Page 38 of Lady Knight and the Thief

When Cypress’s thoughts turned to Cade, she couldn’t help the sick feeling in her gut at the idea that someone else was takingthe helm of her station. Who else could act as Captain in her absence?

Realistically, that would be Oswald, but still, her pride did not like the idea of him taking her place.

Cypress had earned the title of Captain and the privilege to guard Cade through her blood, sweat, and tears. The idea of someone else taking Cypress’s command–even her second– sent a bolt of hideous anger straight through her.

When Cypress finished her bowl of stew, she circled back around the camp until she arrived at the table the Cook had indicated. Before she had the chance to wash the bowl and utensil, another of the Small Folk appeared at her elbow, pulling the items from her hands and motioning for Cypress to step away.

“Are you sure? I can wash a bowl.” Cypress said, hesitant to just leave her things without cleaning up after herself.

Cleanliness was nearly on par with nobility– or at least she’d heard Queen Henrietta mutter more than a few occasions when Cade returned covered in filth for afternoon tea service.

Cypress had never been able to get comfortable with servants waiting on her hand and foot. Merely having a handmaiden to assist with the removal of her armor was more than what Cypress wanted.

It wasn’t uncommon for her to recognize some of the faces or names of servants from the days when she’d lived among the other orphans in the dormitories.

All of them were children picked up from the streets and placed under strict housing that did not allow for even a hair out of place, lest they bring shame to the house.

Shaking free of her thoughts, Cypress made her way toward Torren and Ellisar across the camp. She didn’t care if she was intruding. Cypress was ready for bed and to be alone for a few moments.

There would be time tomorrow to worry about her failures and what was occurring at the Keep in her absence.

Torren, of course, caught her approach when she was barely halfway and met her in the middle.

“Is there a bed available for me somewhere here?” Cypress asked without tearing her gaze from the camp and all of the merry fires flickering in the dark, though she watched the men out of the corner of her eye.

Ellisar opened his mouth to reply, but Torren beat him to it. “Over there. Big green tent. Sleep wherever you like inside.”

Cypress nodded her thanks and wordlessly marched over to the tent Torren had indicated.

As soon as she pushed past the canvas panel hung over the opening to function as a door, the noise of the camp filtered away. For only a heartbeat, it was a relief. Then, the silence only left Cypress feeling hollow.

To the side of the tent, there was a sturdy desk, upon which several rolled bits of parchment lay, an ink pot and quill discarded next to them. The accompanying chair was nothing special, made from simple square lengths of wood for the legs and backrest, the center seat merely a cross-section of a stump affixed to the frame of the chair. Simple, but effective. Behind a partition, there was a large hammered copper tub filled with water already steaming from the coals beneath the feet.

Neatly arranged beside the bath was a pile of robes in soft fabrics. The robe would fall around her calves, and if it were cinched tight enough, would cover her breasts adequately as well for the evening.

Cypress had slept in less and in more dangerous places than this.

Still, she hesitated, for only a moment. And then, she remembered how long it had been since she had been able to bathe properly, without the use of a cold, fast-moving creek.

Cypress quickly found a drying cloth and then began dropping her clothing one piece at a time.

The water stung against the various scrapes and bruises from travel, and their battle with the Durdiddle, but it was welcome against the ache in her bones.

Before settling in the tub and getting comfortable for a quick soak, Cypress submerged her head, holding her breath tight. She quickly scrubbed her scalp with the pads of her fingers before her face broke the surface of the water once more.

Then, she reclined against the edge of the copper tub, the back of her head resting along the rim. The bath felt nice, the warm water helping to relax some of the tension lining her shoulders, and to ease some of the aches in her joints born from being in the saddle for so long.

Too quickly, though, the rest of the world came rushing back in, as well as her responsibilities to the crown.

Cypress was not here to mingle amongst the Fair Folk. Nor was she here to lounge about in a tub all evening. Sighing, she grabbed the block of soap and began lathering it into her hair, paying close attention to strip all the excess oil from her scalp. Then, she scrubbed her entire body with a rough cloth she’d located next to the larger drying sheets.

Once Cypress was satisfied she’d thoroughly cleansed her body of oil and all the dirt from the road, she dunked under the surface of the water once more.

When Cypress came up for air, she instantly knew she was no longer alone.

Torren was in the tent, his presence noticeable even without Cypress opening her eyes.

The ladies of Caelith’s court would likely have screamed in horror at the impropriety of the situation Cypress now found herself in.