by Rachel Aaron
“Hang your house,” Jax said. “What about their duty to you? Say what you want about us Maria folk, at least we look out for our own.”
Rosalie sucked in a breath. That was going too far. “My father’s looked out for me since I was born! All noble families do this. It’s perfectly normal.”
“There’s nothing normal about forcing your daughter to marry a man she hardly knows,” Jax said stubbornly.
“Well, we are clearly going to have to agree to disagree,” she said in a cold voice.
“Nothing doing,” Jax snapped, his low-class Maria accent becoming even thicker in his anger. “I’m never going to agree with something that treats you like you’re cattle, and I don’t understand why you’re willing to, either. I mean, what the hell, Rosalie? You’re smarter than this.”
Rosalie was too angry to meet his eyes. She just pulled her outrage around her like a cloak and marched down the stairs, stomping away with such fury, she completely missed the fact that Jax had finally called her by her name.
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Rosalie didn’t go to practice the next morning.
She stayed in bed, lying with her eyes open in the dark until the bell sounded. Willow and Emmett must have gone without her because she didn’t see them at breakfast, which she ate alone, sitting on the end of a bench in the mess hall while soldiers with hopes of impressing a genuine noble desperately tried to make conversation.
When she put on her gear and reported to the wall for duty, Jax was already there, coaching Emmett and Willow on the best ways to land from a single-anchor suspension. It was a surprisingly friendly scene, at least until she arrived.
The moment Rosalie stepped onto the top of the wall, Jax snapped at the others to wrap up and get ready for assignments. To Rosalie, though, he said nothing. He just grabbed his paper-wrapped breakfast and stomped off toward the cannon they were scheduled to move.
The rest of the day was more of the same. Emmett desperately tried to fill the void with lively stories about his and Willow’s history as the least popular children in their Maria village. But though the tales were funny, no one laughed. Eventually, he petered out, and the whole squad lapsed into sullen silence, speaking only when necessary. When evening came, Jax dismissed them early and clomped off to his sulking spot by the cannons—the place Rosalie had started thinking of as their reading spot.
She didn’t go to reading that night. And she skipped practice again the next morning.
It was harder the second time. Rightfully angry as she was, Jax’s coaching had been her idea. She didn’t think he’d use this as an excuse to claim she’d broken their deal, but skipping practice was only hurting her.
Except…it was getting difficult to ignore the nagging question that had been weighing on her since her mother’s letter arrived: What was all this training for?
Without question Jax’s work had made her a better soldier. But Rosalie knew now that her dreams of turning the war around had been foolish, childish fantasies. So what was she doing here? She’d put everything she had into this, but no matter how good she got at killing titans, her tour of duty would be over at the start of summer. After that, she’d be a wife, and she’d have no reason to use these skills ever again. Why was she acting like she had a future here? Was she playing solider, as her father claimed?
The uncomfortable questions kept Rosalie awake all night. When she couldn’t stand being in bed any longer, she got up and went to practice by herself in the yard, using the armory roof as a launching platform for the exercises Jax had been teaching her before he’d decided to be an idiot. It might be for nothing, but at least the work kept her from stewing and let her avoid awkward questions as Willow and Emmett walked by on their way to morning training.
Thankfully, today wasn’t the usual schedule. Today was the day of Longest Night, the festival celebrating the winter solstice. It was the most important of the winter holidays with parties held all over the city, but the Garrison’s celebration was the biggest of all. With the exception of a few skeleton crews to keep the wall functional, every soldier had been pulled off work to help with the preparations. Tables were moved out of the mess hall to hold the epic amount of food the kitchen was cooking. On the street in front of the blocked gate, a tower of logs had been built for the bonfire that traditionally burned all night. Rosalie was in the courtyard helping the cooks set up the table that would hold the traditional winter cakes when someone tapped her on the shoulder.
She glanced up to see one of the guards from the front gate, and standing behind him was a prim older woman dressed in somber black velvet whose familiar, disapproving face made Rosalie want to drop what she was doing and run.
