*Bruno*
Bruno shifted the silver tray between his small hands, the metal edges biting into his palms as the weight threatened to topple his five-year-old frame. Steam curled upward from Ana's breakfast—eggs that smelled of butter and salt, ham glistening with honey glaze, and a mug of coffee that filled the air with its rich earthiness. Even the glass of blood emitted a faint crimson fog around its rim, the metallic scent barely detectable beneath the sweetness of the meal.
This wasn't just breakfast. This was a mission, the most important one he had ever undertaken. He was tasked with delivering breakfast this morning instead of Mama.
He could not fail—not for his Princess, not for Ana!
His burgundy eyes narrowed with determination as the heavy tray pulled at his arms. The ornate handles left intricate patterns pressed into his soft skin—temporary brands of his devotion. They stung, but Bruno welcomed the pain. Knights endured far worse for their ladies.
And besides, this was not just about delivering food. He wanted to cheer Ana up.
When Ana sees everything I brought– imagining how a big smile would spread over her face was more fuel for Bruno's resolve. And he wanted her to smile. Not cry like last night.
The memory of Ana's tears from the previous night clenched something deep in his chest. The sound of her sobs still echoed in his ears, each one a knife twisting between his ribs. No, he could not bear to hear that again. Not ever.
"I can do this," he whispered, feeling the cold stone floor beneath his feet, the weight of responsibility far greater than the breakfast tray because this was for Ana. To make her feel better.
I can–Bruno's face fell as he could already hear them —voices bouncing off the white stone walls, hanging in the corridor like the visible puffs of his breath in the morning chill. Three distinct voices. People. Again.
His burgundy-colored eyes flashed with annoyance as he rounded the corner to find his suspicions true. Servants were standing in the hallway, talking. Once again, he saw the hall blocked. And he couldn't move around them—not this time. They were lounging out, leaning against the walls, legs out, and taking up all the space. He couldn't jump over them or dodge them with the tray without spilling something.
It wasn't the first time he had to stop and wait. It seemed every hall he turned into was the same. Full of people. Gossiping. Servants and Nobles alike were engrossed in the latest topic. All talking loud enough for him not even to need to hide and listen. They spoke plainly enough as if no one noticed he was there. Either way, Bruno could hear everything.
And what he heard today made his stomach twist into knots.
They were talking about Ana. And what they were saying… wasn't nice.
Bruno clenched the handles a bit tighter, feeling the metal bite into his hands. As yet again, he could already start hearing the same recycled conversation. Each time, hitting him deeper than the last.
"Excuse me-" Bruno attempted, his voice small against their careless chatter. They looked through him as if he were made of the same air that carried their cruel words.
"Did you hear about the ambush?" the first maid asked, her nose wide, as she leaned in conspiratorially.
A human manservant scoffed, the sound harsh in the echoing corridor. "You mean how the Empress sent all those good men to die? She sent them right into that mess. All blind. They were massacred, I tell you."
"Damn-ignorant girl, full of stupid notions from books. This is war, not some tea party." A short-armed maid rocked on her feet. "Just goes to show no good comes when a woman is on the throne."
"Should we be surprised?" The manservant snarked. "I mean, what would you expect from a half-breed freak–"
Something snapped inside Bruno's chest. A flash of protective fury surged through his small body, hot and electric like the lightning he'd once seen split the sky. Without thinking, he jammed the tray hard into the man's knee, feeling the satisfying impact vibrate up his thin arms.
The man howled, his leg buckling. His face twisted, first white with shock, then cherry-red with rage, veins popping at his temples like angry worms under skin.
Bruno was already squeezing past, the silver tray tilted precariously as he navigated the narrow space he'd created. The scent of the cooling breakfast mingled with the sour sweat of the angry servants.
"I will not have you speak of My Lady so poorly, you knave!" Bruno declared, his voice higher and smaller than he wanted, but strong with conviction. He puffed out his little chest, the way knights did in Ana's storybooks, and dodged around the two maids, the tray handles slippery in his sweaty grip.
"Knave?!" The man spat, his voice cracking with disbelief. Spittle flew from his mouth, catching the morning light filtering through the hall windows. His face contorted into something monstrous as he found his voice. "You little shit!"
"Look at him, talking to us like we are beneath him." One of the maids snapped."Bastard!"
