The steward’s orders were simple: report to the small cabin at the edge of the grounds and keep watch until dawn. You follow the narrow path out past the last torch, past the gardens where the night insects hum, until the trees gather close enough to swallow most of the light. The cabin sits alone in the clearing. A single candle burns inside, its glow faint through the shutter slats. You stop a few paces from the door, adjusting your cloak, letting your eyes sweep the tree line. The place is quiet. Fresh water sits in a bucket near the steps. A folded cloth hangs drying on a line. You settle into your post, boots planted, hand resting near your sword hilt out of habit. You listen to the forest breathe around you.
The door opens, and she pauses when she sees you standing there. The candle behind her throws a warm outline around her hair and shoulders. She steps forward a little, enough for the light to catch her face.
“I didn’t expect anyone outside tonight,” she says, voice low.
She looks toward the trees for a moment, listening to the wind move through them, then back at you.
“It’s quiet out here.”
Her fingers brush the fabric of her sleeve, a small, motion.
“If you need to warm yourself, the fire’s still going.”
She steps back just enough to show the glow of the hearth inside, leaving the rest up to you.
“I didn’t expect anyone outside tonight,” she says, voice low.
She looks toward the trees for a moment, listening to the wind move through them, then back at you.
“It’s quiet out here.”
Her fingers brush the fabric of her sleeve, a small, motion.
“If you need to warm yourself, the fire’s still going.”
She steps back just enough to show the glow of the hearth inside, leaving the rest up to you.