Just as she was starting to think that she had gotten away with hiding the true events of her day, and that everything would be fine, the tone of the dinner took a turn. The hare which had been sent to the kitchens returned with a wooden bowl filled with soft golden plums. He set it down carefully between them and made to leave, but then Eltanin asked him where his infusion was. The construct froze, went wide-eyed, and laughed awkwardly.

“It’s on its way, your majesty. The water needed some more time to boil.”

The king grabbed his wrist and slammed it down on the table, hard enough to make the silverware rattle. The hare cried out in pain while Autumn shot to her feet in alarm.

“Do not lie to me.”

“What are you doing?” she snapped at him. “Stop!”

“I forgot,” wailed the construct. “I am so sorry, Your Majesty! It will not happen again!”

Just as swiftly as he had grabbed him, Eltanin let him go. The servant cradled his arm to his chest with a whimper.

“You forgot,” he repeated in an even tone. “A small mistake, easy to forgive. Lying, however, is less so. Do not do it again.”

“Yes, your majesty, sorry, Your Majesty.” The hare bowed and retreated, shaking. He hurried through a side door, closely followed by his counterpart.

Autumn glowered at the vile man. “Your behaviour disgusts me. I am leaving.”

She turned to stomp away, but he waved a hand and the doors of the dining hall slammed shut. “Absolutely not. Try again.”

“Let me go!”

“You will not speak to me this way.”

Autumn whirled back towards him, seething. “You said that you wanted honesty. I am only doing what you asked.”

He looked annoyed, as if all of this was merely an inconvenience to him, nothing more. “There are ways to be truthful without being rude. It is called diplomacy. Try. Again.”

“I no longer wish to dine by your side,” she growled. "Let me go.”

“Close, but not quite.”

Her fists clenched in the folds of her dress. The last thing that she wanted was to humour him, but she could not quite see what other alternative she had.

“I would like to retire. May I be allowed to?” she simpered, sickly sweet, with a smile that might as well have been a grimace.

The king arched an eyebrow. “Better. You may go.” He waved his hand again and the doors opened. “The hares will escort you back to your rooms,” he added, raising his voice.

Said servants, which were only just then walking back in through the side entrance with the king’s accursed infusion, straightened to attention. They scrambled to set down their offering, fearful and cowed, over-attentive to their manners. They poured a green liquid from a teapot, added a pinch of something from a jar, then presented the cup to him. He took a sip as they watched anxiously. Only once he had nodded did they bow and hurried to her side.

Autumn spitefully waited until they’d reached her before stomping away.

***

The hares walked her back to her quarters in silence. Autumn tried to ask whether they were both alright, but they dodged the question and changed the subject, which clearly indicated to her that they did now want to talk about what had just occurred in the dining room. A bruise was already starting to bloom on the wrist that Eltanin had grabbed. The unsmilling hare, somehow sensing that Autumn had noticed, quickly tugged the edge of his sleeve down over his hand. She averted her gaze, unwilling to cause him any more grief.

Over the long walk, she managed to simmer down. Slowly, her anger was replaced by a creeping terror. If this is how Eltanin reacted to a single harmless little white lie, what would happen if he ever found out that she had hidden the events at the gate from him? Worse, how would he react to the knowledge that Knight had been the one to implore the others not to tell him? She now understood why raccoon gardener and goat hand had been so anxious about agreeing to it.

She needed to protect them, she realized. By any means necessary.

Soon, they arrived back at her quarters, only to find another construct waiting in front of her door. This one was a tall and slender woman, wearing similar armour as Knight, and also sporting antlers. Autumn felt nothing but guilt and trepidation upon seeing her.

“Good evening, your ladyship,” rumbled the woman.

She managed a thin smile in response, although she was certain that it would be the last for the day. Autumn had no more smiles to give. Her hands were trembling, and she felt overcome with the urge to cry again.

“Good evening, deer knight,” she began, guessing blindly at the proper form of address. “I don’t suppose that you have any news of my usual knight?”

The construct exchanged a quick glance with the hares. Autumn didn’t even try to interpret it. So many glances had already been shared behind her back, what was one more? The tears were getting harder and harder to hold in.

“Still sick of the stomach, I believe. Is there anything that would ensure your comfort in his absence?”

“Please, I would like not to be disturbed,” she managed to reply, her voice thin. “Unless there is word of him, that is. Then I wish to know at once.”

“Very well, my lady,” said the knight-that-was-not-her-knight with a bow.

As Autumn moved to enter her rooms, a shy voice piped up behind her: “You have done well, my lady.”

She turned to look at the hare servant who had spoken. He was red in the face, but still met her eyes bravely. This was not the one whom the king had brutalized, but the other, who had always appeared so meek and unsure of himself before. She was not the only one who had not expected him to speak, it seemed; both of the other constructs were also staring at him as if he’d grown a second head.

“The King likes you,” he doggedly continued. “You surprise him.”

“… Thank you?” she managed, then ducked into her rooms to escape this bizarre pronouncement. Behind the door, muffled voices broke into a hurried conversation.

“What!” she heard dimly. “She seemed so glum, I wanted to cheer her up!”

“The king likes her?!” squawked another voice.

“It’s true though—”

“No, it’s not—”

“Well, I think it’s true—”

“— makes you think that—”

“— but what I wonder is—”

“— know he’s never like—”

“— if he does like being surprised, not to mention—”

“— not for us to —”

“— keeps arguing with him —”

“— that is exactly my point —”

“— and what is up with deer knight? She acts like —”

“— must be bored —”

“— just a bit sick, not as if he were poisoned —”

“— and he smiles at her! I agreed that it is a disturbing smile but —”

“— what sort of berries did he even eat?!”