The big-nosed maid leaned forward, her breath smelling of onions and spite. "Why don't you go suck on that bitch's tit, huh?" She hissed, eyes narrowed to slits, nostrils flaring wide enough to see the tiny hairs inside.
The man's laugh was ugly, like the sound of glass breaking. "Which one? His whore mother or the Empress?!" All three erupted into cackles that reminded Bruno of the witches in fairy tales, the kind that ate children and lived in houses made of bones.
"You…"Bruno snapped his head back, the sudden movement making the food on the tray slide dangerously. His little chest twisted with something sharp and hot—anger, but not for himself. For Mama. For Ana. The feeling was too big for his small body, making his ears ring and his eyes sting.
He didn't care what they said about him. They always said things. He was used to that. Bruno had heard all kinds of names whispered in the palace halls—snickers from servants, sneers from guards, Lady Funda's cruel jabs. It didn't matter. It was just noise. Just words.
He'd rather they just call him names. They didn't leave bruises or cuts like the kicks or the slaps when his mother wasn't around. That hurt the least.
But calling Mama and Ana names? That was different. That was wrong.
His small hands gripped the tray so tightly that his knuckles turned white as milk, and the metal handles were digging painful lines into his soft fingers. The tray wobbled with food that had lost its magic—eggs that had gone rubbery and yellow-gray, toast no longer crisp but sad and floppy, and coffee that smelled like it had been brewed forever ago, bitter and forgotten. The blood in the glass had started to separate, a thin watery layer floating on top like the scum on pond water.
He could throw it. Right at them.
He imagined their shocked faces: eggs in their hair, ham stuck to their cheeks, coffee dripping down their smug collars like poop-colored war paint. Blood clots might even stick to their skin. That would show them. That would teach them not to speak ill of others.
The thought almost made him giggle. Almost. His lips twitched with the temptation.
They would scream. They would get in trouble. Maybe cry big fat tears like babies. It was so easy to picture. So easy to do.
Behind him, the servants were still glaring, their eyes boring holes into his back. He could feel their stares like hot pokers, could hear them whispering new insults, their voices low and venomous like the hiss of snakes.
"Uppity little mongrel..."
"Just like his bitch of a mother..."
"Someone ought to teach them their places.."
They called him bad anyway. Maybe he should be bad. Maybe he should show them what bad really looked like. His fingers twitched on the tray handles, ready to pivot and launch.
But then…
Was that what a real knight would do?
Bruno's lips pressed into a line. No, a knight would never do that, he already knew. Knights didn't throw food. They didn't have tantrums.
Knights slayed dragons with magic swords that went swoosh through the air. They had shiny armor that caught the sun and big white horses with manes like clouds and noble hearts that beat for good things. They kept their promises. They protected the people they loved. Knights were better than that.
A knight would be brave, but not mean. Strong—but fair.
Ana always taught him to be better. Not because people expected it, but because he could be. Her voice, soft and warm like honey, seemed to whisper in his ear now: "A true knight's power is in his heart, not his sword, Bruno."
Bruno was a knight. He was better than that. Knights fought real villains with honor, not anger.
And Ana... Ana would be upset if she knew he'd wasted food. She had enough to worry about already. Bruno remembered last night—how small she looked after she stopped crying, how puffy her eyes were like she'd been stung by bees, how quiet her steps were as she left, exhausted, her pretty face broken in that moment as if she was all alone in the world. She was trying so hard to stay strong for everyone. Why couldn't they see that?
She worked so hard. She tried her best. How could they still be so mean?
It wasn't even her fault, but they didn't even care. They just wanted someone to blame, someone to hate. And they just wanted more reasons to hate her.
And Mykhol had smiled. Bruno could still see it, the memory sharp and clear like a picture in a book. How he beamed as he held her crying, and He'd touched her back and smiled like he'd done something good. Like he'd won.
The bad man. He was the reason Ana cried. Bruno clenched his jaw tightly. No, these servants weren't his enemy.
He couldn't forget that. He needed to save his energy. He needed to save Ana from him. From them all.
No. He had to stay focused. He had to protect her.
He was Bruno. He was a knight. And knights didn't give in, no matter how tempting it was, no matter how much the bad feelings in their tummy said to do it.
Bruno had a duty.
