Constance rode her bay gelding ahead of the manor road because no one had told her she couldn’t.

  That, more than the breeze or the sun, was the pleasure of it. Her horse knew the road well enough to keep a steady pace without instruction, and Constance let the reins lie loose in her hands. No nurse. No guard. No one correcting the angle of her back or the position of her knees.

  She rounded a shallow bend and saw him coming the other way.

  He was alone. That was the first thing she noticed. No banner, no squire riding behind, no colors marking him as anyone’s man. His shield hung at his back. His armor was simple, leather and mail worn to fit rather than to impress. The sword at his hip sat easily. It was not angled for display, or sitting in a sheath of grand design. It was a working sword.

  He saw her at the same time she saw him. His pace did not change, nor did he stiffen. He did not reach for his sword. Just a slight shift of weight, a glance that took her in and then moved on to the road ahead, as if she were just part of the scenery rather than an obstacle.

  Who did this stranger think he was?

  She slowed her horse and lifted a hand, palm out. “You there.”

  He stopped. Not at once, but after a few more steps, as if finishing a thought before setting it aside. He shifted then, resting one hand lightly on the pommel of his sword. His other hand hung loose. His face was weathered in the way of men who spent more time outdoors than in halls. The lines at the corners of his eyes were from sun and squinting rather than age.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  No bow. No flourish. But it was not rude.

  “Who are you?” Constance asked. She leaned forward slightly in the saddle, curious rather than commanding. “And where are you going?”

  He looked up at her, and for a moment she thought he might say nothing at all. Then his mouth curved, just barely. “I’m called Bade,” he said. “As for where I’m going, I was hoping the road would tell me. It usually does.”

  “That’s not an answer,” she said.

  “It’s as honest an answer as I can give.”

  She narrowed her eyes, amused. “People don’t usually stop here without a reason.”

  “My reasons are my own,” he said. “Though I do intend to speak with the lord of these lands, if that sates your curiosity.”

  Her gaze flicked across his armor and sword and shield once again. “Are you a knight?” she asked.

  He glanced down at himself, as if checking. “I have been accused of it.”

  She tilted her head. “That sounds evasive.”

  “That’s because it is.”

  Constance studied him more closely now. His armor bore scuffs and repairs, leather darkened by oil and weather. Nothing matched perfectly, but everything appeared to work. His eyes stayed on her face, not drifting to her hands or the cut of her riding dress.

  “Why are you here, then?” she pressed. “Appleford isn’t much to look at.”

  “Neither is most of the world,” Bade said. “Doesn’t stop it from being important.”

  She felt a flicker of something at that. Interest, perhaps. Or the irritation. She wasn’t quite sure.

  “My father doesn’t like strangers,” she said. “Especially armed ones.”

  Bade nodded. “Most fathers don’t.”

  “And yet you keep your sword,” she said, glancing at it pointedly.

  “I find I’m more at ease when I know where it is,” he replied.

  That earned another laugh from her, warmer this time. “You’re very calm for someone being questioned by the lord’s daughter.”

  Bade cocked his head, the motion small. “And here I thought you were the town’s guard.”

  Constance furrowed her brow. “I could be.”

  “I don’t doubt it, you’d make a fearsome one at that.”

  She didn’t know what to do besides stare at the odd man and blink. She finally managed to find some words. “You don’t seem afraid.”

  “I try not to be,” he said. “It makes for clearer thinking.”

  She considered that, then asked, “Are you here on official business?”

  Bade looked past her then, down the road toward the distant roofs of Appleford. His fingers tapped once against the saddle leather. “I’m here to see if there is any.”

  “That doesn’t sound very official.”

  He grinned. “Then you have a good ear.”

  “My tutor says I notice things,” she said. “Usually right before telling me not to.”

  Bade’s smile widened a fraction. “Then you should keep doing it.”

  They sat in a companionable pause, just a horse and man and girl held in a pocket of quiet. A bird lifted from the hedgerow and vanished into the trees.

  “Well,” Constance said at last, straightening in the saddle. “You’d best not linger too long. My father dislikes surprises.”

  Bade inclined his head, just enough to be respectful without surrender. “Then I’ll try not to be a poor one.”

  He turned then and set off toward Appleford, boots finding the road again with easy certainty. Constance watched him go, her smile lingering even after he’d passed the bend and vanished from sight.

  Only then did her brow crease. She nudged her horse forward, unsettled in a way she couldn’t quite name.

  Bade entered Appleford as unceremoniously as a knight could. At a walking pace, sword on his hip and shield plain on his back. He did not look around as if searching for trouble, nor did he pretend the town was beneath his notice. His boots found purchase on the road with indifferent purpose.

