The question wasn't heavy.
Wasn't dramatic.
It was a check.
Nayla's eyes didn't even flicker.
"Born ready."
"Not the metaphorical kind," he said. "Not sparring in castles or defending bridges. Real war. One that doesn't care about your title or who gave your last order."
She looked at him.
"I watched my village burn when I was ten. My mom fought with a rake. Dad held a shield that wasn't his. Neither made it. I joined the Blade five years later. Since then, I've been posted to every bad spot this kingdom has. I don't need someone to explain what war looks like."
Lindarion held her gaze.
'She's not lying. Not selling. She just knows.'
Ashwing whispered through the bond, faintly amused. "So… are we recruiting guards now?"
Lindarion didn't answer him.
Instead, he asked one more question. "If I called for you tomorrow, would you follow me?"
Nayla's answer was instant.
"No."
Lindarion blinked.
