The North's Shadow

Stables and Stallions

The morning air carried a sharp, biting chill as Sir Alaric and I stood watching Duke Valouron prepare to leave. His horse pawed impatiently at the frost-crusted ground, mirroring his rider's focused intensity.

"Miss Mackey," he said, "remember, your time here is a privilege. Use it wisely." His eyes held mine for a moment, before he mounted his horse and rode off toward town.

I sighed, Always the diplomat. But as his figure disappeared down the path, I turned back to the castle, resigned to tackle the day's "duties."

In the courtyard, Gregory was waiting with his usual dignified air, arms folded as he watched me approach. Perfect. Another lecture incoming.

"Today, your duties include tending to the stables and fetching firewood for the halls," he said, polite but authoritative. "Best to start with the stables. They're overdue for a good cleaning."

I wrinkled my nose but managed a smile. "Cleaning the stables—sounds... lovely."

Gregory's mouth twitched, almost like he wanted to smile. "You'll do just fine," he said, handing me a rough pair of gloves before turning to oversee other tasks.

As I headed toward the stables, Sir Alaric fell into step beside me. I couldn't help but notice the sidelong glances and whispers from the castle staff as we passed. Maids exchanged knowing looks, some smirking in my direction, like they were characters straight out of a Jane Austen novel delighting in their scandalous whispers and gossip.

A group of Alaric's fellow knights approached, their amused glances shifting between us. One of them clapped Alaric on the shoulder. "Got yourself a new apprentice, Sir Alaric?"

"Teaching her how to muck stalls?" another joked, laughing. "Quite the promotion from defending the realm."

Alaric just smirked, rolling his eyes. "Someone's got to keep her out of trouble."

I shot them a glare. "You know, I'm standing right here."

One of the knights gave me a playful bow. "We're just grateful you're around to keep Sir Alaric on his toes, miss."

As they moved on, Alaric leaned in, amusement gleaming in his eyes. "Ignore them," he said smoothly. "They're just jealous they can't keep up." He winked.

I rolled my eyes, brushing it off. Cute and a bit of a flirt. Dangerous combination. "Maybe they'd keep up if they didn't spend so much time gossiping."

When we reached the stables, I took a steadying breath, bracing myself for the very un-glamorous task ahead. Determined to prove I could handle it, I grabbed a pitchfork and plunged it into a heap of straw and manure. But as soon as I lifted it, the weight threw me off balance, and I stumbled backward—right into a fresh pile of manure.

I froze, looking down in horror. Oh, you've got to be kidding me. I muttered, trying to pull my foot free without losing my boot in the process. Just as I tried to steady myself, the pitchfork slipped from my grip, hitting the ground with a clang and sending a fresh spray of hay and dirt right in my direction.

Laughter echoed from the doorway, and I looked up to find Alaric leaning against the frame, arms crossed, thoroughly enjoying the show.

"You're a natural. I've never seen anyone handle a pitchfork with such... flair."

Throwing my arms wide, I called out, "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?" My voice echoed dramatically through the stable in my best Gladiator impression.

Alaric blinked, clearly caught off guard. "I... am, actually," he replied, his gaze flickering over me with a strange fascination. "You have some... unusual customs in your homeland, I take it?"