  Owen saw him first from the edge of the yard near the granary, where he had been going over figures with one of his father’s stewards. The armored man stood out among the usual cast of working men. He bore no colors and no crest. His armor was worn smooth by use rather than polished for show. He carried himself like someone accustomed to being obeyed, but uninterested in demanding it.

  One of the guards noticed him next. Then another. There were only four men on duty that afternoon, and the guards in Appleford were more watchful than warlike. They clustered without quite meaning to, hands resting on the shafts of their spears, eyes following the figure

  “He armed?” one muttered.

  “Plain as day, just a sword I think,” another said. “Knight, by the look.”

  “Whose?”

  That question went unanswered.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  They approached him together, with the careful confidence of men working on familiar soil.

  “Hail,” the senior guard said. “You’ll need to leave your weapon here if you intend to go further.”

  Bade stopped. He turned slowly, meeting the guard’s eyes. “I don’t intend to,” he said.

  A pause. The words were mild. The meaning was not.

  “I don’t mean offense,” the guard said, stiffening. “It’s our custom.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Bade replied. “But my sword stays with me.”

  The guard glanced at the others. No one raised a spear, but no guard took a single step towards the man. The moment hung in the air.

  “Then we’ll have to escort you to see Lord Bramblewick,” the guard said at last.

  “If you must,” Bade said, and set off again as if the matter were settled.

  By the time they reached the manor, word had already arrived ahead of them.

  Owen stood with his father in the outer hall when Bade was shown in. Alwin Bramblewick did not rise at once. He watched the knight cross the threshold, taking in his steady sway, the way his eyes took in his surroundings, the way he acknowledged the space without submitting to it.

  “You come armed,” Alwin said.

  “I do,” Bade replied.

  “And you refuse to disarm.”

  “I do.”

  Alwin inclined his head, once. “Then speak your business quickly.”

  Bade did not bow. He did not smile. He reached instead into his satchel and withdrew a folded parchment, worn at the creases. He did not hand it over.

  “I’m Bade of Westmere,” he said. “A Warden empowered by the High Steward of the Marchfold, Alard Valcant. I’m here to confirm whether any formal complaints, land disputes, challenges, or petitions for review have been filed in this holding within the last two years.”

  The procedural words struck like a gavel. Owen felt the air become heavy.

  Alwin’s expression, to his credit, did not change. “We keep our records properly.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Bade said. “I’m here to confirm it.”

  Silence stretched. Then Alwin nodded, “A moment, please.” The older man disappeared into a side room. He was only gone for a moment before reappearing with a ledger. He handed the bound papers to the Warden. Bade did not open it. He asked questions instead.

  “Any challenges withdrawn before hearing?”

  “No.”

  “Any verbal petitions unresolved?”

  “No.”

  “Any unusual transfers of stewardship or survey rights?”

  “No.”

  The questions came one after another; narrow, precise, and relentless in their simplicity. Alwin answered them cleanly, because there was no room not to. Bade listened without interrupting, his head slightly tilted, as if weighing the way the words were spoken instead of the words themselves.

  Owen watched closely. Bade did not push, nor did he threaten or hint at consequences. He accepted and evaluated each answer as it came. That, Owen realized, was the pressure. There was nowhere to push back against a man who only asked what his duty empowered him to ask.

  Bade held up the ledger in his hand. “Is there a quiet place I can go over this? It’ll be a while.”

  “You may use my study,” Alwin replied, and guided him to the secluded room.

  It had taken the better part of an hour, largely because Bade was not one to gloss over detail. Owen and Alwin sat mostly in silence outside. The Warden emerged from the room at last, and nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Everything appears in order.”

  He simply handed the ledger back to Alwin. Just like that.

  Alwin studied him. “Is that all?”

  “For now,” Bade said. “I’ll write up an official report to send back to Highmarch. If the courts there are satisfied, it will be the end of it. If not…well, it won’t be me you hear from.

  A moment passed as Alwin took in those words. Then he gestured toward the door. “You may go.”

  Bade inclined his head, shallow but courteous. He turned to leave without another word.

  Owen watched him cross the hall, noting again the easy balance, the lack of haste. As the door closed behind him, Alwin exhaled through his nose.

  “Did you see his shield?” Alwin asked.

  “I did,” replied Owen.

  “And what marks did it bear?”

  Owen thought for a moment. “There was none.”

  “Did he bare a crest or a badge or any markings of a house?”

  “None, father.”

  “Remember this,” Alwin said quietly, not looking at his son. “He may be a Warden, but a knight without a house should not be trusted.”

  Owen frowned. “He did nothing wrong.”