“Mrs. Brixton,” she said instead, forcing a smile. “What are you doing here?”
The old woman’s scowl deepened at Rosalie’s false cheerfulness. Before she could scold her for it, though, Jax appeared between them, glaring over the old lady’s graying head at the guard cowering behind her. “Who’s this, Private? What’re you thinking, letting civilians in here?”
“Sorry, sir,” the guard said nervously. “But she had a letter from the captain, and she wouldn’t leave.”
“Of course she wouldn’t,” Rosalie said, stepping around Jax with an angry look. “This is Lady Dumarque’s personal maid, Mrs. Brixton.”
“I don’t care if it’s Lady Dumarque herself,” Jax snapped. “This is a military base. Civilians are—”
“Lady Rosalie,” Mrs. Brixton interrupted, speaking over Jax. “Your mother has sent me to prepare you for tonight. I’ve brought your dress.”
She nodded back at the large trunk the driver was pulling out of the hired carriage in the alley, and Rosalie’s eyes widened. “Mother wants me to dress here?”
“There’s nowhere else to do it,” Mrs. Brixton said, looking down her nose at Rosalie so sternly, she might as well have added you stupid girl. “Mr. Ferdinand Smythe will be here to pick you up in less than an hour, and you can’t meet your fiancé in that.” She reached out to pluck the coarse sleeve of Rosalie’s uniform with the expression of someone who’d just touched a corpse.
“I would have arrived sooner so we could wash your hair, but this young man”—she turned her scowl on the guard, who cringed—“has wasted so much of my time, that’s no longer an option. We’ll just have to make do with a good stiff brushing.”
The memory of Mrs. Brixton’s “good stiff brushings” gave Rosalie an involuntary shiver, but nothing could be done. This was her duty, so she turned with a sigh, looking at Jax directly for the first time in two days.
“Sergeant,” she said, “it seems I have a pressing family engagement. May I have the rest of the day off?”
She half expected Jax to deny her out of spite, but he just waved his hand. “Do what you want. Just be back for roll call tomorrow, or I’m reporting you AWOL.”
“Yes, sir,” Rosalie said, startled. “Thank you, sir.”
But Jax had already turned away, stalking through the crowded yard while the other soldiers scrambled to get out of his way. Rosalie was still watching him go when Mrs. Brixton grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into the barracks to change.
* * *
“She has a fiancé.”
Cooper said nothing, just kept maneuvering his end of the slatted wooden table they’d been asked to carry.
“She’s getting dressed up for him right now,” Jax continued angrily. “In the barracks with her fancy mother’s fancy maid who showed up for work wearing a dress nicer than anything my own mum ever laid eyes on.”
“That’s her world,” Cooper said with a shrug as they dropped the table and went back for the benches, hoisting one under each arm. “You knew she was noble. You damn w
ell wouldn’t shut up about it. The real question is why seeing the proof now makes you look like you want to kill something.”
Because he was a damn fool.
Jax dropped the benches with a crash that made a nearby group of laughing soldiers jump. He had to get away from all these damn happy people and the festival cheer that was already invading the yard, but he didn’t know where to go. His favorite hiding place at the top of the gate was ruined. He’d gone up there last night, and all he’d been able to think about was how Rosalie wasn’t there with him.
“It’s my own fault,” he said bitterly. “I let myself get distracted and forgot what nobles are like. Always stepping on people, always trading yours to get theirs. Rosalie’s no different. Just look at her hair. No one has hair that shiny without eating like a king while others starve.”
“I confess, I have not made a study of her hair,” Cooper said, his face splitting into an evil grin. “And it’s ‘Rosalie’ now, is it?”
“Shut up.”
Cooper raised his hands. “I’m just saying. You claim she’s a typical noble, but I’ve seen the way you train her. You’ve pushed her hard enough to kill a man twice her size.”
“Because I’m trying to make her leave.”
