Renault's eyes snapped open in the pitch-black chamber, his stomach churning like a tempestuous sea. "Oh, fuck," he groaned, the world spinning as he lurched out of bed. The cold stone floor met his feet just as the remains of the evening's revelry made an encore appearance on the floor. "I feel so sick. Wine and sun is such a bad combination," he muttered to himself while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
As he steadied himself against the bedpost, a sudden realization hit him harder than the hangover. "Oh, no." His hand flew to his mouth, but this time it wasn't to hold back another wave of nausea. Memories of the previous day's folly flooded his mind—the strike, the command, Sir Gerard's stoic face. "I struck Sir Gerard. Worse, I ordered him to kill someone who didn’t deserve it."
Despair twisted his gut as he paced the room, every step an effort. "He's going to leave. He has every reason to leave." Renault could almost hear Gerard's warning echo through the chamber, the promise that loyalty would only stretch so far. Staggering to his feet, Renault's determination was steadier than his wobbly legs. "Ugh, mistake," he winced, the color draining from his face.
Renault clutched at his head, fingers knotting in his hair. "I need to talk to him. I should have talked to him when I thought he was lying to me. I’m such an idiot."
With resolve thrumming in his veins and a cloak thrown over his shoulders to hide his royal pajamas, Renault slipped into the night, the corridors silent and still as death. He crept toward Gerardine's quarters, his heart pounding louder than his footsteps.
***
Renault perched at the edge of a window, let out a silent breath. The room within was dimly lit, the flickering candle casting a dance of light and dark across the chamber. He leaned closer, the cold night air biting at his cheeks, and his ears caught the unmistakable sound of weeping. "That sounds like a woman crying. But Sir Gerard never spends time with women," he mused, curiosity pricking at him like thorns.
His eyes adjusted to the dimness, and around the curtains, he saw a figure hunched over, shoulders shaking. It was Gerardine, clad only in her nightshirt, tears streaming down her face. Renault's heart hammered, a mix of concern and confusion. "It’s Sir Gerard! Is he crying because I hit him?" he thought, guilt gnawing at him. Perhaps he jerked back, but the next thing he saw was the crying sword master’s head snap up.
***
"Someone’s here!" Gerardine's realized. She snatched a dagger from under her pillow, grip tight and ready.
"Wait—" Renault began, but his plea was cut short as Gerardine charged, dagger poised to strike with deadly intent. "He’ll kill me!" Renault's thoughts screamed, even as he reacted with trained precision. He shoved upwards against Gerardine’s wrist, sending the dagger clattering to the floor, and tackled her to the ground. His face landed squarely on her chest, and he froze, dumbfounded. "Sir—" Renault gasped, then a realization hit him. "What the—"
In one swift motion, he reared up and yanked at the collar of Gerardine's nightshirt, ripping it open to reveal soft, unmistakable curves. Shock rooted him to the spot as his brain tried to catch up with his betraying eyes. Gerardine wasted no time. In a fierce blur, she headbutted Renault and followed with a knee to his groin.
"My royal nuts," Renault groaned, collapsing to the side in agony.
Gerardine scrambled to her feet, clutching her torn nightshirt closed while reaching for her sword. Renault raised a hand, signaling peace—or perhaps surrender.
"Wait," he wheezed, pushing back his hood to reveal his bewildered expression. With a loud clang, Gerardine's sword dropped to the wooden floor as she recognized the intruder. Renault managed a shaky smile. "Hi?"