It had been two weeks since Remy and Jehan had left the safety of the city, two weeks of dust-caked roads and skies that threatened rain but never delivered. Jehan rode beside him, her posture stiff, as though her straight-laced demeanor was a barrier against the uncertainty of the road ahead. The leather armor she wore was not exactly new, but its color was not yet dulled by travel. He had spared no coin in ensuring she was properly equipped for the journey.

  “You are too kind,” Jehan had said when he handed her the gear, her tone wary. There was a question behind her words, though she didn’t voice it aloud. She wondered why he would spend so freely for her sake, a stranger he had only just met. The suspicion in her eyes was impossible to miss.

  Jehan was a woman of discipline, piety, and purity. A soldier who spoke of her faith as though it were a shield that could ward off the world’s sins. Yet Remy knew what troubled her. She feared that his generosity was driven by ulterior motives, that he might be just another man swayed by the temptations of the flesh. Though she saw him as a good man, she had warned him more than once about the dangers of the road and how it tempts sins.

  It was annoying and insulting sometimes.

  “Days on the road can make a man’s loins burn,” she had said bluntly to him.

  Her words stoked a righteous fury within him. The idea that he might become some lecherous bastard was an insult he could not ignore. He stopped abruptly, his boots crunching against the gravel, and turned to face her.

  “I am no lecherous bastard!” he snapped.

  Jehan met his gaze, her expression unreadable. Finally, she raised her chin, defiant.

  “Still,” she said, her tone as steady as her hand on the hilt of her sword, “I will defend myself if I must.”

  He clenched his fists, biting back another retort. Men of this era, this time so far removed from his own, had earned their reputation, it seemed. They treated women poorly, but not so poorly as to provoke outright rebellion. Jehan’s wariness was not unwarranted. He understood that much, even if her assumptions about him stung.

  Rather than argue further, he resolved to prove his character through action. Words, after all, were easily bent to suit one’s purpose. The road demanded focus, and there was little room for bickering when every sound from the forest could herald danger.

  The path wound through fields of golden wheat, broken only by patches of dense forest and the occasional weathered farmhouse. As they rode, Remy found himself studying Jehan. She was an enigma to him, a she-soldier who had fought alongside men without revealing her true identity. He did not think it was a lie. Still, it was a feat that demanded both cunning and courage, traits that only deepened his curiosity about her.

  “It’s surprising,” he said one evening as they set up camp. “You’ve managed to fight among men without them discovering you’re a woman or forcing you into their beds.”

  Jehan’s hands stilled on the strap she was tightening. For a moment, she stared at the ground, her brow furrowed in thought.

  “It is luck,” she said at last, “and the grace of God.”

  He leaned back against a tree, his arms crossed. “So, would it be considered a sin to lie about your gender? It’s deception.”

  Jehan stiffened, the question clearly catching her off guard. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. Her silence stretched between them, the crackling of the campfire the only sound. He watched as she frowned, wrestling with the question. It was only the next day, as they stopped by the river Somme to water the horses, that she finally answered.

  “I do not believe it is a sin,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. She crouched by the riverbank, her reflection rippling in the water. “I did it with pure intentions. If I am to fight, then I must play the role of a man. To do otherwise would be to invite disaster. I serve to rid this land of the English.”

  There was fire in her eyes as she said it, a hatred so fierce it seemed to burn through her words. Remy couldn’t help but ask, “You really do hate the English, don’t you?”

  “The English are shameless,” she spat, standing abruptly. “Tyrants, every one of them.”

  He studied her for a moment, uncertain how to respond. He was an outsider here, a stranger to the endless feud between her people and the English. The reasons behind their hatred were tangled and complex, a knot he had neither the time nor the inclination to untangle. Still, her passion was undeniable.

  “You have no opinion?” she asked, turning to face him.

  He shook his head. “Do you think a stranger would know enough to have one? It’s foolish to take sides when you don’t understand the conflict in the first place.”

  Jehan crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “So you would simply watch?”

  “And why not?” he replied. “There’s no shame in stepping back, in admitting ignorance. To preach without understanding both sides is the height of arrogance.”