He straightened his back, lifted his chin so high it almost hurt, and walked on. The food stayed on the tray, wobbling slightly with each determined step. The laughter stayed behind him, fading like old echoes, though he could still feel their hateful stares burning into his back like sunburn.
He didn't look back. Knights never looked back at dragons they weren't ready to slay. Not yet. But someday.
Someday.
-x-
Bruno could already hear the murmur of voices seeping through the door like water under a crack. Ana must be in a meeting, he realized. Part of him felt a little relieved by that.
She wasn't sad anymore from last night. She was back to work. Back to herself again.
Nothing could keep her down. Not for long. Ana was strong. Better than anyone. Like the heroes in her bedtime stories, who always got back up after falling down.
And judging by how Ana's voice came out through the door, it sounded like she was taking things seriously. Her voice rang clear and firm. Whatever the meeting was about made her sound like when she told him important grown-up things, the kind that made her eyebrows pull together.
Bruno shifted the tray in his hands, the silverware tinkling like tiny bells. Something about Ana's serious voice made his own body change without thinking. His back straightened, and his eyes sharpened. The boy shuffled the tray to balance precariously on one small arm—his heart thumping fast at the wobble—as he used his free hand to rap on the door. The knock stung his knuckles, making them pink and tingly.
"Your Empress? It's Bruno." Bruno didn't wait long to hear her bid him entrance. Immediately taking the tray back with both hands as soon as the door opened, he scanned the room.
The first thing that hit him was the smell, smoky and scratchy in his nose. The fire was lit, but smoke billowed from the low flame like gray ghosts, filling the room with the scent of ash and cinder that made his nose crinkle. Bruno knew he would need to mind the fire as soon as he put down the tray. Fix it like Mama showed him, with the poker that was almost as tall as he was.
Ana was at the big table with the map stretched out like a giant colorful blanket. Her hair was tucked neatly under the red shawl, and the silver crown caught the morning light streaming through the windows, making little dancing spots on the wall that his eyes wanted to follow. The sunbeams cut through the smoky air, creating golden pathways across the room.
The tray felt extra heavy now, his arms shaky and tired from carrying it so long, but he pressed further into the room, determined not to spill a single drop.
"Oh, hello, Bruno." Ana's voice softened when she saw him, like honey warming in the sun. But just as quickly, her eyes flicked back to the map. Her small features grew sharp as she furrowed her brows at whatever they were looking at, making little lines appear between her eyebrows that Bruno wanted to smooth away with his thumb.
Beside her stood Admiral Nugen, the human with that funny scar over his eye that looked like a worm had crawled across his face and fallen asleep there. The Admiral's eyes flicked up at him, cold and brown like a murky pond. A measured look that warmed just a tiny bit when he spotted the tray in Bruno's hands, answering the unspoken question of why a child would interrupt their important meeting. Just as quickly, the Admiral's attention returned to the map, his finger stabbing at something Bruno couldn't see.
He's not here. Bruno quickly noticed the party was missing Mykhol's presence. The bad man was usually at these kinds of meetings, standing too close to Ana with his big smile that didn't reach his eyes. But this morning, something must have stopped him.
Whatever the reason was, Bruno was glad for it. The absence of the tall man with the too-white teeth immediately filled the small boy with relief, like the feeling of climbing into bed after a scary dream and finding Mama there to chase the monsters away.
Good. I hope he stays away forever and ever. The bad man had already done enough damage yesterday, making Ana cry those tears that seemed to hurt Bruno's own eyes just remembering them.
But the other person in the room made Bruno's relief shrivel up like a leaf in frost. His tummy tightened into a hard little ball, and the tray suddenly felt twice as heavy in his small hands. The breakfast that had started out so perfectly now seemed all wrong, and Bruno wondered if he should have thrown it at those servants after all.
What's he doing here? Immediately, Bruno frowned, seeing the overly dressed boy standing by Ana.
Sir Pendwick looked ridiculous—swaddled in an oversized furred tunic that puffed around his thin frame like he'd been wrapped in a bear. Heavy gold chains hung crooked across his chest, clinking when he moved. It was clear he'd dressed with importance in mind. But to Bruno, it looked like a child playing dress-up in a nobleman's closet.
Bruno could've ignored all that. He really could've. But the blush—that blush—was the final offense.
