*Chapter 20: Water in the Dark*
647 Words
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Day 2 of Spirit’s punishment.
Lucien doubled the guards around the post. “No one goes near him,” he told Elias flat. “Especially not her. Especially not you.”
Elias nodded. “Yes, sir.”
But orders and Elias had started disagreeing lately.
That night, moon thin and cold, Amara couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she heard Spirit stamping. Dry. Thirsty. Punished for choosing her.
She slipped out barefoot. Not in the dusty blue gown.
She wore the forest green wool now. High collar, brass buttons catching moonlight. Dark leather belt cinched at her waist - Lucien’s belt, taken and never returned. Hair braided tight down her back. Gray wool scarf at her throat. She looked like the Colonel’s wife the base whispered about. The one who didn’t flinch.
Elias was at his post by her door. His eyes went wide half a second when he saw her. Not a girl anymore. A woman in uniform-colors, chin up, walking like she owned the yard.
He didn’t stop her. Just fell into step beside her, silent. “Personal guard,” he whispered. But it sounded different now. Respectful.
They crossed the yard. Guards looked away. Maybe because of Elias. Maybe because she looked like she had the right to be there.
Spirit’s head lifted when he smelled her. He didn’t make a sound. Just stared. Ribs showing. Mouth cracked.
Amara knelt in the dirt, green wool pooling around her knees. She looked like a soldier’s wife and a rebel at the same time. Her hands were steady as she unstoppered the canteen at Elias’s belt.
She pressed it to Spirit’s lips. Let him drink slow. A little. Then more. Her brass buttons glinted in the dark. The leather belt at her waist creaked when she leaned forward.
“Hey, wild thing,” she whispered, forehead to his neck. The gray scarf brushed Spirit’s mane. “I’m not done fighting yet. Neither are you.”
Spirit nuzzled her braid. Like he knew she’d changed clothes but not her heart.
Footsteps.
Lucien.
He stopped at the edge of torchlight. Saw her immediately. Green wool. His belt. Braided hair. Not the broken girl from Bellewood. This was Mrs. Devereaux in every inch... except her eyes. Those were still pure Amara. Defiant.
“You’re disobeying direct orders,” he said. Voice low. But he was looking at the belt at her waist.
Amara didn’t let go of Spirit. Didn’t stand. Stayed kneeling, like a soldier would. “You’re trying to kill him to punish me. Which one of us is breaking rules, Colonel?”
Lucien stepped closer. Eyes on the brass buttons, the braid, the way she held herself. She looked like she belonged in his world now. And that terrified him more than the blue, purple or brown gown ever did.
“You were told to guard her,” he said to Elias, but his eyes stayed on her.
Elias met his gaze. “I am guarding her, sir. From becoming the kind of man who lets a horse die to win an argument.”
The yard went dead quiet.
Lucien’s jaw worked. He could’ve ripped the belt off her. Could’ve locked her up. But she knelt there in his colors, watering the horse he couldn’t break, and for a second he didn’t know if he was looking at his wife or his enemy.
“Back to the quarters. Both of you,” he said finally. Voice rougher than before.
Amara stood. Green wool shook the dust off. She kissed Spirit’s nose once, hand lingering on the leather belt at her waist. “Hold on,” she breathed. Then walked back with Elias beside her. Not behind. Beside. Brass buttons flashing with every step.
Lucien watched her go. The military wife he’d forced into his house... had become the military wife he couldn’t control.
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- Writer
