Neve stood outside the knights' manor, hand reaching for the door knocker. She paused as she listened to the noise spilling out from the boisterous building. Neve doubted anyone would hear her knocking.
Taking a deep breath, she straightened her skirts. The scent of floral soaps and oils wafted into the air as she moved, fresh from her bath.
Then, she pushed open the door to the manor.
Warm lantern light illuminated the dark night invitingly. The knights' manor was not a grand affair, but the building's interior was still impressive. Grey stone and tall wooden beams formed a large entryway, which was adorned with tapestries of Rosentine insignias. The lively sounds of the knights grew louder, as did the smell.
'Sir Oliver was right,' Neve thought, crinkling her nose.
Neve stepped past the threshold, closing the wooden door loudly behind her. As if summoned by the noise, Oliver appeared from behind a corner.
"Lady Neve!" the knight greeted, his cheeks drunkenly flushed. "You came. And freshly bathed, I see."
"Indeed," Neve replied. She sniffed Oliver as she neared him. "And I smell that you haven't."
Oliver laughed, throwing his arm around Neve's shoulders. She stiffened at the knight's overly familiar behaviour, but attributed it to his state of intoxication.
"The other knights are still eating dinner in the hall," Oliver explained as he led them down a long hallway. "But don't worry. There's plenty of food left."
"Good." Neve's stomach had been assaulted with pangs of hunger throughout the evening. Propriety aside, she was ready to devour whatever was put in front of her.
Finally, they reached a set of doors. They were large–almost intimidating–and made with planks of polished wood. Inexplicably, Neve felt herself grow nervous.
Unaware of Neve's hesitation, Oliver reached for the iron door handle. He shot Neve a boyish grin as he leaned past her, pulling open the doors to the hall.
"After you, My Lady."
Neve stepped into the hall, the mouth-watering scent of meat stopping her dead in her tracks. She took in the sights and scents of the large room. It was packed with long tables, the room almost overflowing with men. Heaps of food were stacked on plates and kegs of mead could be found at the ends of each table.
The knights ranged in age, from young adults to middle-aged men. They were all pleasantly drunk and jovial, chatting as they dined and drank. But the noise began to dwindle as the knights noticed Neve's arrival.
One by one, the knights clambered to their feet, offering her clumsy greetings.
"At ease, knights," Neve said, her voice echoing throughout the now-quiet hall. "Please continue comfortably, as I am here as an equal tonight."
"Make sure to feed the Lady lots," Oliver interjected. "She's on my signature diet."
"My condolences, My Lady," one of the knights joked.
Just like that, the merry atmosphere returned as the knights went back to their meals. Oliver guided Neve to a table, offering her a hand as she maneuvered her thick skirts onto the bench. The knights at the table greeted Neve politely as she sat.
Oliver looked busy as he began piling food onto a plate. Neve gulped once she realized it was for her.
Someone slammed down a pint of mead in front of her, some of the liquid spilling out onto the table.
"Drink up, Lady Neve!"
Neve looked up to see a familiar face. Before her stood an older knight–a man with dark brown eyes and a thick salt-and-pepper beard. The knight was an old friend...the person responsible for convincing the Duke to let Neve train in swordsmanship.
"Sir Conrad!" Neve exclaimed, unable to stop herself from smiling widely. "What a pleasure it is to see you."
Conrad took a seat beside Neve, the bench creaking under the weight of his domineering frame.
"It has been far too long, My Lady," Conrad said, giving her a fatherly smile in return. "I hope Oliver isn't giving you too much trouble."
"I'm giving her none at all," Oliver interrupted, sliding the plate across the table.
Conrad took a long gulp of his own mead, eyeing the plate. "Somehow, I doubt that," he laughed.
Neve stared at the mountain of food before her. Oliver had stacked layers of meat over a bed of mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables. Neve hesitated, the memories of intense table etiquette training appearing in the back of her mind.
But her hunger quickly got the better of her. Neve grabbed a turkey leg with her bare hands, sinking her teeth into it. Fat juices dripped onto the plate beneath her. Neve relished in the taste of heavenly, tender meat. It had been so long since she had indulged herself like this.
"That's quite the appetite, Lady Neve," Conrad commented bemusedly. "Oliver must have put you through the wringer today."
"Well, she's still standing, isn't she?" Oliver quipped. "I'm working with a tight deadline. Two weeks isn't a lot of time."
"Two weeks, hm?" Conrad pondered. "I can't imagine why the Royal Family would be sending a lady to the battlefield."
"Not just any battlefield," Oliver muttered. He bit his lip, glancing at Neve, after he realized he had overspoken.
"Oh?" Conrad asked sharply, raising an eyebrow at Neve.
"I doubt the Royal Family plans on announcing it," Neve relented, speaking through a mouthful of turkey meat, "but I'm being sent to Hell's Gate."
There was a long pause that followed Neve's words, the knights at the table turning to look at her nervously.
"Hell's Gate?" Conrad repeated incredulously.
"Not quite a death sentence, but almost," Neve said humorlessly. She looked around the table, realizing how solemn the air had grown. She looked at Oliver, confused.
Oliver shielded his mouth with his hand. "The knights think they're being stationed there, too," he whispered.
Neve almost laughed, clearing her throat to mask the sound. She turned to address the knights who had overheard.
"Rest assured, knights," Neve announced. "Hell's Gate doesn't fall within the duchy's territory. It is outside the Duke's jurisdiction to station his own knights there."
The knights relaxed, though they shared nervous looks between themselves.
"You're all safe," Neve added for good measure.
But the silently implied for now weighed heavily on her shoulders.