émeline woke up to the soft rays of morning light filtering through the small window of the guest room she had been given. The bed was far more comfortable than what she had known back in Beaucourt, a reminder of the stark contrast between her old life and the uncertain yet promising future ahead.
As she lay there, still adjusting to the morning haze, her thoughts drifted back to the day after they arrived in Montrevelle. The Duke had made arrangements for the surviving villagers, but she had been given special provisions—a guest room in the barracks, far more comfortable than the temporary shelters provided to others. It was a kindness that had not gone unnoticed.
Her father had been relieved when she told him of the Duke’s offer, though his joy was tinged with sadness. She was his only child, his last remaining family, and the thought of her leaving him behind weighed on him. Yet, he knew this was an opportunity he could not deny her.
She recalled how he had tried to hide the sorrow in his eyes, instead offering her a gentle smile. "You deserve a better life, émeline. And if the Duke's family is as noble as his son, then I know you'll be in good hands."
The memory of that night still lingered in her heart. The Duke’s son had fought to protect them, had been wounded because of them. If she could repay even a fraction of that debt through service, then it was a path worth taking.
Taking a deep breath, émeline sat up, ready to face whatever the day had in store for her.
émeline swung her legs over the side of the bed and stretched, shaking off the remnants of sleep. The barracks were already alive with the sounds of soldiers preparing for the day—footsteps echoing in the hall, the occasional clink of armor being adjusted, and distant voices carrying orders.
She ran her fingers through her hair, working out the tangles as best as she could before standing to dress. Her clothes were simple, the same modest attire she had worn when they fled Beaucourt, though freshly washed thanks to the kindness of one of the quartermasters.
As she fastened the laces of her bodice, she couldn't help but feel the weight of everything that had happened in just a few short days. Only recently, she had been a simple village girl with no greater concern than helping her father run their small household. Now, she was in a garrison of soldiers, awaiting a possible future in the service of the Duke’s household.
There was nervous excitement in her chest, but also uncertainty. Would she truly be able to find a place in the Duke's service? And if so, what would be expected of her?
Pushing the thoughts aside, she turned to the small basin of water left for her. She splashed her face, the cool sensation helping to sharpen her focus. After making sure she looked presentable, she took a deep breath and stepped toward the door.
Today would be another step into the unknown, but she had already come this far. There was no turning back now.
émeline made her way through the barracks, nodding politely at the few soldiers she passed along the way. The air was crisp with the lingering chill of morning, though the sun was beginning to cast warm streaks of light over the training yard. Unlike the main barracks, which were bustling with activity, the secluded infirmary where Caelan was recovering was quiet.
She hesitated in front of the wooden door, smoothing out her dress before gently knocking. “My lord, are you awake?” she called softly.
No response.
Frowning, she knocked again, a little louder this time. Still nothing. A small worry crept into her chest. Had something happened?
Cautiously, she eased the door open, peeking inside.
Caelan was there, lying on the bed, his breathing slow and steady. Fast asleep.
émeline let out a quiet sigh of relief. It seemed he had simply slept through her knocking. The exhaustion of his recovery must have kept him deep in slumber. She debated what to do. Should she wake him? But then again, rest was likely the best thing for him.
Deciding against disturbing him, she carefully backed out of the room and closed the door as quietly as possible. Taking a seat on a bench nearby, she resolved to wait for either the physician or Lucien to arrive.
She didn’t have to wait long. Just as she was beginning to lose herself in thought, the door behind her creaked open.
“You’re up?” she blurted out in surprise as Caelan stepped into the hallway.
He smirked slightly, rubbing a hand through his tousled hair. “I am now.” His sharp eyes studied her for a moment before he tilted his head. “Have you eaten yet?”
Caught off guard by the question, émeline shook her head. “No, not yet.”
Caelan hummed in thought before gesturing down the hall. “Then let’s get something to eat.”
émeline blinked, momentarily stunned by Caelan’s casual invitation.
“E-Eat? Together?” she stammered, caught off guard by how naturally he had suggested it.
Caelan raised an eyebrow, amused by her reaction. “Yes. Is that so strange?”
