A Stranger Among Knights

Marius and Philippe engaged her in light conversation, yet her attention was consistently drawn to the quiet knight who walked a step behind their group.

The castle’s training grounds basked in the soft light of spring. Shouts and clashing steel filled the air, blades slicing through the breeze. Nearby, a cherry tree stood, its buds beginning to swell, waiting for the right moment to bloom.

Jack—commander of the knights and Peridotia’s court mage—stood near the center, sleeves rolled up, arms folded, that ever-watchful gray gaze catching everything and everyone. He had noticed her arrival before she had a chance to slip away. The moment he saw her walking beside this new knight, his brows lifted, amused surprise flickering across his face. She pretended not to notice.

Philippe offered Charlotte and the others a dazzling smile. “I’m with the Third Division, so I’m headed that way! Have a great day, Your Highness! Sir Marius, too. And Hoche, if you spot someone suspicious, maybe try talking to them first, yeah? Catch you all later!” He headed off toward the study room.

Marius shot her a grin over his shoulder. “Then let me give you a tip, too, Princess,” he said with a chuckle. “Next time someone mistakes you for a thief, go for the weak spots. Eyes, throat, or groin. Don’t hold back, all right?”

When he saw Charlotte’s face twist at his words, he gave her a casual grin, as always—half teasing, half reassuring. But the moment he turned to Hoche, that grin sharpened. It was still there, but colder. Like a smile worn out of habit.

“Better show us what you’ve got, newcomer,” he said, voice light but a little too crisp. “And this time, try not to draw your sword on any princesses.”

Hoche said nothing. He offered Charlotte a deep bow—held a moment longer, as if in quiet apology—then followed after Marius as they headed to the grounds.

Just as she was left alone at the entrance of the corridor, the commander of the knights, doing nothing to hide his curiosity, started walking toward her.

Normally, he watched the knights train without offering much in the way of direction—but today, she couldn’t help wishing he’d act a little more like an actual commander and supervise properly for once. There was no graceful escape. No urgent excuse came to mind. All she could do was stand there stiffly as he came her way.

“So?” Jack said. “Had a chat with our mystery newbie already, huh?”

She didn’t answer. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“I should’ve introduced him to you sooner, but I know you’re pretty busy this time of year.” He ran his fingers through his hair and stood next to her. “Now tell me—what’d you think of him?”

The casual tone of his finally cracked her composure.

“What did I think? That ridiculous puppet of a knight pointed a practice sword at my throat! In the armory! He thought I was a thief!”

Jack blinked. Then, loud, full-bodied laughter echoed across the training field, turning a few knights’ heads. He held his sides, barely managing to gasp, “He did what?!”

“I’m not joking!” she snapped, her cheeks burning now. “He nearly ran me through like some castle burglar!”

He only laughed harder, shaking his head. “Oh, that’s rich. His very first audience with the princess, and he’s already swinging a blade at her. Marius is going to love this.”

“He already laughed,” she growled, crossing her arms. “You’re all insufferable. Except Philippe.”

“Oh, but you’re not mad because Hoche drew a sword, are you? Let me guess—he apologized like his life depended on it.” He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye—but now his grin had softened into a more thoughtful expression. “You’re mad because you can’t tell what kind of man he is.”

Charlotte faltered, caught off guard by how close he’d hit.

Still wearing that serious mask, Jack went on. “Or maybe because none of us show the proper respect a princess deserves. Except Philippe.”

She opened her mouth to snap back, but he cut her off, crouching to pick up one of the many potted plants lined along the corridor that led back to the castle’s keep. This corner was shaded, and none of the pots had flowers blooming in them.

“Here,” he said, holding the pot out to her. It was small enough to cradle in her arms. “You came out here to practice your magic, right?”

She huffed. “ . . . Yes.”

“Then let’s do that. No swords, no strangers. Just you, the earth, and whatever flower wants to bloom.”

Remaining filled with unspoken thoughts, she placed her practice sword beside her and took the pot. As she focused, she could sense a single bulb nestled in the soil. Gently, she let her magic flow into it, coaxing it to sprout, to bloom into a lovely flower.

