Chapter 1

I stayed by the general's side as he laid down his armor and embraced a peaceful life away from the battlefield.

Three years later, Tracy Dittman, the Crown Princess, his cousin, stood outside our small cottage, crying bitterly.

"That woman killed my son, and now he wants to make her his concubine. Frank, what am I supposed to do?" Tracy said, her voice quivering with despair.

Tears shimmered in her eyes—Tracy looked completely lost.

Frank, my husband, set down his hoe, making sure the mud from his work wouldn't get on her.

With a helpless smile, he said, "You know those tears get to me every time."

Then, he rummaged through our little cottage, pulled out his dusty old armor, and left with her for the capital city, Eikons.

He turned back, leaving me with just three words. "Wait for me."

I sold all our chickens and ducks, and handed the animal hides Frank used to bring home to the neighbors. It felt like I was giving away the pieces of our old life one by one.

With a heavy heart, I said to my neighbor, "If he ever comes back, just tell him I'm dead."

*****

"This deer hide is top-notch—you could easily make yourself a nice jacket with it. You're really going to give it up?" Joanna said, looking at me with genuine regret.

Her voice was full of heartfelt concern, as if she wished I would keep it.

I smiled, shaking my head. "I read somewhere that it's always warm and muggy down south. I'd probably never use it anyway."

Joanna accepted the hide, then loaded a basket to the brim with hot, savory bread fresh out of the steamer for me.

"They're nothing fancy," she said, fussing a little as she pressed them into my hands. "Just take them for your journey."

I didn't refuse.

Joanna lingered at the door, uncertainty written all over her face as she saw me out.

"I remember your husband went north when he left. Why are you heading south instead? Are you sure you didn't get it wrong?" she asked, genuine worry in her voice.

"I'm sure," I told her, keeping my voice calm.

Joanna's eyes widened. "You two have always been so in love. If he comes back and you're not here, he'll be worried sick."

'Would Frank really get upset if he found me gone?' I couldn't help but wonder.

Once, I'd have believed it in a heartbeat. Now? I wasn't so sure anymore.

Honestly, Frank had gotten mad at me more in these last two weeks than he ever did in all three years we lived together.

Sometimes he'd say I was cold to Tracy. Other times, accused me of being too petty, always dragging up old grudges.

He told me to wait for him.

But he rushed off and never heard my response.

I hesitated for a moment, then turned to Joanna and said, "If he ever comes back, just tell him I'm dead."

Finally, I headed back to the little cottage by the stream.

This was the home Frank and I had built together, just the two of us.

With practiced hands, I lit the hearth. The dry grass went up in flames in a flash, and soon the house was nothing but ashes.

Afterwards, I threw my medicine kit and my little bundle over my shoulder, hung the wicker basket on my arm, and set off for the south.

Step by step, without once looking back, I left everything behind and walked away toward the unknown.

Just a little over two weeks ago, Tracy showed up in Ashwood Village.

Her eyes welled up the instant she laid eyes on Frank.

"Frank, you vanished for three years—never a word, not even a letter," she choked out. "Do you even know what I've been through?"

Frank set his hoe down in its usual spot.

"Don't cry, Tracy. It's windy out here. Come inside," he said gently.

Then he turned to me. "Laurel, could you make a posset of ginger for her?"

I crouched in front of the stove, half-heartedly waving a little fan at the flames.

Half-aware, I listened to their voices drifting in from the next room.

"That woman killed my son, and now he wants to make her his concubine," Tracy sobbed.

Her maid quickly agreed, "Ever since General Frank left, Lady Tracy has been through so much."

Frank's voice was cold as ice. "Just who does Trix think he is?"

I carried the steaming posset of ginger into the room.

The maid wiped the rim of the bowl, eyeing it critically.

She wrinkled her nose with disgust. "Ugh, is this even clean?"

Tracy took the bowl, giving her maid a pointed look. "Servants from the countryside don't know any better. Don't make things any harder for Frank."

My cheeks flushed a deep red from both embarrassment and anger as I gave Frank a look, feeling the sting of humiliation.

Frank barely flinched. He just said in that calm, steady voice, "Tracy, let me introduce you—this is my wife, Laurel."

Tracy's eyes went wide with shock. She looked so rattled she nearly dropped the entire bowl of posset of ginger, sloshing it all over the floor.

The maid couldn't hide her disbelief. "General Frank actually chose to marry a woman like her?" she blurted out, her voice dripping with contempt.

Frank's face was unreadable as he turned to me. "Laurel, bring another bowl," he said—voice flat and distant, like none of this bothered him at all.

The shock and scorn in their eyes left me rooted to the spot, my chest tight with shame.

I muttered under my breath, stubborn and sullen, "No."

Frank's voice hardened. "Laurel."

I insisted softly, "At the very least, they should apologize."

The maid snickered with obvious contempt.

Tracy cut in sweetly at that moment, "It's fine, really. I can't stand the taste of ginger anyway. Frank, you know that. Don't make me drink it."

Her affectionate tone softened Frank's gaze.

He shook his head with a helpless smile. "You never know how to look after yourself, do you?"

I parted my lips, but anything I could say would just feel out of place.

So I kept quiet, holding back everything inside.

That night, Frank grumbled about how rude I'd been earlier.

"She's worn out from her journey, and you couldn't even offer her a hot coffee?" he said, sounding half reproachful.

"Laurel, Tracy's my cousin. She was spoiled growing up, kind of simple-minded—so she ends up offending people without even realizing it.

"Besides, it was my own fault for not introducing you to her right away, so she misunderstood."

Frank was always stern, but he hardly ever got truly angry.

But this time, he was so upset he grabbed his blanket and went to sleep on the floor.

One of us on the bed, the other on the ground—it was his turn to play the wronged husband for once.

'Maybe I really am just overreacting this time,' I thought, a bit self-mockingly.

In the middle of the night, I tugged him off the floor and murmured, "I was wrong, Frank." It wasn't easy to admit, but I did it anyway.

He sighed—long and tired—then finally got up, looking a little less upset.