“Well, I…” She hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Eating with a noble—especially one as high-ranking as the Duke’s son—was not something she had ever imagined doing. It felt improper. And yet, refusing outright might seem rude. She had been raised to be polite, and besides, she really hadn’t eaten anything since waking up.
Realizing her silence was stretching on too long, she quickly shook her head. “N-No, not at all. If you wish to eat now, I would be honored to accompany you.”
Caelan smirked slightly, as if entertained by her flustered state. “Good. Let’s go then.”
Without waiting for further hesitation, he started down the hall with a steady stride, leaving émeline to hurry after him. She still couldn’t quite believe what was happening, but she forced herself to calm down.
It’s just breakfast, she told herself. Nothing more.
As they walked through the hallway, Caelan glanced sideways at émeline, his steps relaxed despite the slight stiffness in his movements from his injuries.
“So, émeline,” he began, his tone casual, “since we’re eating together, I suppose I should get to know my dining companion a little better.”
émeline turned to him, still slightly unsure how to carry herself in his presence. “What… would you like to know, my lord?”
Caelan exhaled, shaking his head. “Drop the ‘my lord’ for now. Just Caelan is fine.”
Her eyes widened slightly, surprised at his informality. She hesitated, but then nodded. “Alright… Caelan.”
“Much better.” He gave a small smirk before continuing, “So, you’re from Beaucourt, right? What was life like before all of this happened?”
émeline’s expression softened at the mention of her home. “It was… simple, I suppose. Quiet. I spent most of my time helping my father with his work. He’s a healer, you see.”
“A healer?” Caelan’s interest piqued. “That explains why you didn’t hesitate when tending to me back then. You knew what you were doing.”
She nodded, her lips curving into a small, nostalgic smile. “I learned from him. He always said that knowing how to treat wounds and illnesses was one of the most important things in life. I used to help him gather herbs from the outskirts of the village. That’s why I was outside when the attack happened…” Her voice trailed off slightly at the memory.
Caelan studied her carefully. “And now? What do you want to do?”
émeline hesitated, glancing down at her hands. “I don’t know. I never thought I’d be in a place like this, speaking to someone like you.” She gave a nervous laugh. “But if I could continue healing, helping people in some way… I think I would be content.”
Caelan nodded, taking in her words. “That’s not a bad goal.”
They walked in comfortable silence for a moment before he spoke again, his tone lighter. “You know, I still owe you for what you did back in Beaucourt. I’d probably be in worse shape if not for you.”
émeline quickly shook her head. “No, that’s not—”
“I insist,” he cut her off, smirking. “But we’ll discuss that after breakfast.”
She gave him a puzzled look but didn’t argue. As they neared the dining hall, she realized that despite her earlier nervousness, talking to Caelan was… easy. He didn’t act like the nobles she had always imagined—distant and untouchable.
And for the first time since arriving in Montrevelle, she felt just a little more at ease.
As Caelan and émeline stepped into the kitchen, the aroma of freshly baked bread and sizzling meats filled the air. The kitchen staff, busy with their morning preparations, barely spared them a glance at first—until Caelan strode up to one of the cooks with an easy confidence.
“Morning,” he greeted casually. “Could you prepare breakfast for three? Something simple will do.”
The cook, surprised to see the young noble in person, nodded quickly. “Of course, my lord. It will be ready shortly.”
émeline, standing a step behind, blinked in confusion. Three? She cast a glance at Caelan. Was he planning to eat enough for two? It seemed unlikely, but she wasn’t sure whether to ask.
Before she could voice her thoughts, the sound of approaching footsteps made her turn.
“Ah, there you are,” Lucien’s voice came from the doorway. He stepped in, his sharp gaze scanning Caelan. “I was looking for you. You weren’t in your room.”
Caelan, unbothered, leaned slightly against the counter. “I figured you’d come find me sooner or later. No need to make a fuss about it.”
Lucien sighed, clearly exasperated, but he let the matter drop. Then, his eyes flicked between Caelan and émeline before settling on the former. “And… breakfast?”
“I asked for a portion for you as well,” Caelan replied nonchalantly. “You usually don’t eat before me, so I figured you’d only bother if it was convenient.”
Lucien blinked, caught off guard. He opened his mouth as if to protest, then hesitated, ultimately closing it with a resigned shake of his head. “…I see.”
