The whisper of hope

The room where Robert was taken was quieter than the rest of the palace. A cool breeze slipped through the window slits, carrying the scent of lavender and the distant sound of the sea crashing against the cliffside. Robert sat slouched on the edge of the bed and the bandage around his torso still stained red. Isabelle hovered nearby, dabbing his wound with a gentle cloth soaked in herbal salve.

She hadn't spoken much since she’d found him in bloodied and slumped after the confrontation with Herod. But now, as she tended to him, Robert was struck not just by her silence, but by her strength. There was no panic in her eyes, no trembling in her fingers. She moved with the precision of someone trained, someone who had seen pain before and refused to let it undo her.

"You're not just a noble’s daughter," he said finally, unable to hold back his curiosity.

She gave him a wry glance. "And you’re not just a soldier."

He smiled weakly. "Fair."