Chapter Text
“I imagined I would find you here.” The groan that escaped her lips was mostly an old habit by now, just an acknowledgement of his presence at this point, not the actual complaint it once had been.
“You did seem to find me quite quickly today.” She shifted her talwar in her hands, using her sleeve to dry the sweat from her forehead. Around them, there were only the faintest slips of green in the bare end-of-winter trees.
“You are getting quite predictable as of late, Majesty.” Anthony Bridger was watching from the edge of the trees, his arms crossed in front of his chest. His hair was windblown from the ride from the castle. There was a teasing smirk on his lips, but a worried frown in his brown eyes.
Her relationship with Sir Anthony Bridger was a funny thing. He was assigned to be her personal guard by her parents, his duty to be sure she was safe and protected at every moment. He clearly had been under the impression that she had assigned herself the job of doing everything in her power to see him fail. Which she really had, in the beginning. Princess Kathani Sharma, the Royal Heir, firmly believed she was in no need of a bodyguard. And yet, there he was, always right behind her, no matter how difficult she seemed to try and make his job.
She had spent the entire first four months of their acquaintances attempting to escape his watch and every single time he’d manage to find her, no matter where she hid, always ruffing in a gruff voice about duty and honour. And then she decided that if she must, she would accept his ever-looming presence in her life. Not quietly, no, never quietly, but she did give up on her actual attempts to shake him from her side. So she’d tease him. The first time she left her bedchamber without any sort of complaint or attempt to escape, muttering ‘Do keep up, Anthony.’ he had stood frozen on his feet, staring at her go, apparently absolutely speechless, for an entire six seconds before hurrying after her.
For an entire month, he took every single tease and barb she’d sent his way with a gruff face and stoic silence, even if it was clear he had a barb of his own on the tip of his tongue. Ever so slowly, it seemed he understood she expected him to tease back because his silence turned to a huff, which turned to a sarcastic ‘of course, Majesty.’ , which finally turned to a full barb in response to a quip she’d made about her being tardy. For an entire second, he had looked completely taken aback by the words that came out of his mouth unbidden, staring at her horrified until she burst out laughing, mumbling ‘I knew you had it in you, Sir Bridger.’ . A full year had passed, and there they were. She had to admit, she had become rather fond of his quiet, gruff presence and his handsome face lurking around her.
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to think of different ways to surprise you, then.” She swirled on her feet and in a blink she was standing in front of him, her blade moving in a wild arch towards him. She must really be becoming quite predictable, for he didn’t seem to need even a moment or a step back as he parried her blow with his longsword, putting the strength of his body to push her back.
Kate would never, not even under torture, admit it aloud, but Anthony was a better swordsman than her. She was a more skilled archer, of course, since he did not have a very good aim. Kate herself did not consider her swordsmanship poor but he was a superb fighter, his sword an extension of his arm, all fluid motions, well-timed movements and quick reflexes that she herself only hoped to one day achieve.
Her father had been the one to teach her when he presented her with her own Talwar on her 15 th birthday, the golden hilt gleaming and the new curved blade sharp. King Arjun was not a poor swordsman, but their lessons were few and far between, the matters of the Kingdom always taking priority. But he managed to teach her the basics. What she needed was practice, and it was hard to find someone willing to spar with her. The garrison’s sword master said it was not a hobby for a lady and that she should try embroidering. The noble boys from the families either refused outright or allowed her to win in three short blows with a soothing smile and a condescending comment. And then Anthony had found her in the exact same clearing they stood, brandishing her blade at imaginary foes. He waited, watching her finish with her form and then without a word he adjusted her grip on the golden handle, pulled her elbow up and used his foot to push her feet apart. He hummed, assessing her new position before nodding and mumbling ‘go again.’ . And she did. And he corrected. And she went again. And again. And again until he seemed satisfied with the result. And he taught her new, more complex forms. The first time he asked her to try and hit him, he had her disarmed and had her with her back to the dirt in three seconds.
“You still need to work on your balance.” He commented, blocking another one of her blows with ease. “This is not archery, you can’t keep your feet parallel. Widen your stance.”
