Chapter 2
864 Words
Genevieve held her gaze defiantly, daring the General to challenge her final command.
"Warin. My name is Warin and he is... Alfred." the second in command, shot back, and she snorted, annoyed.
Alfred stared at her, then slowly sat down, necessity overriding his pride. "Proceed then, girl. And make sure you get all the rot out."
Genevieve uncorked a small vial of strong spirit, the acrid scent stinging the air. She didn't hesitate, splashing the liquid directly into Alfred's open, festering wound. He only flinched slightly, a grimace barely crossing his face.
"That was quite unnecessary," she stated coolly, applying a small, specialized blade to the wound's edges.
"Your behavior towards me: calling me 'girl' and dismissing my trade."
"And what trade is that?" Alfred challenged.
"I am a healer. I've studied under my Master since I was a child. I am a woman, true, but that does not mean I am not a healer."
Alfred looked at her then, at her smudged brow, her fiercely serious eyes, and the tiny, defiant jut of her chin.
He burst into a short, loud, amused laugh that echoed in the small shed. Warin, standing guard, raised a questioning eyebrow.
Genevieve felt a flash of humiliation creep across her cheeks, followed by a pang of something she didn’t want to name.
"Oh, darling," Alfred said, shaking his head slightly. "You can be whatever you want, and you're probably well on your way to being a good healer. But for now, you are no healer because you are an apprentice, not because you are a woman."
Genevieve's eyes widened. She quickly pushed a stray lock of black, glistening hair back from her face. "I... I apologize, my Lord. I misinterpreted your meaning. I merely thought..."
"I'm not a fan of apologies, save it," Alfred interrupted, waving a dismissive hand.
She gave him a strange, quick look, part annoyed, part perplexed, but fell silent, focusing on the task.
Genevieve began the painful work of cleaning and carving away the infected tissue.
His enormous arm muscle was rock-hard beneath her hands, yet she kneaded and worked the area with a startling firmness. She moved with the decisive confidence of a physician, even as her dark lashes fluttered with focus.
"He's called the Sword of the Phoenix," she thought, trying to rationalize how he could endure the burn of the alcohol and the cut of her blade without a sound.
Alfred leaned closer, watching a tiny bead of sweat trace a path down her temple.
"You have very serious eyes, little healer," he murmured, his voice low and suggestive. "Do they soften when you're not trying to save a rogue's arm?"
Genevieve's breathing hitched. She didn't look up, but her flush deepened, the color spreading down her neck.
"My eyes are focused on ensuring you do not lose this limb, my Lord. I suggest you keep yours focused on not moving."
"A fair point," Alfred agreed, enjoying the heat rising on her face.
"But what a pity. All this concentration on rot and gore. A beautiful woman like you should be focusing on prettier things: on dances, perhaps, or soft hands touching soft skin."
She pressed the wound with a linen bandage harder than necessary. "I find saving lives quite beautiful, my Lord."
"Ah, but I find your blush much more so," he teased, watching her flustered expression intensify. "Tell me, Genevieve. Does that pretty concentration ever get rewarded?"
She paused, looking up, her annoyance battling her embarrassment. "You jest, my Lord. I'm but a simple girl. You found me in a simple, isolated village. I have no reward beyond a healthy patient."
Lord Alfred threw his head back and laughed again, a rich, genuine sound that was strangely appealing.
"Simple girl in a simple village who looks into the eyes of a general with no fear" Alfred repeated, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
"You manage to fix a wound that would fell a lesser man with the confidence of a court physician. You, Genevieve, are anything but simple. Perhaps you merely wish to be."
She tried to keep her expression annoyed, yet her eyes twinkled, perhaps with the faint thrill of being noticed.
"I am finished, my Lord. Keep the dressing clean and dry. I will return tomorrow to change it."
"Such haste," Alfred drawled. "I confess, I was just starting to enjoy the conversation. The silence here is tiresome."
"Then you should talk to your right-hand man," she murmured, nodding toward Warin.
"I have work." She stood up to leave.
"See you soon, my Lady," Alfred called after her.
As Genevieve gathered her tools into her satchel, Warin’s gaze followed her. His voice was low, deliberate, carrying a quiet threat.
"Healer, don’t think your small hands and clever mind escape notice. One misstep, and it won’t just be his temper you have to worry about."
Genevieve froze for a heartbeat, heart quickening, but forced herself to nod.
"I… I understand," she said, her voice steady despite the chill crawling up her spine.
Genevieve didn't turn around, but she allowed herself a subtle, exasperated roll of her eyes as she walked out of the shed and into the twilight.
- Writer