émeline, now understanding the extra portion mystery, glanced between them. It was clear that this wasn’t an unusual occurrence—Caelan seemed to anticipate Lucien’s habits as naturally as breathing. It was a casual but quiet sign of familiarity, of friendship that required no grand gestures.
She watched as Lucien ran a hand through his hair, still seemingly unsure how to respond to Caelan’s consideration. In the end, he just sighed. “Fine. But next time, at least let me know before you disappear.”
Caelan smirked. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Lucien rolled his eyes, but émeline could see the ghost of a smile at the corner of his lips.
As the three of them made their way to the barracks' mess hall, the air was filled with the scent of fresh bread and sizzling meat. The hall was mostly empty at this hour, save for a few early risers finishing their meals before returning to their duties. Caelan picked a table near the corner, away from prying ears but still within sight of the kitchen. Lucien and émeline took their seats across from him.
As they settled in, émeline’s curiosity got the better of her. She glanced at Caelan, her tone polite but inquisitive. “If I may ask, my lord, why are you staying in the barracks instead of the Baron’s mansion? Surely it would be more comfortable there?”
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At her question, Caelan and Lucien exchanged a brief look. A silent understanding passed between them before Caelan leaned back slightly and responded. “It’s more convenient for me here,” he said simply. “Everything I need is close by.”
émeline tilted her head slightly, not entirely convinced. “But wouldn’t the Baron’s estate offer better accommodations?”
Caelan let out a small chuckle. “I suppose it would,” he admitted, “but I’m not overly concerned with luxury.” His fingers tapped idly on the wooden table. “The barracks offer a certain freedom. No one here has the authority to dictate my every move, and I can come and go as I please.” He cast a brief glance at Lucien before adding, “Besides, the garrison soldiers here are loyal to Forneaux. I’d rather stay among them than be a guest in another noble’s home.”
Lucien nodded subtly in agreement, though he didn’t add anything.
émeline took in his words, her expression thoughtful. She supposed it made sense, in a way. The Duke’s son—despite his status—didn’t carry himself like the nobles she’d heard about. There was something different about him, something that set him apart.
Caelan’s next words pulled her from her thoughts. “Plus,” he added with a smirk, “the barracks have one thing the Baron’s mansion doesn’t—a physician on hand at all times.”
Lucien sighed. “And that’s the real reason, isn’t it?”
Caelan gave a noncommittal shrug, which only made Lucien shake his head in mild exasperation.
émeline giggled softly at their exchange. She had a feeling these two had known each other for a long time—long enough to anticipate each other’s habits and quirks.
Just then, a kitchen hand approached with their food, placing steaming plates before them. As they picked up their utensils, émeline made a mental note: Caelan Forneaux was not the kind of noble she had expected him to be.
As the three of them began their breakfast, the warmth of the freshly cooked meal was a welcome comfort. émeline took a moment to silently appreciate the food in front of her—soft bread, slices of ham, and a warm stew that smelled better than anything she’d had in days. She wasn’t used to such hearty meals, especially since their village’s destruction had left them surviving on whatever rations they could find.
She glanced at Caelan and Lucien, who had already started eating with the ease of men used to sharing meals together. There was no stiffness, no formality—just familiarity between two people who had likely known each other for years.
“So,” Caelan began, his tone casual as he cut into his food, “remember when we were kids and you tried to race me on horseback?” He shot Lucien a knowing smirk.
Lucien sighed, already sensing where this was going. “If you’re about to bring up the time I fell into the lake, don’t.”
Caelan’s smirk widened. “Oh, I absolutely am. You were so sure you could take that shortcut through the forest, and I told you it was a bad idea.”
Lucien shook his head as he chewed his food. “I miscalculated the jump, that’s all. The bridge was weaker than I thought.”
“You miscalculated everything,” Caelan corrected. “Your horse stopped at the last second, and you went flying straight into the water. I had to fish you out before you drowned.”
émeline covered her mouth, trying not to laugh too obviously, but the mental image was too ridiculous. “Did you at least win the race?” she asked Lucien, amused.
Lucien gave her a deadpan look. “No. I was too busy coughing up half the lake.”
