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Another pebble hit the small, triangular area on the back of Ingrid’s armor. By her count, that was Claude’s sixth perfect shot in a row.
The pebbles were one of various methods employed by Claude to get her attention. He asked probing questions–some way too personal, brought up memories from their days at the Academy, and even offered to play tic-tac-toe in the sand.
None of it fazed Ingrid. She knew he wanted information, and she wasn’t going to give it.
Claude wasn’t really the patient type, though, and switched tactics once again. “You know, I think I deserve a little more respect here. Duke of House Reigan, leader of the Alliance and all.”
Ingrid rolled her eyes. If their Academy days were a testament to anything, it was that Claude didn’t do anything to particularly command respect.
Another pebble hit her back. More proof of his immaturity.
“The point is we should be allies, and locking up a useful ally is not a good idea.”
The gall of him! Claiming to be allies when they had been on opposite sides of the battle just a few hours before.
“Right, because you were definitely our ally at Gronder.”
Her tone was biting, but Claude laughed heartily.
“You and I seem to recall the battle quite differently if you think the blame is on us Deer.”
Claude’s levity irked her. How could he joke about Gronder, an undeniable tragedy? Ingrid had attacked former schoolmates, and she couldn’t forget the viciousness she had seen in their faces.
And Rodrigue…
Her breath became thin, as if a heavy weight pressed on her chest. She blinked rapidly, trying to hold in the tears that threatened to form.
“You jest after all that happened?” she asked, her voice thick.
She hated the emotion that she betrayed, expecting it to be used against her. But there was only silence.
Then a quiet “No.”
It was the first time Claude sounded genuine since she began guarding him.
Against her better judgment, Ingrid turned around. If only to gauge his expression.
To see if this was another one of his tactics.
She found no humor in his features. Only a man who had clearly grown in the past five years, his boyish charm giving way to strong, defined features.
The slice on his cheek, dried blood still crusted around it, was proof of his presence in the battle. Claude hadn’t held back, she had seen him fire arrow after arrow with fearsome precision.
He hadn’t aimed to kill though. At least, not at the Faerghans.
Her eyes were locked on his, trying to decipher his sincerity. The green eyes that met hers, so often filled with mirth, seemed to mirror hers, betraying all that they had been through. Their school year had twisted out of control and they lost some of the best years of their lives to the war.
Ingrid’s stance relaxed and Claude, vagabond that he was, had to capitalize on capturing her attention. “We didn’t go to Gronder to confront your side.” Claude laughed again, but it rang false. “One can’t help what happens in the chaos of the battlefield, though. Especially with a rogue Prince and blood-thirsty Empress.”
Ingrid’s lips pressed thin. “Prince Dimitri is no rogue Prince.”
Her response was automatic, a reflex that had been built over months as Ingrid tried not to dwell on how Prince Dimitri was barely a husk of the man he once was.
She couldn’t think that way. Dimitri was Faerghus’ only hope.
“So was it his strategy to completely ignore my attempt at negotiation on the field so we didn’t have to needlessly attack each other?”
Ingrid frowned, acid rising in her throat, warring between her desire to defend Dimitri and the undeniable truth of Claude’s words.
“His strategy–,” she started, but cut herself off, her face morphing into a blank slate.
Of course, this was Claude’s strategy. To get her talking until some morsel of information slipped.
The knave didn’t even seem disappointed that she had stopped. “You truly are a loyal knight,” Claude noted, his lips upturned.
Ingrid’s jaw hardened, but Claude wasn’t done. “I could use someone like you on our side. If things crash and burn here, you’re always welcome to join us.”
Claude spread his arms out invitingly, as if he was fancily dressed in a castle and not locked in a cell, his clothes ripped and bloodied. To top it all off, he somehow had the audacity to wink. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
Ingrid inexplicably felt her cheeks heat up, and swiftly turned around.
What, did he exhaust all other methods and thought flattery would work on her? As if!
Ingrid lifted her chin up, arms resolutely at her sides. She was not going to speak another word.
Claude left her alone for a while, giving her the longest stretch of peace since she began her shift. He seemed to busy himself with the pebbles once again, but targeted the walls of his cell instead of her armor.
Ingrid stood at attention, but her mind wandered back to the battle. She remembered now, as she had flown above the crowd on her pegasus and scanned for an opening, she had seen Claude speaking to Dmitri, his features surprisingly earnest. She missed whatever occurred afterwards, a flaming arrow catching her attention and forcing her to swerve Tabitha aside.
The loud clinking of armor pulled Ingrid out of her thoughts. She turned swiftly and raised her lance, but Claude was not to be startled. He simply raised his hands, showing them to be empty, and continued to step closer towards her.
What was he planning now? Ingrid could not decipher it and could only continue to point her lance towards him as she eyed him warily. Her heart pounded, and it almost felt like their roles were reversed, that she was the one locked behind bars.
He stopped once he was within a meter of the cell bars. He slowly lowered his hands, but kept them open, his palms flat and facing her.
Ingrid could stab him if she wanted.
They stared at each other for a few moments, Claude’s mouth upturned with the slightest smirk. He did not move, and Ingrid understood this was his way of demanding conversation.
