THIRD POV:
Lord Kaldric stepped out of the tent, the crimson cloak bunched in his fist no less than a fetter that weighed his steps incredibly.
To the men watching from the fire, the message was clear: the Commander had stripped his bride of her finery and her pride.
He tossed the cloak onto a supply crate with a look of deep exhaustion and signaled for Aldwin.
The younger knight approached, his eyes darting toward the closed tent flap and back to the cloak.
"My Lord?"
"Go to the nearest town and buy the finest cloth for the Lady, especially a hat. Be swift." Lord Kaldric commanded, his voice low, rubbing his temples.
He noticed her cloak lying on the crate and abrupt 'urgency' of the men. His face twisted into distress but nodded firmly.
"Yes, Sir."
"Also, double the watch on the perimeter. My Liege expects to break camp at the first bell. Make sure the horses are ready too."
Aldwin hesitated, his gaze still lingering on the dark tent where Ardelle was shivering. The action was indeed harsh and wrong but he had no say into the matter.
"And Lady Ardelle? It's a bitter night, sir."
He paused, furrowing his brows in confusion, "Lady who?"
"Ardelle… Your bride." Aldwin informed quietly.
"Her name is Ardelle?"
He gasped in disbelief, "Good Lord, Commander! You were unaware of your own bride's name?"
"Not that it matters."
"But-"
"Woman has what she deserves." Kaldric snapped, turning his back.
He walked toward the edge of the camp, but his ears were tuned to the sounds behind him. He heard the shift in the camp's rhythm.
Now that the Commander had seemingly discarded her, the animals were circling. Two men, emboldened by ale and the dark, detached themselves from the fire.
They moved with practiced silence toward the back of Lord Kaldric's tent, intent on finding a gap to catch a glimpse of the 'bride' in her state of ruin.
They didn't hear him move.
Before the first man could even reach for the tent flap, the resonance of steel hissed through the air.
Lord Kaldric's sword wasn't drawn to kill, but the tip of the blade stopped precisely an inch from the man's throat, the obsidian metal gleaming in the dying firelight.
The lethal promise in his silver eyes was enough. The two men paled, their breath hitching in their chests as they realized the Commander's 'disgust' did not mean he had revoked his ownership.
"Co-Commander–"
"Away. Now."
"Y-Yes."
They scrambled backward, nearly tripping over their own feet, and vanished into the safety of the main camp.
Lord Kaldric sheathed his blade with a sharp clack. He didn't return to the fire, nor did he enter the tent.
Dropping onto a low stool directly in front of the tent, he drove his unsheathed claymore into the soft earth between his boots. He rested his large, scarred hands on the pommel, his eyes scanning the perimeter.
The message was silent but deafening: To get in, you go through me.
The air in the camp changed. The knights and squires knew the girl was inside, stripped of her only protection by the Commander's own hand.
The very same Commander sat there to defend the very thing he just stripped. And there was nothing they could do.
Men lingered near the supply wagons, their eyes darting toward the back of the tent, wondering if there was a gap or tear in the tent, a loose stake, or a shadow they could exploit to see the 'ethereal beauty' in her purest state.
Everyone waited, and waited.
But, the warning was life-threatening. They didn't dare to enter the vicinity.
A shadow fell over Lord Kaldric, who did not move an inch for hours, his face stoic, staring into the fire. It was the King's herald.
"Commander," the herald whispered, glancing nervously at the silent tent. "His Majesty is breaking camp. The procession moves at dawn. He expects you at the vanguard."
Lord Kaldric didn't move. He didn't even blink.
"Tell His Majesty I require time. My…" He finally glanced back at the tent, unsure what word to use for the woman inside.
"...Ward is unwell. I will catch up with the rear guard before midday."
The herald hesitated, then bowed and scurried away.
Inside the tent, Ardelle was petrified.
The cold seeped through, biting at her skin, but it was the shadow on the tent wall that terrified her more.
From her position, she could see the silhouette of a massive man sitting right outside the entrance.
She couldn't see his face; she only saw the outline of a warrior and the long, straight line of a blade.
'One of them came back,' she thought, her heart pounding against her ribs, a sob locked around her throat.
'They're waiting for me to fall asleep.'
Terrified that the 'man outside' would find a way in, she scrambled off the cot. The floor was freezing, but she didn't care.
She pressed her body against the dirt and crawled beneath the narrow wooden frame of the cot, tucking her knees to her chest.
She tried to make herself as small as possible, hiding in the narrow, lightless gap where she hoped no eyes could find her.
She watched the shadow of the man, waiting for him to move, to strike, to enter.
She had no idea that the man she feared was the only thing standing between her and the rest of the world.
Lord Kaldric, staring into the dying embers of the camp, had no idea that his mercy had driven his wife to hide in the dirt like the beggar he accused her of being.
But, being a man of steel, compassion was not his best of capability. All he could provide was an indirect shelter by staying outside and watching the tents being undone, preparing for departure.
"Still not coming, Kaldric?" Sir Gawain called, waving his hand.
He shook his head in denial.
Eventually, The scouts left. Lord Kaldric was all alone, still in the same position. His inscrutable eyes staring into the dying embers of the fire with his grip tightening on the pommel.
Soon Aldwin approached the Commander's tent with a heavy bundle in his arms, panting heavily from the sudden quest.
He handed the bundle. A gown of deep forest green wool with a mantle of soft fur to Lord Kaldric.
"The finest I could find on such short notice, My Lord," Aldwin whispered, his eyes moving around.
"The parade, they have already left?"
Lord Kaldric stood, pulling his sword from the earth with a sharp sound of steel, sheathing it.
"They move on to the King's time. I move on mine. Give them to me."
Aldwin's eyes flickering toward the silent tent with genuine concern, "Is the Lady alright? The men were talking."
"The men talk because they have nothing better to do with their tongues," Lord Kaldric growled, snatching the bag.
"Go. Catch the rear guard. Tell My Liege I am coming."
Aldwin bowed and mounted his horse, cast one last worried look back, and disappeared down the trail.
Lord Kaldric took the clothes, his face unreadable. His eyes were bloodshot from the night's vigil, still it didn't diminish the authority his presence held.
He simply turned and pushed back the tent flap with a face of boredom and exhaustion from last night's survey and lack of sleep.
The moment his shadow broke the light coming into the tent, a sharp, horrified gasp erupted from the corner.
"NO! DON'T ENTER!"