As the swords clash, Emilia’s head turns to watch. The knights from enemy kingdoms are fighting, and she enjoys watching the muscles flex as metal hits metal. She turns her head away when it hits skin, closing her eyes.

She enjoys watching the war from her balcony, watching them fight right in front of the kingdom wall. Her father says it’s unladylike, that it will ruin her demureness, but she couldn’t care less. She smooths her dress down, and hurriedly escapes from her room.

She enters the tents where the soldiers lay, some injured, some plain tired. One is laid on the floor, blood seeping through a white tank. She kneels before her, leaning forward. Dipping the edge of her skirt in some water, she begins to press the cool fabric to her forehead, then washes the dirt off the rest of the casualty’s face.

She is quite handsome, with a strong jaw and big eyes, which she sees when the soldiers green eyes open. She also sees something much less favorable, a red mark on her shirt. Astrias sign. The enemy’s sign.

Looking around, making sure nobody saw, she helps the soldier up. “Come, with me.” Her arm wrapping around the strangers waist, she painstakingly carries them up the stairs to her room, taking extra care to cover the door with a chair.

She watches as the soldier callapses on her bed, but not before pushing out a, “thank you miss.”

She approaches, leaning down to see her new ward. She presses two fingers to her lips, then to the hot cheek of the soldier. “I’ll care for you now.” She whispers, more of a promise to herself than to the warrior.