But then she remembered the mishap in town the other day—when instead of flowers, she’d accidentally enlarged a cabbage to monstrous proportions. The memory made her hesitate. What if I lose control again?

Still channeling magic into the soil, she asked, “So, who exactly is he?”

“Who knows?” Jack said with a shrug.

“What do you mean, ‘who knows’? Jack, you brought him here, didn’t you?” Charlotte asked, glancing up at him.

“Enough talking, Lotte. Focus.” He nudged her shoulder.

“I am trying . . .” She shifted her gaze to the small flowerpot she was holding.

“I know you’re scared of losing control, but you’ve got to push past that fear. Trust yourself more.”

She pressed her lips together, knowing he wasn’t wrong. And yet . . . there was more to it. Something clamped around her heart like invisible chains, dragging at her power. Before she could dwell on it, a mischievous spring breeze stirred the air—and with it, a sudden sneeze burst from her.

“Ah—achoo!”

A swirl of golden magic exploded from her hands. It grew the beautiful white crocus out of the soil—then overflowed, bringing every nearby potted plant into bloom with bursts of color, trailing across the ground like a ribbon of light. With a soft pop, a nearby cherry tree exploded into full bloom.

Knights paused mid-swing, staring in astonishment. Looking up at the tree that had suddenly burst into vibrant pink, Marius let out a low whistle. “Now, that is a spell.”

Hoche also glanced up at the delicate blossoms, then turned his gaze to her before resuming his swings.

“Bit of force in the wrong place, huh?” Jack said with a chuckle.

“Ugh . . . I messed it up again . . .” Charlotte groaned and set down the flowerpot, then rounded on him. “I can’t focus, Jack! Who is he? Where did he come from? Why did you bring him here?”

“Whoa, easy there, Princess. Take a breath.” Jack only smiled—that secretive smile he wore so often it felt like part of his face. 

Charlotte scowled. He was always like this, carrying more burdens and secrets than he ever let show. Though she had known him all her life, there were still vast parts of Jack’s story she didn’t know. He was the strongest man in the Order, his might born of a blade as sharp and devastating as his mysterious magic. And just like his magic, no one had ever laid bare the truth of his origins.

He had wandered from some distant land, drifted from town to town, met her parents during his travels, and stayed—supposedly because “the food’s good.” He wasn’t interested in status, yet people gathered around him. Mischievous, aloof, but trustworthy—Charlotte owed him more than she could say.

When her parents vanished, Jack had taken up all the burdens. Almost five years on, he still traveled alone to search for them.

On his most recent return from a journey, he wasn’t alone—he had brought back a stranger. She had heard Jack mention rescuing a lost soul during his travels, but she had pictured someone . . . simpler. Not him—someone wrapped in silence and shadows, someone she couldn’t quite put into words.

Jack crossed his arms, watching the field. “He’s got nowhere else to go. So I brought him here, that’s all,” he said. “But he’s not a bad lad. He wouldn’t hurt anyone, unless . . .”

The sentence hung unfinished. Charlotte looked at his face. “Unless?”

His expression remained the same, but his voice turned lower. “Unless someone ordered him to.”

She frowned, clearly unconvinced.

Jack was strong—both as a knight and a mage. The magic of the royals of this kingdom glowed with a green, living energy, but Jack’s was harder to grasp: a silent force, hidden in plain sight. When she had once teased him, asking if he could read minds, he had only winked and said, “That’s a secret, Princess.” Still, she suspected he could do similar things.

And so, when Jack said, “He’s not a bad person,” nearly everyone believed him. She wanted to believe it, too.

Her fingers brushed against her wrist—the very spot where Hoche had grabbed her. “I told you he almost skewered me,” she muttered. “He didn’t even blink.”

“He’s . . . a little too serious about his duties,” Jack admitted. “My apologies—I’ll make sure he remembers your face next time.”

That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. Charlotte pursed her lips, resisting the urge to retort. She knew if Vanellope saw her face now, she’d be horrified. But around Jack, she easily let the mask of a perfect princess slip.

Her gaze drifted toward the center of the field, where a single figure caught her attention—Hoche. His sword cut through the air with precise rhythm, too precise, too practiced. Like a machine, not a man.

