Étienne
The days blended together as the carriage wound its way through the countryside. The landscape was beautiful in its own way—endless fields of gold and green stretching to the horizon—but it felt distant, like I wasn't truly seeing it. My mind was far away, always back at the château, always back with her.
The days grew colder as we approached the barracks, the wind biting sharply. I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders and tried to focus on the journey ahead.
"Do you miss home?" My father's voice cut through the stillness.
I glanced at him, surprised by the question. It wasn't like him to show any sign of vulnerability.
"Yes," I said quietly. "I miss everything."
He didn't respond, but I could see the faint glimmer of something in his eyes—maybe understanding, or maybe something more. But before I could say more, he turned his attention back to the road.
The silence fell again. But this time, it didn't feel as heavy.
The sound of the horses' hooves striking the earth was almost hypnotic. The rhythmic thud seemed to pull me into a trance-like state, making the hours feel like moments and the distance feel like an eternity. It was a strange sort of peace, yet it was always accompanied by an ache.
With each passing mile, I could feel the barrier between me and my former life growing. My thoughts were heavy with uncertainty, and the world around me seemed to reflect that—no longer the lush lands of home, but barren fields and stone walls, things more suited to a soldier's life.
I hadn't expected the journey to be easy, but I never thought it would be this difficult to let go.
Victoire
The house was quieter than usual when I woke. The usual bustle of the servants, the sound of laughter, the faint echoes of music—all of it had faded into a muted stillness.
I dressed quickly, trying not to think too much about it. There was work to be done. There always was. But as I moved through the house, my eyes couldn't help but wander to the empty spaces where he had once been.
I tried to focus on my tasks, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Étienne. Was he cold on the road? Was he thinking of me, even for a moment?
I wanted to write to him, to tell him that I was thinking of him, but I didn't know what words would be enough. The distance between us was more than just physical—it was emotional, too.
As I prepared tea in the kitchen, I let my thoughts wander.
Would he come back to me? Would the world be kind to him? Would he be different when he returned?
I couldn't answer any of those questions. But I could wait. And I would.
The silence weighed on me, but I found solace in the small routines I had set for myself. In the quiet hours of the morning, when the sun had just risen, I walked the familiar halls of the house, touching the walls as if I could somehow reach through the fabric of time and pull Étienne back.
But he wasn't here. And I had to face that.
Even though it hurt.
Étienne
The barracks loomed before us as we approached, a stark contrast to the idyllic countryside we had passed through. The stone walls seemed cold and uninviting, and the air was thick with the weight of duty.
My father didn't say anything as we entered. He simply motioned for me to follow him.
Inside, the barracks were bustling with activity—soldiers preparing for training, instructors shouting commands, the clatter of armor and weapons. The air smelled of sweat and steel. It was the smell of war.
This was where my future awaited.
"Welcome to your new life," my father said, his voice clipped, his gaze distant. "The sooner you embrace it, the sooner you will understand your place here."
I nodded, trying to shake the nervousness that was creeping up my spine. I had known this moment was coming, but now that I was here, it felt so much more real.
He didn't wait for me to respond. "You'll be assigned to your platoon tomorrow. Prepare yourself."
And just like that, he left me standing in the middle of the barracks, feeling smaller than I ever had before.
I watched as soldiers moved around me, their faces a mix of exhaustion and determination. They all had a purpose, a reason for being here, while I—well, I wasn't so sure of my own.
My father had always been a figure I couldn't quite reach, but now he was here, somewhere within these walls, expecting me to become like him.
But I wasn't him.
Not yet.
Victoire
I spent the next few days in a haze of routine. The house felt even emptier with each passing day. I found myself walking through the halls, half-expecting to see Étienne standing there, his familiar figure looming in the doorway.
But he wasn't there.
The servants were sympathetic but didn't know what to say, and my family… well, they were busy with their own concerns. I was alone with my thoughts.
It was strange—this silence. I had spent my life surrounded by people, noise, and expectations, but now, without Étienne's presence, everything seemed hollow.
I found myself returning to the garden where we had shared our last moment together. The bench where we had sat was still there, as though time had stopped. I ran my fingers over the wood, the cool surface grounding me.
"I'll wait," I whispered, though I knew he couldn't hear me. "I'll wait for you."
The wind stirred the leaves around me, as though in response to my promise. The words felt empty without him, but somehow they were the only thing that gave me comfort now.
I wasn't sure how long I could hold onto the hope that one day, he'd return. But I would try.
For him.
For us.
Étienne
The first few days at the barracks were brutal.
Training was relentless—swords, strategy, endurance, and discipline. It was everything I had expected and more. My body ached at the end of each day, and my mind struggled to keep up with the constant barrage of information.
But it wasn't the physical pain that was the hardest. It was the loneliness.
I had been surrounded by people at the château—family, servants, friends—but here, I was just another soldier. A name in a sea of faces.
I tried to push through it. I had to. There was no place for weakness here.
The officers were strict, demanding, and unsympathetic. There was no room for sentiment, and every mistake was punished.
I began to wonder if I had made a mistake—if leaving the comfort of home, the warmth of Victoire, had been the right choice.
But there was no turning back now.
All I could do was keep moving forward.
I learned quickly that the barracks weren't just a place of training; they were a place of survival.
And I had to adapt.
Victoire
I finally found the courage to leave the house.
It was early morning, and the air was crisp as I walked down the familiar streets of our village. I passed by the bakery, the market, the church—places I had seen a hundred times but now felt strangely foreign.
I made my way to the riverbank, where I used to meet Étienne. The sound of the water was calming, and I let out a long breath, closing my eyes.
I needed to remember. I needed to hold onto him in some way.
"I won't forget you," I whispered into the breeze. "I'll never forget you."
And in that moment, I felt something stir inside me.
It was a quiet hope, buried beneath the longing and the loneliness. But it was there, flickering like a candle in the dark.
And for the first time in days, I smiled.
I knew that the road ahead would be difficult. But I also knew that whatever distance separated us, it wouldn't be enough to break the bond we shared.
I would wait for him.
And no matter how long it took, I would be here when he returned.
Étienne
The days turned into weeks, and the training only intensified. I could feel my body growing stronger, my resolve hardening with every new challenge. But even as I grew more capable, the loneliness didn't fade.
Nicolas had become a strange kind of mentor. He taught me how to fight not just with my body but with my mind. He saw potential in me—potential I hadn't known existed.
"You're not like the others, Étienne," he said one evening, after a grueling sparring match. "You have something more, something they don't understand."
I didn't know what he meant. But his words stuck with me, haunting me in the quiet moments of reflection.
Maybe he was right. Maybe I was different.
But it didn't change the fact that I was still here—far from home, far from Victoire, struggling to find my place in a world that had no room for weakness.
I would become strong, I told myself. I had to.
For her.