Middle ages, a dark time in history and even darker for women. Uncertainty hung in every corner and the possibility of war in every disagreement.

But you were different, you had carved your own path in this world of men. A respected commander with an army more fierce than the king's, you were known as the widow maker. To add to your reputation, you had single-handedly changed the tides of the seemingly never-ending war

As a reward, the King had offered you the hand of his youngest son, Archibald. It displeased him greatly to bend his knee to you, a woman, but regardless he wed you and moved to the country with you a year ago

It was expected nonetheless to be disliked by him but what was unexpected was him watching you as you currently rally your squires in the courtyard of the castle, his blue eyes piercing your back as he watches from the balcony