Caelan leaned back slightly, clearly enjoying himself. “And then you had to explain to my father why you showed up soaked from head to toe.”
Lucien groaned. “He made me polish all the saddles in the stable as punishment. I still think you sabotaged me.”
Caelan put a hand to his chest in mock innocence. “I would never.”
émeline giggled, feeling more at ease. It was strange to hear stories of noble sons growing up in a way that seemed so… normal. In her mind, nobles were always distant, untouchable, their lives dictated by strict expectations. But Caelan and Lucien? They spoke like childhood friends, teasing and bickering like anyone else.
As the conversation continued, she found herself enjoying the warmth of their banter, the simple pleasure of sharing a meal with good company.
émeline hesitated for a moment before speaking. This question had been weighing on her mind ever since they arrived in Montrevelle, and now seemed like the best time to ask. She set down her spoon and looked at Caelan.
“My lord,” she began carefully, “I’ve been wondering… what will happen to the villagers taking refuge in the garrison? Will we ever be able to return home, or will we have to find a new place to settle?”
Lucien and Caelan paused, the lighthearted atmosphere from earlier fading into something more serious. Caelan wiped his mouth with a cloth before responding.
“That depends,” he admitted, his tone measured. “Right now, Montrevelle is the safest place for you and the others. The lands surrounding your village are still dangerous, and we don’t know when—or if—it’ll be safe to rebuild.”
émeline clenched her hands on her lap. She had feared that answer, but hearing it still made her uneasy. “So you mean… we might never go back?”
Caelan sighed. “I won’t say it’s impossible. But it’s unlikely, at least in the near future. Even if the beasts don’t return, your village is in ruins. Rebuilding takes time, resources, and protection. And considering how much damage was done…” He trailed off, letting the implications settle in.
émeline lowered her gaze. Her home, the place she’d spent her whole life in, might be lost forever. “Then what will happen to us?”
Caelan leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. “That’s something my father and his advisors are discussing. There are a few options—some of you might be relocated to other villages under our domain, or given work opportunities in Forneaux’s capital. We won’t abandon you.”
émeline bit her lip. “And my father?”
Caelan’s expression softened. “If he wishes, he can stay here until we find a long-term solution. I imagine many of the villagers will want to stay together, but there’s still much to be decided.”
She nodded slowly. It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but at least it wasn’t a hopeless one.
Lucien, sensing her distress, spoke up. “I know it’s hard. Losing a home is never easy, but you’re not alone. We’ll make sure everyone finds a place where they can live safely.”
émeline took a deep breath and forced a small smile. “Thank you, Lord Caelan, Sir Lucien. I just… needed to know.”
Caelan gave her a reassuring nod before picking up his cup. “You’ll be alright, émeline. One way or another, we’ll figure this out.”
She held onto those words, hoping they would prove true.
Caelan let his words settle on émeline as she processed the reality of their situation. He watched her expression, the quiet determination in her eyes battling the sadness of uncertainty. It was a look he had seen before—one of those who had lost much but refused to crumble.
As the conversation lulled, he found himself slipping into his own thoughts. He had been so preoccupied with his own recovery, his wounds, and the information he needed to gather that he had completely overlooked the fact that there were more than a hundred displaced villagers seeking refuge in the garrison. These people had lost everything—homes, livelihoods, stability. And yet, they lingered here, with no clear direction of what their future held.
A dull ache settled in his chest. It pained him that he could do nothing immediate to change their fate, but that didn’t mean he was powerless. No, he had an idea.
The townspeople needed something to do, a purpose to hold onto. If they sat idle, their losses and grief would consume them. That was not an option.
His plan was simple—he would employ the villagers to assist in fortifying the town’s defenses. The main entry points into Montrevelle needed stronger barricades, reinforced watchtowers, and additional trenches. If they could help build those, it would serve two purposes: keeping them occupied while simultaneously improving the town’s security.
Of course, he wouldn’t ask them to work for free. That wasn’t the kind of man he was. Instead, he would pay them wages from his own pocket. The coins he had originally intended to spend in the capital on acquiring more books—especially those on magic—could serve a far better purpose here.