Pink burned across Pendwick's pale cheeks, blooming like heat rash the longer he stood next to Ana. His fingers twitched nervously near the map table, and every few seconds, he stole glances at her. Not subtle ones, either. The kind of glances that lingered. His currant-colored eyes were wide and eager, silently begging Ana to notice him. He swayed slightly on his heels, clearly trying to look casual, but it only made him seem more like a puppy hoping to be petted.
Yet Ana seemed completely oblivious, lost in her work. Her head stayed bent over the map, silver curls slipping loose from her braid, lips slightly parted in concentration.
Good. Bruno didn't want her to notice.
And somehow, that made Bruno not like the boy even more.
He glared at the boy like he could set him on fire with a look alone. Stay away from Ana. He watched as Pendwick edged a little closer to the table, pretending to peer at the borders drawn in ink.
Yeah right. Like you care about politics.
Bruno adjusted the tray in his hands, stepping onto the thick, plush rug that made his feet sink with each step. It swallowed his shoes and made balancing harder. The glasses rattled softly—clink clink—as one edge of the tray tilted. He nearly tripped, the weight shifting.
Pendwick's head jerked up immediately.
"Oh—here, let me—" he stepped forward, both hands reaching out, worry flashing across his face. His voice cracked slightly, like it always did when Ana was nearby.
But Bruno pivoted fast, twisting his body away with a scowl. The tray was lifted just out of reach.
"I got it," he snapped, voice high and stubborn.
No way I want your help.
Pendwick blinked, startled, hands still hovering in the air. Bruno didn't even look at him. He stormed forward, the tray clinking again as he stomped across the last bit of rug and thunked it down onto the coffee table with more force than necessary.
Then he marched to the couch and threw himself onto it with an exaggerated bounce, crossing his arms over his chest like a knight guarding a fortress. His eyes locked onto Pendwick with open challenge—I don't need you. I've got this. I take care of Ana.
Pendwick stood there, frozen mid-step, his hands slowly lowering to his sides. A sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, uncertain. "Oh… um… alright," he mumbled, backing away like a chastised squire.
He shuffled to the edge of the map table again, but he didn't stand as close to Ana this time. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, posture stiff. His gaze dropped awkwardly to the parchment, cheeks still red.
Good. Bruno felt a small thrill of satisfaction and tucked it away behind a fake pout. He turned his attention to Ana instead, his small body leaning slightly toward her, ears perking as soon as she spoke.
Let that weird, fidgety boy stare all he wanted. Bruno was here. And knights didn't need gold chains or fluffy coats to protect their lady.
"We will move the encampment to this location." Ana pointed to the map, the gesture lightly clicking her chains on her head. Her scarlet eyes were focused as her voice. " That should be more than out of range for any possible attacks, but still close enough to engage."
Admiral Nugen nodded along, seeming to find the new location a better choice. "I will alert my men and make the necessary arrangements." He reached to roll up the map, though his eyes remained troubled."But that still leaves us with the bigger questions."
The weight of the question settled over them both with a heavy silence that Bruno moved to touch the couches cloth. It felt smooth between the embroidery patterns. His little fingers traced the lines of the flowers as the thought came to mind.
"You mean the arrows?" Bruno's voice had all three look back up. For a second, Admiral Nugen furrowed his brows as if wondering how Bruno already knew that. But Ana's expression darkened.
"Word has gotten out already, then, I assume." She spoke heavily, as if she had expected that to happen. But she seemed to press the exhaustion behind her as she regarded Bruno with a soft but proud smile, as if pleased that he had guessed right.
"Exactly, Bruno." But just as she looked over him with pride, that expression seemed to diminish. Her eyes fell to the papers at her side. Her face darkened. "But it's the crossbows that are the bigger question. They are a new design, specially made from Almony. We still don't know how they got them."
"Could they have traded with someone?" Sir Pendwick raised his hand, offering a possible choice. However, that only made the human wag his head.
"No one will trade with the Bulgeons." He spoke as a matter of fact. "And the Bulgeons would rather just steal it than trade." Admiral Nugen returned, making Ana grow more perplexed.
"This particular bow is not even on the market yet," Ana added, looking back at her notes. "Hidi said so herself, that we'd be the first to test it on the field." She pressed her lips thin in a pause before looking back at Admiral Nugen.
"Do you think we had some of our shipment from Almony intercepted, maybe? An attack? Were there any reports? Or maybe cargo left behind by accident?"
