The morning had a magical quality to it, the kind of uncomplicated joy Henry hadn't ever experienced before. Between the vibrant energy of the market stalls and the laughter sparked by the street jesters, the heavy mantle of the success in his trial felt lighter than ever.
The weight of the world felt distant as they made their way to the bustling town square, where a small boy, no older than ten, suddenly collided with them.
Tears streamed down the boy's face as he clung to Mia's yellow skirt. "Please," he sobbed, "can you help me find my mom?"
Mia's reaction was instantaneous. She knelt in the dirt without a second thought for her new dress, her hands moving with a natural, soothing grace as she rubbed his head. "It's okay, we've got you," she murmured, her voice a warm blanket of comfort. "I'm Mia, and this is Henry. What's your name, little one?"
"Joe," the boy sniffled.
Henry watched them, transfixed. There was a raw, maternal strength in Mia he hadn't seen before, an instinctive softness that he found incredibly attractive. Wanting to help bridge the gap from fear to safety, Henry knelt beside them. "Tell you what, Joe. How about we find your mom and get some candied apples on the way? Everything is easier with a treat."
The boy's eyes went wide, his fear instantly eclipsed by the prospect of sugar. With a surge of enthusiasm, Joe jumped between them, grabbing Mia's hand with his left and Henry's with his right. The image of the three of them walking together brought a synchronized smile to Henry and Mia's faces.
As they wove through the market, with a candied apple in Joe's hand, Henry noticed the boy still struggling to see over the crowd. "Want a better view? You can see further from up here."
Henry hoisted Joe onto his shoulders, and the boy let out a delighted crow of laughter. Mia watched the transition, her heart fluttering at the sight of Henry—the serious, focused warrior—being so effortlessly gentle.
Ten minutes into their search, Joe looked down from his high perch and asked innocently, "How long have you two been married?"
The question hit Mia like a bolt of lightning, her face flushing a deep crimson. Henry, however, let out a boisterous laugh. "A long time, Joe," he teased, casting a playful, sidelong glance at Mia. "A very long time."
"Henry, stop lying to him!" Mia stammered, looking up at Joe. "We aren't married."
"Yet," Henry added smoothly, the word hanging in the air with a weight that made Mia's breath hitch.
Before she could find a retort, a frantic cry pierced the air. "Joe! Joe, is that you?!"
A middle-aged woman in a maid's uniform burst through the crowd. Henry carefully set the boy down, and Joe bolted, screaming "Mom!" with his half-eaten apple still clutched in his fist. The woman collapsed into a hug, sobbing with relief as she scolded him for running off.
When she finally stood up to thank the strangers, her face went pale. "Young Master? Mia?!"
Mia blinked in surprise, recognizing the woman. "Esther?"
Esther was a regular in the East Wing of the castle, while Mia worked the West. The realization hit them both at once. "So Joe is your son, Esther?" Mia asked, smiling as the boy hid behind his mother's skirts.
"Yes, he is! Oh, I hope he didn't give you and the Young Master too much trouble," Esther said, her eyes darting between Henry and Mia, clearly taking in the fact that they were out together, holding hands and dressed nicely.
"He was a sweet boy," Mia assured her.
Esther quickly excused herself, needing to return to her own mother, and as they walked away, Joe waved a sticky goodbye to his new friends. Henry and Mia stood in the square, the echoes of the family they had pretended to be still vibrating between them.
The lingering warmth of their encounter with Joe faded as they reached the town square, replaced by a sight that demanded a warrior's attention. In the center stood three horses that defied nature—massive, fierce-looking beasts with a girth nearly double that of any stallion Henry had ever seen.
Standing beside them was an old man, his frame solid and his gaze sharpened by decades of combat. He was flanked by two knights whose armor bore the unmistakable insignia of the Crown. The knight on the left was a titan of a man, encased in full plate and towering even over Arnold, though he lacked the Baron's sheer, oppressive presence. The knight on the right, however, was far more intriguing. He wore no armor and carried only a slender, curved saber. His posture was deceptively relaxed, but Henry sensed a lethality in him that far eclipsed his armored counterpart.
Drawn by curiosity, Henry and Mia approached. He noticed the old man holding a parchment, already a quarter-filled with signatures. The recruiter's eyes locked onto Henry, instantly recognizing the potential in his build.
"Are you willing to serve the King's army, young man?" the old man asked.
Henry's instinctive reaction was a flat refusal, his expression shifting toward a no. But the recruiter was a master of his craft. Before Henry could speak, the man leaned forward. "Before you say no, consider the benefits. We don't just offer a paycheck. We teach different sword styles, specialized movement arts, and the path to unlocking your knight aura when the time is right."
The mention of varied styles and movement arts hit Henry like a thunderclap. It was the exact solution to the wall he had been hitting.