  For a moment, he thought she might argue, but she fell silent instead. Her expression was contemplative, as though she were turning his words over in her mind. He could tell she wanted to say more, but whatever thoughts she had, she kept them to herself.

  The road grew rougher as they traveled further, the smooth cobblestones of the city giving way to dirt and rock. Each night, they camped beneath the stars, the air growing colder with each passing day. Jehan was a quiet companion, but there was a restlessness about her that he couldn’t ignore. It was as though she carried the weight of something on her shoulders.

  One evening, as they sat by the fire, he finally asked, “Do you ever regret it?”

  She looked up from the blade she was sharpening, her brows furrowing. “Regret what?”

  “All of it,” he said. “Leaving your home, taking up arms, pretending to be someone you’re not.”

  Jehan’s grip on the blade tightened. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “I regret nothing. Every choice I’ve made has been in service of a greater good. If I must sacrifice my peace, my identity, even my life, then so be it.”

  Her words were resolute, but there was a tremor in her voice that betrayed her. Remy saw the cracks in her armor, the vulnerability she worked so hard to hide. Jehan was strong, yes, but she was also human. The burden she bore was not one that could be carried lightly.

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  “I don’t think God asks us to sacrifice everything,” he said gently. “Even the most righteous cause can demand too much.”

  Jehan looked away, her expression unreadable. The firelight danced in her eyes, casting shadows across her face. She didn’t respond, and he didn’t press her. Some truths were too painful to confront, even for someone as steadfast as Jehan.

  As the days turned into weeks, Remy began to understand her in a way he hadn’t before. She was more than her anger, her faith, or her disguise. She was a woman caught between worlds, fighting for a cause that consumed her. There was a part of her that longed for peace, for simplicity, but it was buried beneath layers of duty and conviction.

  As Remy and Jehan approached the sprawling city of Belgium on their horses, the sun dipped low, casting golden hues over the distant rooftops. The city guards halted them at the gate, their spears gleaming in the fading light. One stepped forward, eyeing Remy suspiciously.

  “State your business,” he barked, his tone curt.

  Without a word, Remy produced his signet ring and a letter of introduction, presenting them with practiced ease. The guard inspected the items, his eyebrows raising in surprise as he recognized the symbol engraved on the ring. After a brief, respectful nod, he stepped aside, allowing them to pass. Jehan, who had been quietly observing, turned to him, her eyes narrowing.

  “How come a member of the House of Valois is traveling alone?” she demanded, her tone laced with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief.

  “Branch member,” He met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “Oh, so you know my house of Valoils-Alen?on?”

  “Yes! You’re practically royalty!” she exclaimed, her voice a hushed whisper as though saying it too loudly might summon unwanted attention.

  He shrugged, feigning indifference. “Is that so? I’m just a minor member, really. And I don’t care for whatever expectations they have.”

  Jehan looked incredulous. “Lucien Valois… I’ve never even heard of you.”

  “How could you have?”

  He couldn’t help but smirk at her skepticism. The truth was, he preferred it that way. Being unknown had its advantages, especially for a man with his goals. Still, he couldn’t deny how much easier his family’s wealth and connections made his travels. Without them, his journey, his search for a way back home would have been infinitely harder.

  Home. The word still felt foreign to him. Despite being born as Lucien Valois in this world, he often thought of himself as a man out of time, out of place. His reasons for leaving the House of Valois were personal, layered, and complex, but Jehan would never understand. To her, his actions were a betrayal of duty.

  Her disdain for his choices was plain as day. “It’s disgraceful,” she said, her tone sharp. “You are born into such a noble house, and yet you wander aimlessly instead of leading the people of France! I implore you to turn back and serve your country!”

  He stopped in his tracks, turning to face her fully. “No,” he said firmly. “If you feel so strongly about it, you’re free to leave. I’ve done you favors, Jehan, but I won’t be swayed from my goals.”

  “How can I leave now,” she countered, her voice trembling with conviction, “knowing who you are? Knowing what you could become?”

  Her insistence irritated him, but he could see her sincerity. To her, he wasn’t just a man shirking his responsibilities. He was the embodiment of lost potential. A wasted chance to save a fractured nation.

  “A shame!” she lamented, throwing her hands in the air. “If such a man of wisdom could be King!”