  “No,” Alwin agreed. They moved to the window as Bade crossed the yard below, guards parting to let him pass. He did not look back.

  “Any man can carry a sword,” Alwin continued. “But without a house, without people to tie down his actions, he is beholden to no one but himself and his own whims. What is to stop him from carrying out whatever justice he sees fit?”

  Owen nodded slowly, committing the lesson to memory even as unease settled in his gut. Outside, Bade of Westmere walked away from the manor as he had entered it, leaving no mark behind him at all.

  Caleb had filled half the basket when the sound of footsteps reached him. They were soft enough that he might have missed it if he had been daydreaming instead of keeping his ears open..

  Apples thudded now and then as ripe fruit gave up its hold. The air smelled of their sweetness. His hands were tacky with juice where a split skin had burst, and his shoulders ached in the familiar and honest way that came from steady work.

  He straightened when the man appeared between the rows.

  The knight walked without hurry, head turning slightly as he took in the orchard. The gnarled trunks of old trees and the fresh fruit they bore. His shield was slung loose, unmarked. His armor bore the dull scuffs of use rather than the shine of care. Caleb couldn’t help but stare.

  “Afternoon,” the knight said.

  “Afternoon,” Caleb replied, cautious but polite. He rested one hand on the basket’s rim.

  The man’s gaze dropped to the apples. “They look good.”

  “They are,” Caleb said. “This year’s been kind.”

  The knight nodded. He took a step closer, close enough that Caleb could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes.

  “Mind if I take one?” the knight asked.

  Caleb hesitated. It was not a long pause, but it held weight all the same. He glanced beyond the neat rows of trees and up toward the manor.

  “I’d like to sir, but they’re not mine to give,” he said finally.

  The knight did not scoff. He simply nodded and gave a knowing smile. “Fair enough.”

  He shifted his weight as if preparing to move on, and something in Caleb’s chest tightened unexpectedly. The answer was the correct one. He knew that. But it didn’t sit right. Watching the man accept it so easily made the orchard feel suddenly smaller.

  Caleb reached into the basket and lifted an apple. It was warm from the sun, heavy and unblemished. He turned it once in his hand, then held it out.

  “One won’t be missed,” he said. “Not if you’re hungry.”

  The knight took it without ceremony. His fingers brushed Caleb’s briefly, callused and warm.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I won’t tell.”

  They stood there a moment longer than necessary. The knight bit into the apple, juice running down his thumb. He chewed thoughtfully.

  “You work this land?” he asked.

  “I do,” Caleb said. “Along with others.”

  “How long?”

  Caleb nodded. “As long as I’ve been able.”

  The knight glanced down the row again. “Fine work. The trees look well cared for.”

  “I can’t take all of the credit, my mum works the orchard as well, she taught me what I know. Besides, the trees do most of the work. We just try to make sure they’re in the best shape they can be.”

  “We’re not so different then. Most of my job is just making sure things are in the best shape they can be,” the knight said mildly before taking another bite.

  “And what would that be?” he asked

  “Warden.”

  “You don’t look much like a Warden. Aren’t you supposed to be wearing shiny plate armor and riding on some great and noble looking horse?”

  “Some do.”

  Caleb waited, then realized that was all he was going to get. He found he didn’t mind.

  “Right. Well the harvest festival’s coming, it’ll be a fun few days” he said instead. “Are you in Appleford for that?”

  The knight’s mouth curved. “I’m afraid I’ll have to miss it. The other towns are a little too far away to stay in any one place for long, especially without some great and noble looking horse to ride on.”

  Caleb considered that. “I bet you get to see all sorts of amazing things. What are the other towns like? The only town I’ve ever known is Appleford.”

  “Most are like this one, just with fewer apples.” The knight finished the fruit and wiped his hand on his sleeve. “Thank you for the food, by the way. My name’s Bade.” The knight reached his hand out.

  “Caleb,” he answered.

  They shook hands. Bade’s grip was firm, brief, unassuming.

  “Well,” Bade said, adjusting the strap of his shield. “I should keep moving.”

  Caleb nodded. “Safe roads.”

  Bade paused, then added, “You made the right call, by the way.”

  “What d’you mean?” Caleb asked.

  “With the apple,” Bade said. “You never know when a small act of kindness will come back around. Enjoy your festival.”

  He turned and ambled away from the orchard. Caleb watched until the man disappeared between the trees.

  Then he returned to his work.

  The basket filled steadily. The ripe apples picked easily. As the sun dipped lower, there was nothing to show that anything unusual had happened at all. Except that every so often, Caleb found his thoughts returning to the scruffy man with the blank shield, and what kind of adventures he might have had.