"Is that the truth?" Henry asked, his voice low.
"Of course," the old man replied. "Provided you earn enough Contribution Points. A talented young man like you won't find those hard to come by."
Henry glanced at Mia. She was trying to hide her mounting anxiety, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her yellow dress. He looked back at the recruiter, then at the saber-wielding knight. He couldn't wait six months for a tutor who might never arrive while he stagnated at Level 10.
"How long is the service?"
The old man pulled two more papers from beneath his ledger. "Three years on the left; nine years on the right."
Henry didn't hesitate. He took the quill and signed the three-year contract with a firm hand. The opportunity was too vital to let slip through his fingers.
The old man's smile was triumphant as he tucked the paper away. "A fine choice for the Kingdom. Be here in the square at dawn tomorrow, Sinclair. We leave just after first light."
Henry confirmed his arrival with the recruiter, but as they walked away, the festive atmosphere had vanished. Mia's vibrant energy had dimmed into a somber silence. When she told him she needed to return to the castle immediately, Henry opened his mouth to protest, wanting to salvage what was left of their day, but the look of raw heartache in her eyes stopped him cold.
"Okay," he murmured. "Let's go back."
"No," Mia replied softly, not meeting his gaze. "I want to go alone."
He watched her walk away, her yellow dress a fading spark in the crowd. The excitement he'd felt about finding a solution to his training plateau withered. He was left with a hollow chest and the looming dread of the conversation he had to have with his family.
Dinner that evening was suffocating. Henry moved his food around his plate, the secret heavy in his gut. It wasn't until his father pushed back his chair, preparing to retire to his study, that Henry finally found his voice.
"Father, wait. I have something to tell you all."
The gravity in his tone felt like a physical weight, instantly snapping the attention of his mother, father, and Howard. Henry didn't dance around the subject. He ripped the bandage off in one go.
"I've joined the King's Army for a three-year term. I leave tomorrow morning at dawn."
Howard's jaw dropped, silenced by pure shock. His mother, Sarah, however, erupted. "Absolutely not!" she screamed, her face pale. "Henry, you are a son of this house!"
"It's already done, Mother. I've signed the contract."
Sarah turned to Arnold, her eyes wide with desperation. "Dear, please! You have influence. Send a message to the King. Tell him it was a mistake—that Henry wasn't thinking!"
Henry watched his father. Arnold remained eerily still, his expression unreadable. A memory from Henry's past life surfaced—how his father had admitted to having him watched whenever he snuck out. Looking at that calm face, Henry realized his father likely knew about the town square encounter before Henry had even walked through the castle gates.
"I will not send a letter," Arnold finally said, his voice deep and final. "Henry is a grown man. He is old enough to choose his path. If this is what he wants, so be it."
Relief washed over Henry as he mouthed a 'thank you' to his father. Distraught and unable to sway either of them, Sarah broke into tears and fled the dining room.
Henry spent the remainder of the evening navigating the estate, offering goodbyes to the maids and servants who had looked after him. But no matter where he searched—the kitchens, the laundry, the servant quarters—Mia was missing. Even the Head Maid remained tight-lipped, her face a mask of professional indifference.
He went to bed with a heavy heart, the silence of the room weighing on him.
He woke long before the sun, dressing in the dim light with a mix of exhilarating nerves and crushing sadness. As he stepped into the hallway to begin his three-year exile, he saw her. Mia was standing there, waiting.
He hurried to her side. She looked at him, her face set in a forced, monotone mask. "Be careful out there," she said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. "Make it back safely."
Henry saw right through the facade. He wasn't leaving things like this. Reaching out, he pulled her to him and crashed his lips against hers in a passionate, desperate kiss. Mia gasped in surprise, but after a heartbeat, she melted against him, returning the kiss with all the emotion she'd been trying to suppress.
When they pulled apart, Henry kept his hands on her shoulders. "I love you, Mia," he said firmly. "Listen to me: I don't care about political marriages or what the nobility thinks. I'm not letting you go. I'll marry you both if I have to. I don't care about anyone's opinion but yours."
Mia's eyes finally overflowed, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Wait for me," he urged. "You're mine—and not just as my maid. You're mine, period."
He gave her one final, crushing hug before forcing himself to turn away. As he walked down the hall, her voice echoed behind him, fierce and loud: "I'll wait... I'll definitely wait for you, Henry!"
At the castle entrance, his family stood silhouetted against the pre-dawn gray.
"Don't be too reckless out there," Howard muttered, his usual bravado replaced by genuine concern. Sarah simply held him tight, whispering that she loved him, while Arnold placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"I know you'll do great things, son," Arnold said, a rare glint of pride in his eyes.
Henry nodded, a single tear escaping as he turned his back on the only home he'd known in this life. He set his gaze toward the town square, stepping forward into the unknown.