He had brought a decent amount with him, knowing that books, particularly tomes on magic, were expensive. But securing the well-being of these people took precedence over his own academic pursuits. He could always find books later—opportunities to help these people were fleeting.
Gold coins were rare in daily transactions and usually reserved for large trades, property purchases, or noble dealings. Silver coins, on the other hand, were the standard for most trade and wages, while bronze coins were used for common goods and smaller exchanges.
By these standards, a single silver coin could buy enough food to last a commoner for several days, and a gold coin was enough to sustain a small family for weeks, if spent wisely.
Caelan mentally calculated the funds he had on hand. If he paid each villager a fair daily wage in silver and bronze, he could keep them working for at least a couple of weeks. That would buy him time—time to figure out a long-term plan for them, time to see what the Baron's next move was, and time to learn more about the threat looming over these lands.
Yes, this would work.
Satisfied with his new plan, he returned his attention to Lucien and émeline. He would need their help to set things in motion
Caelan exhaled softly, his mind now set on what needed to be done. He turned his attention back to Lucien and émeline, who had been waiting for him to speak.
“I’ve figured out what we’re doing today,” he said, setting his utensils down. “We’re going to put the villagers to work.”
Lucien raised a brow. “Putting them to work? Doing what exactly?”
Caelan leaned forward slightly, keeping his voice even but firm. “We’ll have them assist in reinforcing Montrevelle’s defenses. The town’s main points of entry need stronger fortifications—barricades, watchtowers, anything that can help secure the perimeter. I’ll pay them for their labor using my own funds. It won’t be much, but it’ll keep them occupied and give them some sense of purpose while we figure out a long-term solution for them.”
émeline blinked in surprise. “You would pay them out of your own pocket?”
“I have the coin to spare,” Caelan said simply. “Besides, I was going to use that money to buy books in the capital, but books can wait—these people need something now.”
Lucien crossed his arms, a smirk forming. “So instead of spending your gold on magic tomes, you’re using it to pay common folk to build walls? You’ve gone soft, Caelan.”
Caelan scoffed. “If I were soft, I wouldn’t be making them work for it.”
Lucien chuckled but nodded approvingly.
émeline, still processing, hesitated before speaking. “That… that would help a lot of people. But will they even accept? Most of them are farmers and craftsmen, not builders or soldiers.”
“They don’t need to be,” Caelan replied. “We’ll have the garrison soldiers oversee the construction and show them what needs to be done. Digging trenches, stacking wooden barricades, reinforcing weak points—these are tasks anyone with working hands can do.”
Lucien rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You’ll need to organize this properly. Do you have a plan for how to assign tasks?”
“I do.” Caelan nodded. “We’ll gather the villagers after breakfast and split them into groups. Some will work on trenching, others on reinforcing barricades. We’ll leave the more technical tasks to the garrison soldiers, but the villagers can do the labor-intensive work. I’ll speak with the Baron's quartermaster to arrange tools and materials.”
émeline looked down at her hands, gripping her skirt slightly. “And what about my father? What should he do?”
Caelan gave her a reassuring glance. “If he’s willing, he can help oversee the villagers. Someone familiar to them giving orders will make them more likely to listen.”
émeline nodded, looking relieved.
Lucien sighed and leaned back. “Well, looks like we have our work cut out for us. I’ll make sure the garrison knows to cooperate with your plan.”
Caelan smirked. “Good. Then let’s finish eating and get to work.”
With that, the three of them resumed their meal, each now with a clearer purpose for the day ahead.
After finishing their meal, the trio parted ways. émeline hurried off toward the refugee quarters within the barracks, her mind already racing with thoughts on how to gather the villagers. Meanwhile, Caelan and Lucien made their way toward the garrison’s command building to speak with the garrison commander.
The barracks were bustling with activity, soldiers moving about with their morning duties. Some were cleaning their gear, others sparring in the courtyard. A few cast glances at Caelan and Lucien, but none dared interrupt their path.
Upon reaching the command building, they were met by a pair of guards stationed at the entrance. One of them, a gruff-looking man with a scar running down his cheek, straightened up as they approached.
“Lord Caelan, Sir Lucien,” the guard acknowledged with a sharp nod. “Commander Reynard is inside.”