As fascinating as all of this was, it didn’t teach her anything new aside from the fact that even constructs liked to gossip. Autumn stopped eavesdropping and wandered deeper into her chambers with a sigh. Now she was worried about Knight again. If she had been in Veld, she wouldn’t have hesitated before going to visit him. But here in Evil Castle — name pending — she didn’t even know where to start. Was he still back at the stables, sleeping off the hurts of the day, or had he returned to his rooms… somewhere? Did he have rooms in the castle? If so, where were they, and what did they look like? Perhaps Autumn could ask the gardener, but then, the dilemma was the same. Now that the sun had gone down, she doubted that he would still be working, and she didn’t know where he lived.

She went to sit on a window ledge and leaned her head against the panes of glass gloomily. The forest looked even more forbidding when it was shrouded in darkness. Below, a small yellow light bobbed up and down the steps of the terraces. Someone was crossing the courtyard, carrying a lantern… She squinted at the figure, then straightened up with a jolt. It was the gardener! He was heading towards the servants’ entrance, she thought. If she hurried, she might be able to catch him.

Heart pounding, Autumn went to the door of her chambers, behind which she knew the new deer knight was likely still standing guard. She cracked it open and met a pair of alert eyes.

“Hello!” she said. “I am so sorry, but I don’t suppose that you could run down and get me a pot of herbal tea, to help me sleep?”

“It would be a pleasure, my lady,” replied the knight with a perfect bow of her head, and Autumn only felt a little guilty for deceiving her. “I’ll be right back.”

Once the construct had gone, she hurried to wrap a cloak around her shoulders and slipped down the corridor. If she remembered correctly, the door to the servant’s stairs was hidden behind this tapestry—

A wooden clattering noise made her pause, followed as it was by a low curse in a familiar voice. Autumn whirled around to the sight of her knight ducking his head to pass under one of the arches that decorated the ceiling of this particular corridor. He raised his eyes and froze as he saw her. They stared at each other.

He looked good. Healthy, if a little pale. She stepped towards him as if in a dream, taking in his appearance greedily. His eyes, for their part, flicked over her face, her hair, then her cloak. He frowned.

“My lady, where were you going?” His gaze swept the wide passageway around them. “Alone?”

She blushed. “I was trying to go and visit you.”

“Absolutely not!” he said. In a few long strides, Knight crossed the distance between them and took hold of her hands. “My lady, I beg of you, you must not walk these halls alone. It is not safe.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, the emotions of the day finally claiming their due. “I am sorry! Oh, Knight, I am so sorry!”

She made as if to encircle him in her arms, but as she brushed his back, he hissed. Autumn jumped back, hands clutched to her chest, where they could not possibly hurt him again. She sobbed. “Oh, please forgive me!”

“It’s all right,” he told her in a gentle voice that frankly she did not deserve. “Truly, my lady, I know that you did not mean harm. But please, you must be more careful with your own safety.” He raised a hand as if he were about to cup her cheek, then hesitated, fingers splayed in the air pleadingly between them. “For my sake.”

Autumn, who had never known carefulness nor self-preservation, bridged the gap and pressed her cheek into his palm. She reached up and held it there, and once more they were alone and safe in the gardens. Gradually, she felt her turmoil recede, and her tears ceased. His thumb gently stroked her skin, perhaps attempting to dry her face. She shuddered, no longer under the grip of leftover fear but surrendering to the ripples of another, sweeter emotion.

“I promise. I won’t ever go again where you tell me not to go, my knight.”

He swallowed. “And will you go where I tell you?”

“I will,” she swore fervently.

He dropped his hand and backed up a step. Her disappointment went with him.

“Then you should promptly return to your rooms, my lady. I will guard them, and all things will be as they should.”

She opened her mouth to argue — not because she had an opposition to being in her rooms, but because she had one to him being on the other side of the door — when a soft ‘oh’ echoed down the corridor. The second knight had returned with a tray and was now blinking at them like a creature on whom someone had just shone light in the middle of the night.

“Oh, deer knight, you’re back,” she said dumbly. Then: “I mean, huh, welcome back. Glad you’re feeling better.”

Her eyes travelled between the two of them. She saw Autumn’s cloak and frowned. “Are you two going somewhere?”

“We are not,” said Knight, walking over to grab the sides of the tray. “Thank you.”

The woman reluctantly let him have it. “I will see you at shift change, then?”

“You will. Thank you, deer knight.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, still slow and unsure, but obviously unwilling to press the issue. She bowed towards Autumn, bade them both goodnight, then retreated.

Knight carried the tray into her rooms and placed it down on a low table in front of her fireplace. As he moved to leave, she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Are you well enough to stand guard?”

“Yes,” he answered, which she had expected, and did not believe for a second. “There is no need to worry about me.”

“I know that nothing I say will dissuade you from standing guard for me,” she began, choosing her words with care. “Which is why I am only asking that you do not stand the guard. Stay here with me, Knight. Have a seat.”

He shook his head and backed away from her touch as it it might burn him. “It is improper.”

“If you will not sit with me in here,” she warned him, “then I will stand with you out there.”

He searched her gaze, saw that she was dead serious, and closed his eyes in resignation. Slowly and with a groan of pain, Knight lowered himself into the chair closest to the fire. Satisfied, she settled into the other seat and busied herself pouring the tea into a cup, then pushed it towards him. He looked down at the liquid, then back up at her.

“Tomorrow, we will visit the sunroom and the public quarters,” he said. It was not a question.

“What an excellent idea,” she agreed.

He nodded and picked up the cup.