She could ignore him. Ignore his earnest green eyes and open expression. A look that asked her to trust him, when Ingrid’s brain screamed she couldn’t. But something deep down made her lower her lance. Claude’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, and Ingrid was surprised at this show of tension. For someone who seemed so composed, she didn’t realize how uncertain he was of her reaction.
Well good! It showed he was paying attention.
“I have people–an army–waiting for me,” he said, “and keeping me here is just wasting my time. So I’d appreciate it if you could speed whoever along so we can come to an agreement and I can get out of here.”
Ingrid was surprised at the lack of humor in his tone. Now that he was closer, she could see the dark circles beneath his eyes. No matter how much he tried to mask it, Claude was… tired.
Ingrid had called him all sorts of names during their time at the Academy. Doubted his ability to lead and be taken seriously. The man in front of her contrasted that, one who carried the weight of a nation on his shoulders.
Could she believe it?
Ingrid couldn’t leave her post. Surely he knew that. “Someone will come soon enough.”
“‘Soon enough’ doesn’t cut it. Maybe you Faerghans were forced into self-sufficiency, but I have people to take care of.”
Ingrid turned her nose up. What did he know? “Us Faerghans have rallied together. And as far as I know, we’re the ones who’ve made actual progress towards defeating the Empire.”
Claude’s smile was lopsided. “Then we have a common goal, which we could work towards if you could bring our precious Prince or his council so we can talk.”
Ingrid scoffed, Claude had no shortage of demands. “Believe it or not, Claude, you’re not the most important part of anyone’s to-do-list.”
Green eyes sparkled at her. “Except yours, my fair knight?”
“You- you,” Ingrid stuttered, a weird, fluttery sensation in her chest. Obviously he was referring to her guarding him, but how did he make it sound so much worse? “How do you expect people to trust you when you’re so…”
“Roguishly handsome?”
Ingrid’s cheeks flared, and it was not because she ever found Claude von Reigan attractive in any way shape or form.
Especially not with the new beard that framed his sharpened jawline.
Or how the cut on his cheek somehow suited him. Ingrid couldn’t explain it if she tried.
“So idiotically childish!” Ingrid spluttered. It wasn’t an insult she was proud of, but she had to say something.
Footsteps echoed across the hall, indicating several newcomers. Ingrid twirled and stood to attention, hoping they hadn’t overheard their conversation. If the shuffling behind her was any indication, it seemed Claude was preparing himself for the visitors as well.
Gilbert appeared at the entryway, and Ingrid stood up a little straighter.
Now she really hoped he hadn’t overheard.
“Ingrid, please ensure the prisoner is prepared swiftly.”
“Yes sir,” Ingrid answered.
“Prisoner? How cold,” Claude drawled behind her, and it took all her strength to suppress her eye roll. “How about Duke Reigan?”
No one paid any mind to Claude’s words. Gilbert stepped away, revealing the two knights behind him. One stepped forward to unlock the cell, and the tension in the room palpably increased.
Who knew what tricks Claude could have up his sleeve?
Ingrid had her lance half-raised and stood at the entry of the cell while the two knights prodded Claude to stand and tied his wrists together. Ingrid was skeptical of the strength of their work, not trusting that Claude couldn’t free himself from it.
She stepped forward, and the two Knights moved back to give her space, hands at the hilt of their swords.
Claude raised an eyebrow at her, looking at her with that same damn amusement. In turn, she grabbed his restraints none too gently, but it only caused Claude’s smirk to grow.
Ingrid made quick work of tightening the rope, and she kept her gaze stubbornly on his hands. He had archers hands, his long fingers callused. His arms were littered with scars just like hers, likely also from battle. One scar strangely looked like a burn mark, but not one she’d expect from a magical attack or flaming arrow. Ingrid’s brows furrowed as she observed it more closely, wondering how he could have gotten such an injury. It almost looked like something hot was pressed onto–
“Thinking of how else you’d like to tie me up?” Claude teased.
Ingrid immediately dropped his wrists as if they burned like fire, effectively pulled out of her thoughts. She hoped her cheeks weren’t as warm as she felt, especially not in front of the other knights.
“Cease your useless chattering,” she replied sharply.
Her eyes drifted back then to his hands, and she realized he had adjusted his sleeves to cover his scar.
Ingrid didn’t have time to think on it further for Gilbert had returned. She strode towards Gilbert, and she felt her thoughts immediately become less scrambled as she distanced herself from Claude.
“The prisoner is prepared, Sir,” she declared, proud of how composed she sounded despite feeling anything but.
One day she’d make Claude pay for every idiotic comment he made during his time under her guard.
Gilbert nodded at the Knights, and each grabbed one of Claude’s arms to guide him out of the cell.
Claude didn’t seem nervous at all about the fact he didn’t know where he was going or who he was going to meet. Or the fact that they were in the middle of a war and his life was at their mercy.
No, he looked downright pleased.
Almost as if everything was going to plan.
It occurred to her then that Claude had technically never asked her to free him. Only to hasten his meeting.
She looked at him then with her newfound realization, and Claude winked, as if he knew what she was thinking, and this was their secret.
Once the knights reached her, Claude leaned forward. “Care to join me for dinner after I’m done?”
Ingrid’s jaw dropped. “You.. you insolent scoundrel!”
As usual, Claude showed no remorse, and his laughter seemed to echo off the chamber walls long after he left.