As if sensing her stare, he turned to her. His intense blue eyes met her curious peridot gaze. Startled, she quickly looked away.

Her thoughts went back to the accident in the dusty armory. That was the first time she had looked so closely into a stranger’s eyes—a man’s eyes—the kind of blue that promised both danger and allure.

She had never seen the ocean, only imagined it from the old travelers’ tales. They spoke of its color—deeper than the sky, more vivid than the midnight blue of the heavens. She used to wonder what it might be like, longing for it in quiet moments.

Perhaps it looked like his eyes. Not the warm colors of a tropical ocean, but the hues of a freezing winter sea.

“Is he strong?” she asked after a moment, softly enough that only Jack could hear.

Jack smirked. “He might give Marius a run for his money.”

“What?!” She turned sharply toward him. “But Marius is the captain of the unit! There’s no way someone that slim could—”

“Well, then,” Jack interrupted, eyes glinting, “why don’t you test him yourself?”

“Huh—?”

Before she could back away, Jack called out across the grounds.

“Hoche! Come over here!”

Charlotte flinched. Her instinct urged her to hide behind Jack, but she forced herself to stay rooted. A princess couldn’t cower like a child.

Hoche glanced at Marius, the captain of the unit. Marius gave him a sharp grin and waved him on with a flick of his hand, as if to say, Get going already.

Once he saw the gesture, Hoche lowered his practice sword and strode toward them. In what felt like only seconds, he was there. Just as he began to drop into a formal bow, Jack held up a hand. “Oh, don’t worry. No need for all that.”

“Understood, sir,” Hoche replied.

Charlotte noticed the slight dip of his gaze—not nervous, but practiced. Then it clicked: one of those old etiquette rules. Subordinates weren’t supposed to look directly into a superior’s eyes. She’d nearly forgotten it, because she was a princess, and people around her—whether noble or commoner—always treated her more like a family member than a royal.

“You’ve already had the basics drilled into you, haven’t you?“ Jack asked.

Hoche nodded. “Yes, sir. I have received basic instruction in swordsmanship.”

Charlotte’s heart picked up again. Maybe it was the way Jack was smiling, like he was about to cause trouble. That grin of his never meant anything good.

And he asked, “So, how about a mock battle with Lotte instead?”

“What?!” Charlotte yelped again, louder this time.

“With Her Highness?” Hoche tilted his head, his eyes shifting toward her.

“Yeah. But you’ll be unarmed,” Jack continued, all casual confidence. “Your goal is to disarm her—no injuries. If you knock her weapon away, you win. If she does so much as touch you with her sword, you lose.”

“Jack! Are you serious?” Charlotte turned to him, half-shouting.

“You saw it yourself—your magic worked just fine,” Jack said, gesturing toward the cherry tree now in full bloom. “Now it’s time for more practical practice. Nothing beats the real thing.”

“But—”

She looked back to Hoche, expecting him to protest—or at the very least, hesitate. He didn’t show any reaction. He met her gaze once and asked Jack in a low, neutral voice,

“Is that an order?”

Charlotte blinked. The way he said it—flat, stripped of any kind of emotion—sent a strange chill down her spine.

Jack’s playful smirk softened into something more unreadable.

“Yes,” he said at last.

Hearing the command, Hoche bowed once. “Understood.” Without another word, he handed the practice sword and dagger at his waist to Jack and walked toward the center of the training field.

Charlotte stood frozen for a beat, then slowly reached for the hilt of her practice sword. The worn leather felt steady in her grip, even as her heart thudded behind her ribs.

When she looked back at Jack, he was watching her with the same calm smile.

“Go on, Lotte.” He gave a low chuckle as he caught the worry flickering in her eyes. “You want to know him more, don’t you? Then this is your chance,” he added. “And if anything happens, I’ll be right here.”

Simple. Steady. Just enough to push her past the fear. Charlotte nodded once, then stepped forward. Her boots thudded softly on the dirt, sword at her side, the weight of a thousand questions pressing on her back.

And as she approached the center of the field, facing her strange new opponent, one question echoed loudest: What secrets lie behind those ocean-colored eyes?