A Stranger Among Knights

Charlotte asked, glancing up at the tall figure beside her.

“Who knows?” Jack—captain of the knights and the kingdom’s court mage—said with a shrug.

“What do you mean, who knows?! Jack, you brought him here, didn’t you?”

Charlotte stood beside Jack, watching the knights practice their sword swings from a distance away.

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 quietly, its buds just beginning to swell—waiting for the right moment to bloom.

After the shocking encounter in the armory, Charlotte and three knights made their way to the knights’ training grounds.

Jack stood near the center, sleeves rolled up, arms folded, that ever-watchful gray gaze catching everything—and everyone. He noticed her arrival before she had a chance to slip away. The moment he saw Charlotte walking beside this new knight, his brows lifted, amused surprise flickering across his face.

She pretended not to notice.

"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!"

Philippe offered Charlotte and the others a dazzling smile before heading off toward the study room.

Marius shot her a grin over his shoulder before heading to the ground.

"Then let me give you a tip too, Your Highness," 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, alright?”

When he saw Charlotte’s face twist at his words, he gave her a casual grin, like always—half teasing, half reassuring.

But the moment he turned to Hoche, that grin sharpened. Still there, sure, but colder now. Like a smile worn just out of habit.

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

Hoche said nothing. He offered Charlotte a graceful bow—held just a moment longer, as if in quiet apology—then turned and followed after Marius.

And just as she was left alone at the entrance of the corridor, the captain of the knights—with his unmistakable gray eyes, doing nothing to hide his curiosity—started walking toward her.

Normally, he just 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.

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

Charlotte 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 around.” He ran his fingers through his hair and stood next to her. “Now tell me—what’d you think of him?”

That casual tone of his 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. And then—he burst out laughing.

Loud, full-bodied laughter that 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!” Charlotte snapped, her cheeks burning now. “He nearly ran me through like some castle burglar!”

Jack 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.”

Jack wiped a tear from the corner of his eye—but now his grin had softened into something more thoughtful.

“You’re mad because you still can’t tell what kind of man he is.”

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

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

She opened her mouth to snap back—but Jack cut her off, crouching to pick up one of the many potted plants lined along the corridor that led back to the castle. It was small enough to cradle in her arms.

This corner was shaded, and none of the pots had flowers blooming in them.

“Here,” he said, holding it out to her. “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.”

Still brimming with things unsaid, she put 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 something lovely.

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

Still channeling magic into the soil, she asked Jack—about that knight, the strange newcomer. But he only brushed it off with a vague answer.

At least, that’s how she took it.

“Enough talking, Lotte,” Jack said, nudging her lightly on the shoulder. “Focus.”

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

Jack watched her attempt. “You’re just scared of losing control. You’ve got to push past that fear.”

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 burst 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 briefly to Charlotte—before calmly 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 the flowerpot down, then she rounded back on him.

“I just 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.

If she had to describe Jack in a single phrase, it would be—the freest man she had ever known.

Titles meant nothing to him. Power was a tool, not a prize. His favorite saying was, “If anything happens, I’ll handle it. Just do what feels right.” And he meant it.

Though she had known him all her life, there were still vast parts of Jack’s story she didn’t know. 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 naturally gathered around him. Mischievous, aloof, but unwaveringly trustworthy—Charlotte owed him more than she could say.

When her parents vanished, Jack had taken up all the burdens. Even five years later, he had 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: a young man named Hoche.

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.

“I thought he's strong enough to be one of us, that's all,” he said. “He’s not a bad guy. 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 as a mage. The royals of this kingdom's magic glowed with a green, living energy, but Jack’s was harder to grasp: a silent force, hidden in plain sight. When she once teased him, asking if he could read minds, he had only winked and said, “That’s a secret, Your Highness.”

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. He wasn’t bulky compared to Jack or Marius, but his grip had been unyielding. Not painful, but inescapable. No matter how much she trained, she knew she could never have broken free without using magic.

“I told you he nearly skewered me,” she muttered. “He didn’t even blink.”

Jack let out a laugh, much too amused for her liking. “He thought you were an intruder, didn’t he? Don’t blame him for doing his job.”

Charlotte pursed her lips, resisting the urge to retort. She knew if Vanellope saw her face now, she’d be horrified. But around Jack, it was easy to 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 suddenly turned. His intense blue eyes met her curious peridot gaze.

Startled, she quickly looked away, her heart giving a strange, fluttering leap.

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 next in line for captain! There’s no way someone that slim could—”

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

“Eh—”

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

“Hoche! Come over here!”

Charlotte flinched. She wanted to hide behind Jack—just for a second—but forced herself to stay rooted. A princess couldn’t cower like a child.

Hoche heard his name called and glanced briefly at Marius—at 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, his face as unreadable as ever.

In what felt like only seconds, he stood before them. Just as he began to lower 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… Probably 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 already 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, eyes wide.

“…With Her Highness?” Hoche tilted his head slightly, 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 so much as touches 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 with a grin, gesturing toward the cherry tree now in full bloom.

“Now it’s time for sword practice. Nothing beats the real thing.”

“But—”

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

“Is that an order?”

Charlotte blinked. The way he said it—flat, precise—sent a strange chill down her spine. No frustration, no reluctance. Only obedience.

Just like he offered his own life as an atonement for his actions.

Jack’s playful smirk softened into something more unreadable.

“Yes,” he said.

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 caught the worry flickering in her eyes and gave a low chuckle.

“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, only one question echoed loudest:

...What secrets lie behind those ocean-colored eyes?