brilliantly red tapestries that hung around the corner from her sister’s room. Rose had finally reached the part of the castle where Greenbriar’s magical torches lit the dark walls.

The rooms where she and the other knights lived were far from the swank interior of Aspen’s rooms. The knights were relegated to a level of the castle that was almost a dungeon. The walls were covered in a dark colored slime that could make you ill at the worst of times. Greenbriar’s fires did not light these corridors. Very rarely were these corridors lit as the draft made it impossible to keep a fire going.

As much as she hated the squalor the knights were kept in and the riches the royals lived in, she adored the small house the king had granted her in the city. Her position within the royal family had allowed her a space of her own that found itself between squalor and riches. It was the light and warmth of her small home that she coveted the most.

Her soft leather boots sunk into the plush rug that covered Aspen’s floor. The root of her disdain for her sister lay in the privilege that Aspen had and the discipline she lacked. How could the royals live like this when those outside the castle doors froze in the winter? It was not her place to question her father.

Rose had spent so many years trying to deny the fact that the king was her father. She was only three years older than Aspen but Rose was a battle-hardened warrior that made her appear older than her years. Rose’s mother had been a chambermaid for the king long before Rose was born. She had been conceived in a midnight tryst that the king had denied for many years. It was not until it had come out that Rose was one of the best pages that trained did the king claim her. The man her mother had married was out of the picture and the king had gone to Rose and claimed that he was her father.

Very few people knew that Rose was the daughter of the king. She was the oldest of his children which made her next in line for the throne. She knew that he hoped that she would claim her birthright one day as her abilities to lead would make her a fair but great ruler. Rose refused. She did not want that life of royalty. She hated Aspen and her father and what they represented. She was happy with a life of knighthood. Riversong and Skylark were four years older than Rose but she had been knighted with them on their twenty-first birthday. They had served four years together in the service of the king. Even with her service as a knight, the king had decided to call her by the title of lady, which was the title given to the empty-headed women that many of the knights married. It was an insult to Rose but it was either be named a lady or a princess.

Aspen had been nowhere to be found. Rose assumed that she was probably off somewhere with some of the other empty-headed women in the castle or had found another man that thought he was ready to court Princess Aspen. Either way, Rose did not see it worth her time to leave a note for Aspen or to wait around for her.

Rose began the long walk to her home, elated that she did not have to inform her sister that she was leaving. She thought of her father and his cold, controlling attitude towards her and why he had suddenly decided that she must return to her knightly duties. When she had been named Aspen’s governess, it had been an order that was to last many years. Rose was the only lady knight, the only one that supposedly had the training to keep Aspen out of harm’s way. But even then, after only a few weeks the king had given her a mission. She was confused about his intentions and what this mission meant for her.

She was not worried about setting out tomorrow, even though she knew that hiding the rivulets of blood that ran down her back from Sky would be almost impossible. He was attuned to her every movement. It had always been that way. She was far from ready for this mission but she knew that she had to go so that she could get away from the duty of governess over Aspen that the king has chosen to bestow upon her. It didn’t matter that the bite of a cold draft through the castle’s corridors had her tensing with the memories of a burning whip cutting through her back. She couldn’t bear having someone touch her still sensitive skin. She hated the way the waves of black pain washing over her and the blood dripping from her back and wrists twisted her stomach. It didn’t matter that the last mission haunted her like a bad dream, knights were not weaklings. She refused to back down.