“And yet she doesn’t,” Cooper said, his infuriating smile growing wider. “She keeps coming back for more, and she’s been spending her evenings with you as well. That’s a lot of time with someone you claim to hate.”
“I don’t hate her,” Jax said defensively. “I hate what she is. You should’ve seen the way she talked about her family. I wouldn’t be surprised if this fiancé of hers didn’t demand to check her teeth before he—”
“Sergeant Jax?”
Jax whirled around to see Emmett standing on the other side of the table they’d just set down. He was looking even more nervous than usual. “Sorry to interrupt, sir. But there’s a man at the front gate asking for Rosalie.”
“What man?” Jax demanded.
“I’m not sure, but he’s offering money to the guards to get her for him.” He bit his lip. “It didn’t seem right, so I figured I should tell you.”
“You figured right,” Jax said coldly, giving the still smirking Cooper a deadly look as he tugged his uniform straight. “Thank you, Emmett. I’ll take it from here.”
The short boy nodded, his tanned face relieved, but Jax was already jogging across the busy yard to the base’s front gate, where a well-dressed man with perfectly coiffed brown hair was waiting impatiently beside an enormous red-lacquered carriage.
“Can I help you?”
The moment the stranger turned around, Jax hated him. He was in his late twenties, dressed in a sweeping fur-lined coat that was too long and heavy even for this cold, wet weather. His kid-leather boots were clearly never meant to be worn outside a ballroom, and the embroidered cloth at his neck was so white and fluffed up, it looked like someone had pegged him in the throat with a snowball. He was undeniably handsome, Jax had to admit, but there was something unsavory in his face that his perfectly symmetrical features couldn’t paint over.
It was his expression, Jax decided. Even when he smiled, he had a strain around his eyes, like the rest of the world stank and he was fighting to endure it. Between that and the fancy carriage, it wasn’t even a surprise when the man introduced himself as Ferdinand Smythe. “I’m here to pick up my fiancée,” the man said, giving Jax a sly smile, like they were sharing a secret, “Lady Rosalie Dumarque, youngest daughter of the famous Military Police general Lord Charles Dumarque. We’re going to a very exclusive private party at the Dumarque estate inside Sina, and we’ll be more than fashionably late if she doesn’t hurry. If you can get her here in the next ten minutes, I’ll make it worth your while.”
He jingled the coin purse at his belt, but Jax just leaned back, making himself comfortable against the courtyard gate. “That’s too bad. Private Second Class Dumarque was just dismissed from duties. I’m her sergeant, Jackson Cunningham, and I might have some more work for her to do before she goes, so I’m afraid you’re in for a wait.”
“Come now,” Ferdinand said with a laugh. “We both know Dumarques don’t do actual work. But this is a fortuitous meeting. I’ve been meaning to talk to her sergeant.”
Jax’s fingers slipped covertly to the knife in his pocket. “You have?”
The lordling nodded. “I’ve been living in fear ever since Lord Dumarque informed me that he’d allowed Rosalie to go to the wall. I know Captain Woermann won’t let her get into any real danger, but I’m still very concerned about her well-being.”
“You are?”
“Of course,” Ferdinand said gravely. “The Garrison is a dangerous place. What if she gets damaged? Everyone knows Rosalie’s not the prettiest Dumarque, but there’s an enormous difference between a homely bride and a disfigured one. What if she breaks her nose? Or gets a scar? I’d be stuck with that for life.”
“God forbid you have a damaged bride,” Jax said in a flat, cold voice.
“Exactly,” Ferdinand said, pulling a gold coin out of his purse. “That’s where you come in. You’re her sergeant. You control where she goes and what she does. We can help each other.”
He grabbed Jax’s free hand, the one that wasn’t currently in his pocket gripping a knife, and pressed the coin into it. “A gift for your service,” he said with a wink. “And there’s a lot more where that came from if you can keep her face decent until our wedding. Just have her peel vegetables or something.” He frowned. “Actually, forget the vegetables. Rosalie can be a klutz sometimes. The first time I met her back when she was eleven, she fell off her pony five times. Poor little thing would probably slice off a finger if you gave her a knife.”