"No… none that I've heard," Admiral Nugen replied, but his voice had slowed.
His answer came too measured. And something in his face—tightening around the jaw, a quiet narrowing of the eyes—made Bruno glance up from his seat.
Nugen wasn't puzzled. Not really.
There was something sharper than confusion behind his expression. His eyes flicked toward the door—not urgently, but with purpose. Like a man mentally following a trail of footprints only he could see. For a breath, his brow lowered, shadowed by some private recognition. A quiet suspicion that made the corner of his mouth press tight.
Then, just as quickly, the moment passed. His face smoothed over like a blanket pulled across cooling embers. He turned back toward the room—toward Bruno specifically, eyes landing briefly on the tray of food now sitting cold and untouched. He gave a polite, almost forced smile that didn't quite meet his eyes.
He didn't know what Admiral Nugen was thinking. But he knew—knew the man was thinking of someone.
And not just anyone.
There was something in the way the Admiral's eyes had shifted to the door, something in the tight, careful pull of his expression that made a jolt go through Bruno's small chest. A tiny flicker of shock. Not the bad kind—but the kind that made his throat go tight, like he'd almost found something he didn't know he was looking for.
He sees it too, Bruno thought. He knows something's wrong.
Bruno stared a moment longer, his little face unreadable. He didn't usually trust grown-ups. Most didn't see what he saw. Most didn't want to see. They smiled and played politely and looked the other way when Mykhol smiled his awful smile or made Ana look like she wanted to disappear.
But Admiral Nugen… he looked. He noticed.
Bruno sat back slowly on the couch, quiet and still. His legs dangled just above the carpet, and the tray of cold food rested beside him. The silence stretched, but inside, something shifted.
Maybe he wasn't the only one watching out for Ana.
That thought… that possibility… gave him a strange kind of comfort. A small, surprising breath of ease.
Maybe—just maybe—he had an ally.
"Your Empress," Nugen said gently, but there was a note in his voice that made Bruno glance up again. Not clipped or formal. Not even commanding. Softer. Like the way someone spoke when they cared too much and were trying to hide it, like how Mama whispered to him when he had bad dreams."You should eat. And you need to drink your blood as well."
Ana flinched.
She didn't hide it fast enough. Her lips twitched, pulling back into a small grimace that barely lasted a breath, but Bruno saw it. The discomfort. The hesitation. It was like watching someone touch something hot—that quick, silent jerk away from pain.
"That—" she started, but her voice caught, thin and brittle like a frozen twig. She didn't finish.
The silence in the room felt heavy and tight, pressing against Bruno's ears. He could hear the soft crackling of the fire, the gentle shifting of papers on the table, and his own small heart thumping in his chest.
Nugen didn't press. But the way he looked at her—just for a heartbeat—was too patient to be professional. His normally stern face softened around the edges, like butter warming in sunlight. His tone firmed again, but not unkind. "Eat," he repeated, as if coaxing her, the word gentle but unmistakably worried. "Or you'll get too cold again."
He said it like he knew. Like he'd seen it before. Like it had happened more than once and still worried him every time.
Bruno's eyes widened slightly, his small chest tightening again—but this time not with suspicion.
That tone… That quiet worry…
It wasn't how people usually talked to Ana. They followed her orders. They bowed, obeyed, criticized, or smiled with fake mouths and eyes that stayed cold as stones. But this—this was different.
He wasn't talking to the Empress. He was talking to Ana.
Bruno looked from Nugen to Ana and then back again. Something settled in his gut.
He really does care about her.
That sealed it for him. More than a glance. More than the shift in Nugen's face before. This was enough. The knot of worry in Bruno's tummy loosened just a little, like a rope being untied one loop at a time.
Admiral Nugen, he decided, was one of the good ones.
"We'll leave you to it," Nugen said after a beat, stepping back with quiet ease. "Sir Pendwick?"
Sir Pendwick flinched like he'd been struck, his hands flying up before he quickly dropped into a stiff, panicked bow. "Yes, Your Empress! Make sure to take care of yourself and eat properly. Your health is very important to me—uh, I mean us. I meant us!"
His voice cracked on the last word, and his eyes widened in horror the moment it left his mouth. He stared down at the floor like it might swallow him, his entire face turning beet red in a second, crawling from his collar up to the tips of his ears.
