The noise was deafening as the group of men burst into the large tent like a rockslide of metal and flesh. Gerardine, at the center of the revelry, twisted and turned, trying to dodge the hearty slaps on her back that came with every cheer of victory. "Enough!" Renault's commanding voice cut through the din. The crowd's enthusiasm dimmed to a pout, like children scolded for being too loud. Renault quirked an eyebrow and added, "Just because he won the day, doesn’t mean his personality suddenly changed." Laughter rippled through the men, their spirits undampened.

"Drinks! Drinks for Sir Gerard!" someone bellowed from the throng, raising a tankard high.

"No, thank you," Gerardine declined swiftly, her voice barely audible over the clamor. She weaved through the crowd towards the refuge of a sturdy table where Renault sat, his demeanor relaxed but still palpably regal.

"Listen, first off, thank you," Renault said once they were side by side, leaning in so his words were for her ears alone. "You were amazing out there."

Her cheeks warmed at the praise, and she found the intricate wood grain of the table suddenly fascinating. "It was nothing, your majesty," she mumbled.

Renault chuckled—a rich sound that made several nearby heads turn. "I didn’t expect you to be so modest."

With a shrug that belied the turmoil inside, Gerardine managed to keep her facade of nonchalance intact. Renault’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he leaned closer, lowering his voice. "There’s something else."

Gerardine’s gaze snapped up, anticipation painted across her features.

"I’d like you to be on my council," Renault announced, as if he were discussing the weather rather than changing Gerardine's life.

Her response was immediate—eyebrows hitting her hairline and mouth agape like a fish gasping on land. Snapping her jaw shut with an audible click, she averted her eyes, fixing them back on the tablecloth. "I can’t accept," she said finally, her voice steady but softer now.

"Why not?" Renault leaned back, feigning surprise. "I’m going to ask for your advice no matter what."

"Because..." Gerardine faltered, struggling with an acceptable excuse that wouldn't be suspicious. "I’m not worthy of a position such a—"

"Ah, nonsense!" Renault scoffed with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You are very worthy of the position. I say you are worthy of it." His smirk was a challenge. "Who’s going to argue with me? I’m the king."

"Still, I can’t accept, sire," Gerardine insisted, turning her head away to hide the conflict in her eyes.

Renault sighed, the sound like the closing of a book. "I guess I’ll have to accept your refusal." Gerardine's shoulders sagged in relief, but then he added, "For now."

She flinched, the words hanging between them like a blade, poised but not yet fallen. Renault's smile was gentle, almost affectionate.

***

The merriment rippled through the tent, a wave of raucous laughter and clinking goblets. Gerardine rose stiffly, her armor still clasped tightly around her frame like a second skin. She inclined her head to Renault, "If your majesty would excuse me, I will go to bed." Her voice was lost amid the cacophony of celebration but carried enough to reach the king.

Renault, flushed from wine and victory, stood with arms flung wide in protest. "But the celebration continues! Please drink with us.” He clasped his hands together, mock pleading, as if beseeching a saint for intervention.

A knight from the back heckled, "You’re the one who told us not to force him, your majesty!" The comment unleashed a flood. "Sir Gerard will never drink!" another bellowed, followed by, “Or gamble!” A fourth chimed in, smirking, “And forget about getting him laid!”

Gerardine's face blazed a fierce scarlet, her mortification too obvious to hide. Renault couldn't help himself; he laughed, the sound rich and warm as freshly baked bread. He slung an arm around Gerardine's armored shoulders, the metal cold against his palm. "What say you, Sir Gerard? Ready for bed?" His eyebrows bounced mischievously above twinkling eyes.

"Fuck off," Gerardine said clearly and loudly, her glare as sharp as the blade at her hip. The tent froze, a tableau of shock. But the pause shattered as Renault's laughter boomed again, somehow louder than before. He withdrew his arm with a flourish. "Rest well, my champion."

Ducking her head, Gerardine made her escape, the jeers shadowing her retreat. "Sir Gerard may be good with a sword, but he’s so stuffy," someone snickered. Then came the jab, "That stick up his ass won’t even let him go swimming!"

"Hey," a softer voice rebuffed, "it’s not that Sir Gerard won’t swim, it’s that he can’t. Leave him alone!"

Renault, halfway to reclaiming his seat, halted. His brows knitted together, a silent question mark etched on his forehead. That wasn't right. Renault had witnessed the sword master slicing through water with grace not that long ago. "Why would he lie about that?" Renault mused, his gaze trailing after the retreating figure of Sir Gerard. Was it modesty or a secret kept close to the chest? Either way, Renault didn't like what this could mean. What if Sir Gerard was a danger to him? His previous thoughts of Sir Gerard being his half-brother resurfaced. With them this time was the realization that despite being considering stuffy by the Guard, Sir Gerard had the support of the men. It wasn’t Renault’s crown they toasted to tonight. It was Sir Gerard’s sword. That was dangerous regardless of Sir Gerard’s intentions or parentage.

***

Gerardine's boots scuffed the dirt in the sparring ring, her shadow elongating as the sun climbed higher. She squinted upwards, muttering under her breath, "He still hasn’t shown. This is the fourth session he’s missed." Her fingers twitched at her side, aching for the absent clash of steel.

She paced, looping the ring like a knight errant without a cause. "He’s also not bothered me for other things. What is going on?" She paused mid-pace, arms akimbo, "He’s drinking at night with his old friends again too." Gerardine shook her head, her lips pursing in a mix of concern and annoyance. The king had also stopped holding dinners with the court, instead choosing to start his drinking immediately after any counsel meetings. Her bread, cheese, and dried meat in the quiet of her room had once felt natural, but now they felt unbearable.

***

That night, Renault lounged with a goblet of wine, the liquid sloshing precariously close to the brim. His laughter mingled with that of his companions, a raucous chorus punctuating the smoky air. Yet, his eyes held a stormy sea of thoughts, distant from the merriment around him.

"Sir Gerard keeps secrets from everyone," he brooded silently, swirling the wine as if it could reveal the mysteries of the man in question. "He refuses to get close to anyone. He even lies about his abilities." Renault took a draught, the ruby liquid failing to wash away his doubts. "He wouldn’t do it for no reason. Sir Gerard is too smart and too focused to do something on a whim. He’s hiding something."

A flicker of suspicion sparked in Renault's gaze as he set the goblet down with more force than intended. "Perhaps it was a mistake to get close to him. What if his goals are nefarious or selfish?" The idea seemed to sour the taste of the wine, and for a moment, Renault's usual roguish grin faltered.