Jax curled his fingers around the coin until they made a white-knuckled fist. The urge to punch this man in the mouth grew stronger with every word he said. Before Jax could act on his violent impulses, though, he heard the familiar beat of Rosalie’s footsteps behind him.
The surge of relief that followed surprised even him, but something was off. The rhythm of her steps was too short, like her feet were hobbled together. When Jax turned to see why, he immediately regretted it.
He’d known Rosalie was a lady from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, but he’d never actually seen her look the part. Until now.
The first thing he noticed was her dress. It was huge and rose-red with bits of lighter pink ribbon on the neck and sleeves. Her swaying skirt was so padded with petticoats that the bottom hem stuck out wider than her shoulders, creating a stark contrast to her waist, which had been cinched so small Jax didn’t know how she could breathe. Her hair was piled high on top of her head in smooth waves that had been dusted with something to make the normally bright-blond color look paler, like iced honey. Her face was dusted too, powdered until the freckles across her nose vanished, and her lashes were darkened and her lips painted until they were the same red as her dress. Her feet were shoved into ridiculously tiny shoes, which explained her trouble walking, and her cheeks were as pink as a porcelain doll’s.
It all was incredibly beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful thing Jax had ever seen. But she looked absolutely nothing like herself.
And he hated it.
“Rosie!” Ferdinand cried, turning away from Jax as though they’d never spoken. “Darling, you look terrible.” He grabbed her hands. “Your nails are a tragedy. What have you been doing, clawing your way up the wall?”
He laughed like this was hilarious, and though a healthy crowd of dumbfounded soldiers had gathered to witness the spectacle of Rosalie in a dress, no one joined in. Rosalie didn’t even lift her eyes from the ground, though she did snatch her hands back.
“Sir Ferdinand,” she said, dropping a curtsey so quick, Jax would have missed it if he hadn’t been staring at her. “We should go. It’s not wise to be late to my mother’s parties.”
“And whose fault is tha
t?” Ferdinand asked, grabbing her arm. “If you’d stayed at home like a sensible girl, we wouldn’t have to go through all this.”
Rosalie let him steer her toward the carriage, avoiding Jax so pointedly, she might as well have been glaring at him. The driver hopped down to open the door as Ferdinand handed her in. Mrs. Brixton got in next, bounding into the carriage as though she couldn’t stand to be in Trost for a second longer. Ferdinand climbed in last, pausing to tap his purse at Jax before he swung inside. As soon as he was seated, the driver shut the door and climbed back to his perch behind the horses. The carriage lurched forward a second later, rattling down the short alley that served as the base’s entrance and into the busy street beyond.
Jax watched them drive away, clutching the coin in his fist tighter and tighter until, with an explosive motion, he hurled it after them, sending it flying as far as he could into the crowd.
* * *
Ferdinand talked the entire drive to Sina.
Rosalie tried to pay attention, but he just went on and on, recounting the latest gossip about people she didn’t know. It was incredibly tedious, but more than that, it made her worried. The ride was the longest they’d spent together since their engagement announcement when she was eleven and he nineteen. Rosalie couldn’t recall much from that meeting, other than he’d seemed fine enough then. She didn’t know if Ferdinand had changed or if her eleven-year-old self’s judgment had been grossly mistaken, but she was feeling less “fine” about the man sitting across from her as each moment passed.
Fortunately, Ferdinand’s conversation didn’t require participation, so Rosalie leaned her head against the cold glass window, watching the year’s longest night fall over the villages and fields of Rose. By the time she spotted the familiar walls of Ehrmich, outside was pitch black. Even the decorated city felt dark, the candles sputtering in the windows as the carriage drove past the already rowdy street parties and through the gate in Wall Sina to the well-lit private road that led to the Dumarque estate.