Caelan returned the nod and stepped past them, pushing the door open. Inside, the scent of parchment and ink mixed with the faint aroma of burning candle wax. Commander Reynard sat behind a heavy wooden desk, poring over reports. The veteran soldier looked up as the two entered, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Caelan’s.
“Ah, Your Lordship,” Reynard greeted, setting down his quill. “To what do I owe this early morning visit?”
Caelan wasted no time. “We need to put the villagers to work reinforcing Montrevelle’s defenses. The town’s fortifications aren’t in the best shape, and we can’t afford to leave them idle while there’s a looming threat.”
Reynard leaned back in his chair, studying Caelan with interest. “An interesting proposal. What exactly do you have in mind?”
Caelan stepped closer to the desk, resting his hands on its edge. “The villagers will help dig trenches, reinforce weak points in the town’s barricades, and assist in constructing simple watchposts. We’ll have your soldiers oversee and guide them, ensuring the work is done efficiently.”
The commander stroked his beard, considering the plan. “Hmph. Can’t say it’s a bad idea. The men have been stretched thin as it is, and extra hands would help, even if they’re untrained.”
Lucien chimed in, “Caelan’s footing the bill for their labor. It keeps them occupied and prevents idle minds from turning to fear or frustration.”
Reynard’s lips twitched in amusement. “My lord, are you sure about this? Spending your own coin for the reinforcement of a town’s defense which should be the responsibility of the local Baron? That’s not something I’d expect from a noble of your standing.”
Caelan smirked. “Desperate times call for practical solutions.”
The commander nodded approvingly. “Very well my lord. I’ll have my men allocate tools and supplies. We’ll assign a few of them to oversee each workgroup and ensure things don’t turn into a mess.”
“Good,” Caelan said. “I’ll personally speak with the Baron’s quartermaster to secure any additional materials we need.”
Reynard stood up, crossing his arms. “I’ll give the orders immediately. When do you plan on starting?”
“As soon as émeline gathers the villagers. It shouldn’t take long.”
The commander exhaled through his nose. “Then we’ll be ready.”
Caelan nodded, satisfied. “Thank you, Commander.”
Reynard grunted, already turning to call in his officers. With that settled, Caelan and Lucien stepped out of the office, ready to move to the next phase of their plan.
As Caelan and Lucien left the command building, the morning sun cast a warm glow over the barracks. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and freshly baked bread from the mess hall. Soldiers moved about in their usual routines, but Caelan paid them little mind. His focus was on the next phase of the plan.
Approaching the stables, the two found their horses already saddled and ready. A stablehand, a wiry young lad with dirt-smudged cheeks, stood at attention as they arrived.
"Your horses are prepared, my lords," the boy said with a respectful nod.
Lucien took the reins of his dark bay stallion, running a hand over its mane before mounting effortlessly. Caelan followed suit, adjusting his grip on the reins. His left arm moved with far greater ease now, thanks to émeline’s magic. While the wounds had mostly healed, the healing magic was insufficient to prevent any scarring.
Caelan had sustained scars on the left side of his face and shoulder. The one on his face went across the left side of his temple to his cheek barely missing the nose and lips. Meanwhile, he also had jagged claw marks stretched over his left shoulder, partially exposed beneath his tunic. The wound had been too deep for basic healing magic to erase completely. Advanced healers might have been able to remove it entirely, but he had no interest in that.
He saw the scar not as a blemish, but as a testament to survival. A reminder that he had faced death and emerged victorious. That he was not a noble who hid behind soldiers but one who stood at the front lines.
Lucien clicked his tongue, breaking Caelan’s train of thought. "You’re quiet."
Caelan smirked, shaking the reins lightly. "Just thinking."
"About what?" Lucien asked, guiding his horse toward the barracks gate.
Caelan exhaled. "About the plan. About what comes next."
Lucien chuckled. "You always think too much. Let's ride. We have a Baron to bother."
With that, the two urged their horses forward, riding through the gates and onto the path leading to the Baron’s estate. The day was just beginning, and there was much to be done
End of the chapter
Additional note:
- 1 Gold Coin (Gildor) = 100 Silver Coins (Argents)
- 1 Silver Coin (Argent) = 50 Bronze Coins (Coppers)