The Way We Fall

Chapter 74 (Tigris)

Despite what her brothers thought, Tigris was not a fool. In fact, she could be quite smart. She had to be, what with being the first female heir to the throne in centuries. So even though Tigris dismissed her brother's claims publicly, she quietly vowed to watch Sir Harold, just in case her old friend wasn't as okay as he claimed.

Tigris watched from her window as Harold reported to Aodh on the beach after his patrol. He pointed towards the castle. Tigris was familiar with Harold, he was one of her father's best knights. He'd trained her when she was a youthful teenager, buzzing with energy. She knew his movements better than anyone else.

Harold's time in captivity seemed to have drained him of his usually spry steps. He moved robotically, his face carefully blank as he gave his report. He had the same robotic stiffness on the training field when he sparred with the other recruits, his movements slow and clunky and very un-Harold-like. For days, Tigris had written it off as the knight getting back into the swing of things. But during his fight with her, he'd shown more fervor and enthusiasm than she'd ever seen from the knight. He'd never been so reckless and powerful with his blows before he was captured.

The treated cut beneath Tigris' collarbone prickled.

She couldn't deny that something was wrong with her old friend and others were starting to catch onto it. Hell, Roche had figured it out. If Tigris' dumb as rocks maid could figure out that Harold was not in the right headspace to fight, Tigris should probably stop him. For his safety, the other knights' safety, and for her own safety. But such a public absence from the upcoming tournament would be seen as a stain against Sir Harold's honour.

Tigris rubbed the bandaged cut again, the skin itching beneath the fine fabric of her gown. Her father's words from the morning meeting echoed in her ears. Everyone had seen her struggle under the seasoned knight during training. If she told Harold to sit out of the tournament coming up next week, she'd be seen as a coward and weakling by her father and the court.

Heat filled Tigris' cheeks. She pulled herself away from the window. Whatever was going on with Harold could wait until after the tournament. For both of their sakes.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a loud clatter followed by furious muttering in the corner of the room. Roche sat on a small wooden stool, scrubbing furiously at Tigris' armour.

"I didn't know polishing my armour was such a loud affair." Tigris announced to the younger woman, crossing her arms. "What are you even muttering about?"

"I was wondering how you got this helmet over your giant, egotistical head." Roche snapped back. Said helmet slipped from her oily fingers, crashing into the ground deafeningly. Tigris smirked.

"I'd have you in the dungeons for saying such a thing, but fate seems to have punished you anyways." Tigris chuckled as Roche groaned and stooped to grab the fallen pieces of metal. Roche scowled sourly at Tigris.

"Don't you have a sword to swing?" Roche grumbled, "Or are you going to keep staring out that window like a lovesick damsel."

Tigris' cheeks heated. "I was not-" she heaved a breath when she saw Roche smirk at her, "I wasn't staring. I was... observing."

"Who?" Roche dropped the armour and sprang to her feet, hands rubbing together. "I love gossip."

"I'm sure you do, since you spend all your time gossiping instead of polishing my armour." Tigris noted. Roche pouted, almost adorably, bending to pick up the armour.

"You didn't answer the question." she pointed out, using a rag to wipe some oil off her hands. "Who were you watching? There's only guards on the beach right now."