The General's Apothecary Apprentice

Chapter 6

Next day, Genevieve stood by the well with her shawl tucked close as the warriors paraded the village, pretending to rinse a jug that was already clean.

Around her, the villagers watched too; some from doorways, some from behind baskets, but no one spoke. The sound of hooves and metal filled the space where their voices should have been.

"They look dangerous," Eila whispered beside her, eyes wide as moons. The girl had cheeks still rounded with youth, the sort that never stayed pale for long.

"They are dangerous," Genevieve murmured. She did not mean it to sound half fascinated, half fearful, but it came out that way.

At the head of the procession rode him, the General. Broad shoulders, tall, lean with rugged muscles, and strangely calm. His armor was not polished to shine; it was just worn enough to prove he had seen more than one battle. His hair was dark, pulled back, and his expression carried the impatience of a man who had killed too many times.

"That must be him," Eila said. "General Alfred. The Sword of the Phoenix. The King's most trusted General."

"Keep your eyes down," Genevieve said quickly. "Don't stare."

But she was staring too.

The General dismounted near the elder's hut, gave short orders to his men, and one of the older women hurried forward with water and bread. His voice carried across the square, deep, steady, and clear, the kind of voice people obeyed before they even thought to question.

When he turned slightly, the light caught the faint scar along his jaw. It was not ugly; it looked earned.

Genevieve's jug slipped a little in her hands, the clatter echoing louder than it should have been.

The General's gaze lifted briefly in her direction, just once, just enough. She froze.

Then she looked to the sky, resolutely watching a bird in flight.

Eila's elbow nudged her. "He looked at you."

"No," Genevieve said too quickly. "He was looking at everyone."

"He wasn't," Eila said, grinning. "If I were you, I would do..."

"Don't," Genevieve cut her off. "You would do nothing. These men are not here for us. I am glad he's better. Hopefully they all leave soon."

The last of the riders halted near the barn. One of them, a younger man with a grin too bold for his own good, dismounted and stretched.

"So this is it," he said to another. "The great mountain retreat we've heard of. Smells like sheep and soup."

"Better than blood and dust," another replied.

They laughed quietly, like men who needed to remember how.

Genevieve shifted, trying to look anywhere but the imposing wall of soldiers. Still, she caught sight of Warin.

He caught her glance and gave a polite nod before turning his gaze to Eila. Genevieve scoffed at men and their wandering eyes, pulling Eila protectively behind her.

Warin kept staring, unbothered, until someone called his name. That got his attention, and he finally looked away.

Genevieve exhaled softly, realizing she’d been holding her breath. “Men,” she muttered under her breath, low enough for only Eila to hear. “Always looking for trouble.”

Eila frowned, tilting her head. “He wasn’t being rude, was he? He only nodded.”

“Mm,” Genevieve replied curtly. “That’s how it starts.”

Eila gave a small, confused laugh, but Genevieve didn’t join her. Her eyes followed Warin as he crossed the courtyard to join a group of soldiers, his armor glinting faintly under the dim light.

He laughed at something one of them said, too easily, too freely, as if unaware—or uncaring—of the discomfort he left behind.

“Do you know him personally?” Eila asked quietly.

“All warriors are cut of the same cloth.” Genevieve said, straightening her shawl. “They smile like saints and lie like thieves.”

Eila’s laughter faded. “He didn’t look like a liar.”

Genevieve sighed. “That’s why they get away with it.”

Eila leaned closer again, whispering, "Do you think they kill people for fun?"

"Eila," Genevieve said sharply this time, "enough."

But the girl giggled softly, brushing her braid back. "You're scared of him, aren't you?"

"I'm not scared," Genevieve remarked. "I just know what happens when power comes to quiet places. Things do not stay quiet."

From across the square, Alfred gave a single command, and his men began to unpack. The clang of weapons filled the air like unwanted music.

As the sun began to drop behind the ridge, Genevieve turned to go, jug still empty, heart still unsteady. Eila lingered.

"Come on," Genevieve called softly. "Your mother will be waiting."

"In a minute," Eila whispered, still watching the knight.

Genevieve paid no mind to her starry eyes and dragged her back to her mother's arms before setting for home herself.