Page 25 of Forcing Fate

I dropped into a deep curtsy and lowered my gaze to the ground.

“Well, Sergeant, are you going to stand there and babysit her all day?” he asked, smirking between us.

As I straightened, my lips pressed together to hold back my retort. I was no child to be entertained. I was there to help him, if he would only allow me.

“I’ll escort her to the gate after my company’s inspection,” Willhelm ground out. With a slight bow of his head, he turned and left.

General Rafe glared as Willhelm took his leave, and my pulse took off like an arrow. I contemplated whether or not I should have come, or if I should have stayed at the dorms. What could I learn from this man anyway, besides how to be intimidating without saying a word?

“You sew, girl?” he asked, stalking in my direction.

“I mend,” I breathed. Yesterday’s events flashed through my mind in horrifying detail as I took a step back.

To my relief, he turned to a small table and retrieved a black tunic with detailed stitching worthy of a General, but well beyond my capabilities. He tossed it at me and I barely caught it before it hit my face. I examined it, seeing the sleeves hadn’t been torn off, but it had been sewn without them. Some seamstress had custom-made this for him.

“Maybe having a girl assistant won’t be so bad,” he sneered.

Normally I would have taken a remark like that as progress. However, the tone he used made it an insult.

He started toward the tent flap to leave, and I inspected the tunic. It was torn at the yoke where decorative flaps were buttoned in place. It looked as though one had been torn loose and the black wooden button was missing. I opened my mouth to tell him I needed the button, or to admit that the stitching was beyond me.

I must have made some sound, because he paused and shot me a glare. “Now be a good girl and fix it,” he said, then stormed through the tent flap, leaving it waving behind him.

I bit my tongue and gripped the tunic tight. The way he spoke to me made my blood boil. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, teeth bared in a silent scream.

This was progress. It was definitely progress. He had a task for me, and I would do it.

It took me all morning to locate thread, and even longer to find a wooden button. I managed to find one of similar shape, but not black. Procuring ink to dye it, I sat in the General’s chair while it dried on a piece of bark I’d found lying about. The tent flap hung open just enough to allow me to see the inspections through a small crack, though my attention was never on the field for long. It was enveloped with the cursed stitching.

As all girls in the King’s school, I’d been taught how to mend. It was useful when trying to earn extra coin, and even caring for your own clothes. However, I was no seamstress. The woman who had sewn this tunic hid all her stitching. I struggled to figure out how she had managed it.

I was bent over in the chair, making a minuscule stitch, when suddenly the tent flap whipped aside. I yelped and jerked back from the entryway. My sudden movement toppled the chair with me in it. My hand held fast to the needle and thread, and my stitches bunched with the tension of my fall.

A string of curses climbed up my throat, but I bit them back as I straightened. It did not surprise me in the least to see General Rafe standing in the entryway with a smirk on his face. I glared at him and righted the chair, pulling it toward his desk as he walked in. He didn’t say a word to me, and I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I picked up the tunic and tucked the needle in.

I turned to ask if he needed any assistance when I saw him tugging his tunic free from his trousers. My mouth went dry with panic as he walked straight to the washbasin and jerked his tunic off in one smooth motion. I stood there, horrified at the sight of bare skin, before scrambling out of the tent to stand by the door, gasping.

If another soldier had walked in and seen his state of undress with a woman present, our reputations would be ruined.

He could have ruined me.

I ground my teeth together as I stood there, tunic in hand, watching the hundreds of soldiers pass by. Any one of them could have happened in, and General Rafe had not a care in the world. Had it been any other man in his tent, it would be of no concern, but I was a woman. And he had yet to notice that I had a reputation he so carelessly jeopardized.

Almost a quarter of a chime passed before the sky opened with a crack of thunder and rain fell to the earth. I mentally cursed every single curse I could think of as the heavy droplets soaked my dress. The soldiers groaned and cursed aloud, but went about their tasks. I shivered. The spring air was still far too cold to be out in the rain without an over-cloak.

The downpour plastered my dress to my bones, and I sighed. I didn’t have extra coin to buy the luxurious multi-layered or padded gowns. My clothing was simple and thin. And now, it clung to my hip bones and ribs, making me appear less like a woman and more like a skeleton.

General Rafe took that moment to exit his tent, squinting at the sky, then down at me. He offered a cruel smile, eyeing my dress before walking off. I noted that he had replaced his tunic, and wondered if he was just waiting for the rain to start, knowing I wouldn’t enter with him inside.

I dodged back into the tent and my bun chose that moment to fall, sending my frigid hair slapping down on my back. I gasped and pulled it over my shoulder, setting the General’s tunic on a table. My hair was longer than most women’s, falling to the top of my thighs. I rarely wore it up unless braided. It was one of the few things I found beautiful about myself. The white blonde mass was such a different color than anyone that I had met, and the women in the dorm often commented on its uniqueness. It was the one thing I allowed myself to be prideful of.

I pinned my hair back up and dragged the chair to the tent flap before retrieving his tunic. Sitting down in the puddle of my wet dress, I wiped the raindrops from my face and watched the field through the crack. They began a physical inspection of another company, and I sighed, returning to my sewing.

Not that I had time to look, even if I wanted.

The tunic took all day to mend, and even then I wasn’t thrilled with my work. Anyone else might see nothing amiss, yet I knew every mistake I made. At one point, when General Rafe came in, he threw the drying button to the floor—under some guise of it being in his way, I was sure. I had learned my lesson and never stayed in the tent while he was present. Whenever he entered, I left and waited outside. He might not care about his reputation, but I had one to uphold.

We settled into a routine for the next few days, starting my mornings with his mending. He always seemed to have something torn. I even noted he ripped a seam on one I had previously mended. How he damaged so many of his clothes, I had no idea.

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