The tent flap fluttered gently on an unseen breeze behind Ethan as he stepped into his tent. Unbuckling his sword belt as he moved and releasing a tired sigh. His ribs ached where an arrow had struck. It hadn’t penetrated, but momentum didn’t disappear because it hadn’t. There were a few bruises beneath his squamata.

  Not much of a price, considering what it could have been.

  For a moment, he stood in the slightly cooler interior, a dangling clay pot gently seeping water in a cross wind conspiring to keep it so.

  Then movement caught his eye.

  Greta emerged from behind a partition and his breath caught. She moved like flames made liquid with her abundant red hair falling in a crimson wave to a waist half the size of the hips below it and a bit less than that of the breast above.

  All three on display beneath a cream-colored chemise that clung to every curve before falling to her mid-thigh. A deep plunging neckline grabbed his eyes as she glided forward, hips moving from side to side nearly the width of her shoulders with each step without seeming effort nor artifice.

  In her arms, she held a chalice of wine, condensation beading its side and a moist towel for the road dust and considering the state of his armor, much uglier debris.

  Anarita rose like liquid moonlight from a couch to the side, letting a scroll roll shut in passing. A shy smile half hidden by a curtain of midnight black hair that stood out vibrantly against the pure white of her linen house robe. The strands of cloth woven so thin as to be translucent and allow the warm olive of her skin to shine from beneath.

  With an easy bob, bent at the waist, robe parting slightly and giving a heart stopping of a smaller, but still perfectly formed valley. Then she rose with a filled wash basin propped against her shapely hip. It was a wide, shallow bowl and as she moved forward the water rippled and pulsed, but did not spill so much as a drop.

  In moments that paused and flickered before his half-entranced eyes they slid, half swam through the intervening space. The wine was in his hand, and moistened towels began to clean him of the day’s labors.

  He let out a soft sigh, before stopping Gretta as she reached for the points that secured his pturgis to his squamata.

  “You will ruin your clothes, Greta.” He protested gently.

  “An easy problem to solve, My Lord.” A graceful hand rose to one of two thin straps barely supporting her ample assets and began to slide it over her pale shoulder.

  His body implored but guilt won out. His hand shot out to catch hers, gently but with a rattler's striking speed.

  “No dear.” He squeezed her hand once, then let go. Rising to cup her face. “Not today. I have bad news for you, and I’ve already let it ferment longer than I should.”

  “We can talk after My Lord.” Anarita breathed, tugging gently on his other arm with both of hers, her soft voice sending shivers along his spine while she glanced up at him beseechingly through a veil of that gorgeous hair.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “After?” He chuckled softly, that hand rising to cup her face as well. “Why do you think I let it wait so long! No my dears, put something more substantial on and come sit with me.”

  “Please don’t.” She spoke, her voice descending into a whisper as she turned away abruptly, and giving him a view no less enticing. “Don’t do this. Don’t let us go.”

  He let out a sigh. “You know then.” It was a statement, not a question. He was a fool to think he could keep it from them. How often had they let him know the camp news halfway before it happened?

  “You were quite noble, My Lord. To comfort a scared young woman.” Bitterness graced Greta’s voice as she arched her back defiantly, hand rising to prop themselves on those protruding hips. “We’re not blind, Ethan.”

  The name dropped like a rock between them. Intimate, desperate and perhaps jealous. Like the name, they had a right to all three. Earned again and again over the years. Not just in his bed, but by making this tent a home. A place of comfort where he and his men could speak freely. A chalice of wine appearing where needed. Sore muscles massaged and even the evening hours wiled away with music, song and dance.

  “I know you’re not.” He hesitated. What could he say? That this was inevitable? Not comforting. That he did care about them? That was worse.

  “I will make it as painless as possible. A young officer as a husband? Generous gifts to see your new life starts gently? I will see that you want for nothing.”

  “Except for you, My Lord.” Anarita whispered shoulders shaking softly. “Except the life we’ve shared.”

  “You don’t have to My Lord!” Greta chimed in. “Many a noble has a bit on the side. You can have us too-“

  “No.” He said it softly, but adamantly. “A new bride of a similar social standing with connections. The household will be hers to run, and that would be impossible with you two still here. You would undercut her authority merely by our shared history and...” He let it go. Ermina was many admirable things. Decisive, educated, intelligent. But while comely enough, comparisons could be odious. And these two women stood far about the pack in terms of beauty. “It would not be fair to her.”

  “To her!” Greta fired, eyes sparking as bright as her hair. “What about us? After all that we’ve given you, body, heart and all the skills we could gain? Years of loyal service and affection! Nay, Love!” She was nearly yelling at this point.

  “Was it all meaningless?” Her voice dropped dangerously. Vitriolic rather than bombastic. “Forget your charity!” She snapped. “I’m no old maid in need of it.” A soft shake of her shoulders created a mesmerizing dance beneath the linen to underscore her point. “I can find a place away from all this. With what I know many would –“

  Ethans stance shifted and the temperature in the tent seemed to drop 10 degrees. Guilt giving way to ice-cold practicality. That… that was a threat. Not to him, but to the Band and all they’d worked for. Even for love, he’d not stay –

  “She didn’t mean it!” Anarita gasped, turning back, her kohl-lined eyes over large and genuinely terrified.

  “I-I- Sorry!” Gretta gasped. Likewise flinching away. “I’d never- I was, am, just-“ Tears were beginning to flow, dripping down her face, spotting her gown.

  Ethan let out a breath and forcefully relaxed. “I know Gretta. I know.” He loved her for her fire. Her energy and vivacity. And a temper to rival a volcano came with them. He could hardly complain when it exploded.

  And yet.

  The line had been eyed. Considered even if it hadn’t been crossed and he could not unsee what was seen. And it hurt.

  “Ethan Please.” Anarita managed, his name not a challenge but an entreaty, with all the weight of shared history behind it. “Don’t-”

  “It’s done, Anarita. I stand by what I said. I will ease the blow to the extent that I can without risking the Band. But this is final. I will have a new tent provided for you while we work out what you want.” He paused, then regretfully shook his head. Reaching out a final time to cup her cheek. “It was a grand run we had.”

  He gave Greta a final glance as well, drinking in the striking image. Even crying she was beautiful beyond words. Then, with a sigh, he turned back to the doorway. The tent was no longer a home. It might be again in the future, but these wounds would take time to heal. And his presence would just make them worse.

  He snagged his sword belt by force of habit, tossing it about his waist as he walked out.

  And if a tear rolled down his cheek as well, well, at least there was no one to see it.

  ___