  He rolled his eyes, trying to hide his growing annoyance. The last thing he wanted was to be dragged into France’s endless squabbles. They’d been fighting for a hundred years, and with his knowledge of history, he knew it would drag on for at least twenty-two more. Who would willingly sign up for that mess?

  They eventually found a modest inn on the city’s outskirts. The room was plain but clean, with wooden beams overhead and a small fireplace that crackled softly in the common room. After settling in, Jehan turned to him, her expression pensive.

  “How long do you think France will endure this strife?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost vulnerable.

  He hesitated, sensing the weight of her question. “Years,” he finally admitted. “Perhaps decades.”

  Her face fell, but there was a steely determination in her eyes. It unnerved him. She looked as though she’d just resolved to drag him back to France by sheer force of will if she had to.

  “You seem so certain,” she said. “How do you know?”

  He shrugged, hoping to deflect. “Call it a hunch. An educated guess.”

  Jehan wasn’t satisfied, but she let the subject drop for now. She shifted her focus, asking instead about his mysterious mission. What could possibly be so important, she wondered, that it had turned his attention away from the plight of his country?

  Ah, if only she knew. His thoughts, his true purpose. They were things she couldn’t begin to comprehend. If he told her the full truth, she’d likely have a stroke on the spot. So instead, he dodged her questions with half-truths and vague answers. He insisted she call him “Remy” rather than Lucien Valois, hoping to create some distance from the identity she seemed so fixated on.

  Jehan frowned but relented. “I shall respect your wishes… for now. But I believe God has allowed me to live for a reason, and that reason is to correct this foolishness.”

  He had to admire her stubbornness, even if it grated on his nerves. Her fiery determination was both a blessing and a curse. Part of him wanted to leave her behind, to travel alone and free of her constant moralizing. But the truth was, despite his brave front, he didn’t want to be alone. Not really. The road was long and lonely, and having someone by his side, even someone as exasperating as Jehan, was better than solitude.

  The days that followed were marked by a delicate dance of avoidance and confrontation. Jehan couldn’t resist bringing up France’s troubles whenever the opportunity arose, and he couldn’t resist shutting her down with curt replies. But beneath their clashes, there was a growing understanding of one another. She was stubborn, yes, but also fiercely loyal and brave in a way he couldn’t help but respect.

  One evening, as they sat by a campfire under a canopy of stars, Jehan surprised him with a question that struck a chord.

  “Do you ever wonder,” she asked softly, “why were you born into the House of Valois? What purpose God might have for you?”

  He stared into the flames, her words echoing in his mind. He had wondered, of course. Countless times. But the answers never came easily.

  “Maybe I was born into that house to walk away from it,” he said at last, his voice low. “Maybe my purpose lies elsewhere.”

  Jehan frowned, clearly dissatisfied with his answer. “You have a gift, Sir Luc—Remy. Wisdom, insight, strength. You could be a great leader if you chose to be.”

  He shook his head. “I’m no leader, Jehan. I’m just a man trying to find his way home.”

  She didn’t reply immediately, and for a moment, there was only the crackling of the fire between them. When she finally spoke, her voice was tinged with both frustration and something resembling hope.

  “I don’t understand you, Remy. But I believe in you, even if you don’t believe in yourself.”

  Her words caught him off guard. For all her exasperation with him, there was genuine faith in her eyes, a faith he didn’t feel he deserved. It was unsettling, but also strangely comforting.

  As the weeks turned into months, their journey took them through bustling cities and quiet villages, over rolling hills and treacherous mountain paths. Along the way, Jehan’s persistence softened into a kind of steady resolve. She still believed he was destined for greatness, but she no longer tried to force it upon him. Instead, she rode beside him, her presence a constant reminder of the life he’d left behind and the life he was still searching for.

  And as for him? He began to see Jehan not just as a thorn in his side, but as a companion, a confidant, and perhaps even a friend. Her unwavering faith challenged him, but it also grounded him in ways he hadn’t expected.

  Eventually, they reached Leipzig, whereupon his arrival, as a member of House Valois, he was invited to the wedding of Frederick II and Margaret of Austria.

  And Jehan’s first act upon entering the city was to shame a cheating husband and console the wife.