She blocked his next blow relatively easily, trying to change the positioning of her feet. His sword arched again, and she was forced to step back, blocking each of his three hits, before lunging for one of her own, from which he stepped back, avoiding the curved edge of her blade. Before she could regain her balance, he was on her, the gleaming tip of his sword pressing close to her hilt, twisting around until her talwar was flying out of her grip and into the floor, useless.
There was a full minute of silence as they stared at each other, his sword pointing to the middle of her chest without really touching her, their eyes burning into each other, her breath coming out in pants. The misty, cold air of the February early morning swirled around them, the breeze sending shivers through her skin as she watched Sir Bridger watch her.
A neigh from one of their horses broke the tense moment. Anthony stepped back, clearing his throat, lowing his sword and pushing it back into its scabbard. Kate watched as he moved to the horses, pulling both by the leads before offering Galahad to her. He did not try to help her onto her horse. He had learned long ago it was a futile attempt, she’d just ignore his hand, hoisting herself astride with a huff of irritation. She might not be an excellent swordswoman, but she was a very skilled amazon.
“Your technique is much improved.” He commented as she sheathed her talwar to her waist.
“You say that to mollify me, Sir Bridger.” She could see his expression behind the scoff he let out without even looking at him.
“I would never.” He really wouldn’t. She was his sovereign, the future queen, and yet. He did not allow her to win because of it. If he did not agree with something, he’d simply keep his mouth firmly shut, refusing to comment with more than a terse nod of his head.
It was one of the best qualities in him.
“I suppose you wouldn’t.” She agreed, climbing into Galahad. And she couldn’t deny the smug smirk that bloomed on her lips as she noticed, in the corner of her view, how Anthony’s eyes would, just for a moment, linger on her legs, bracketed around her horse’s middle.
“I believe the Queen has requested your presence for the day.” He clicked his tongue, sending Sombra into a light trot, Kate and Galahad easily keeping pace.
“I cannot wait for this engagement celebration to be beyond us.” Kate’s voice was light, but both of them knew she did not really mean it. Edwina’s engagement with Prince Frederick was a sensitive topic. Despite being so absurdly happy that her baby sister found the love she’d always dreamed of, the idea of her sister, her very best of friends, leaving had her shaking and trying to hold back tears. Anthony had more than once watched as she had excused herself to an empty drawing room to cry. “The preparations for it are driving me slowly insane.”
“Ah, but you are failing to consider what comes after the engagement preparations.” Kate’s body stiffened, trying to push away the image of Edwina’s imminent departure that flooded her mind with his words.
“And what would that be?’”
“Wedding preparations.” His boyish half-smirk made laughter burst out of her. “Can you imagine the long discussions about flower arrangements and seat placements you shall be forced to sit through?”
“Oh, no!” Her face twisted in mock horror.
“Didi, which of these three different colours of beige is the best for the napkins?” His voice was high-pitched, a rather well-done imitation of Edwina’s excited, gleeful tones. “Oh Didi, should we have ice sculptures? Didi, didi, what about peacocks?”
“Please, stop!” Tears of laughter were threatening to spill from her eyes. “I cannot bear it!”
Kate threw her head back in laughter, the locks of hair clinging to her face as the cold wind blew at her face. Around them, the morning was slowly dawning, soft rays of light starting to cut paths in the winter sky illuminating the miles of fields around them. Kate enjoyed the unrestricted freedom those early morning rides allowed her, away from the prying eyes of the court, where she must be the Royal Princess, the future heir to the throne. When she could be just Kate. Where she and Anthony could joke and tease freely, free from the stiff propriety they had to adopt in court. She had not realised how desperately she needed another friend until he came along. As her laughter subsided, she looked to Anthony to find him already watching her, his expression indecipherable. Their eyes met for a moment, holding their gaze, and the shivers that ran through Kate’s body had nothing to do with the frosty breeze.
“I’ll race you to the stables.” She called, trying to ignore the burning flame in the pit of her stomach. She sank her feet on her horse’s flank, darting forward before he could even react. She could hear him goading his horse into a gallop, always following right after her.