Ana blinked at him, completely unfazed. "Sir Pendwick? Are you alright? You're all red again."
Of course, she didn't catch on. She tilted her head, genuinely puzzled, and that—somehow—only made Pendwick flush worse. His fingers twitched at his sides like he didn't know what to do with them.
"Um, yes! Very fine! I mean, I'm fine!" he stammered, his voice going high and tight as he bowed again so deeply it looked like he might tip forward and knock into the coffee table. "I'll just—excuse me—"
Bruno didn't even bother hiding the unimpressed look he shot him. It was almost painful to watch. A grown boy fumbling over words like a baby bird in the snow. Pathetic. He didn't trust him with Ana—not because he was dangerous, but because he was ridiculous.
Admiral Nugen, standing nearby with arms loosely crossed, rubbed his eyes with a slow, firm drag of his palm across his brow. The kind of gesture grown-ups made when they were very tired or very done. A low sigh rumbled from his chest.
Bruno's mouth twitched with the beginning of a smile. At least the Admiral saw it too. At least someone else understood how silly he was.
"Honestly, you—just come along," he muttered under his breath, not even looking at Pendwick anymore. He turned and gestured for the door with a sharp flick of his hand, as though herding a child out of a classroom. "Enjoy your breakfast, Your Empress. If you need me, I'll be in the armory."
Ana looked up, her brow faintly creased. "The armory? Is there some reason?"
Nugen paused mid-step. Just briefly.
Bruno caught the change—the slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his jaw tensed before he relaxed it again.
"I just want to check on something," the Admiral said evenly. Too evenly.
But Bruno had already seen it. The way Nugen's gaze had flicked earlier toward the door when Ana mentioned the crossbows. That flicker of thought. Suspicion. He knew something. Or at least, had a guess.
But he wasn't saying it here. Not yet.
Bruno watched the Admiral go, his small fingers curling against the plush of the couch.
He knew.
And just like that, Bruno trusted him even more.
As soon as the door closed with a heavy wooden thunk that echoed in the quiet room, Bruno hopped down from the couch. Scampering over to Ana's side as she had yet to leave the table, his heart thumped with purpose. The map laid out before her looked like a colorful sea of squiggly lines and strange symbols that made his head spin if he stared too long.
His little hand immediately came up to take hers. Her skin felt like ice against his warm palm, almost as freezing as the door handles outside. The contact made him gasp softly—she was so cold! The human was right. Ana needed to eat.
She never does seem to like blood. Bruno recalled the way her face always scrunched up before drinking it, like drinking yucky medicine. He moved to rub Ana's hands between his own, her delicate fingers lost in his determined grip. Bruno's tongue poked out in concentration as he worked, trying to make heat with his palms.
"What's an armory?" Bruno asked, still rubbing. "I don't know that word."
"It's the place where we keep all the weapons." Ana readily answered, always happy to teach. Her voice was honey-warm, like sunshine in spring—bright and easy, the kind that made learning feel like a gift. Rather than a task. She squeezed his hand, her fingers cool against his warm skin, and looked down at him. Her scarlet eyes, the color of the prettiest autumn leaves, finally softened just for him, melting like snow in spring.
"If you like, we could go and see it later?"
"I would like that," Bruno answered, his heart doing a happy little dance in his chest at the thought of seeing real swords and shields. He stood up on his tip toes, feet aching with the stretch, to peek at the still-open book on the table.
The pages rustled softly as a draft from the window caught their edges. It was full of writing—Ana's writing, curving and dancing across the page like tiny bird tracks. He could remember seeing it much more now because of their lessons. He could even start to read some of the words.
Well, almost.
"What's this one?" Bruno asked, pointing out a part for Ana to lean over. Her eyes narrowed just a moment before she laughed.
"That word is Arrow."
Bruno's brows pinched together. "Arrow?" His burgundy eyes squinted harder at the funny word as something whispered in his mind that he had seen this before.
Bruno's eyes suddenly widened so much they felt like they might pop out, his mouth forming a perfect little 'o' as he remembered.
It was in that funny book. The one Lord Charles took away. He had caught sight of it because it had so many 'r's in it, all lined up like little soldiers. Now he knew what the word was.
That funny book was about arrows. Bruno could put that together: arrows, numbers, and lines.
But what did it mean? He still didn't know. But maybe Ana could if he drew it?
"Hey, Ana? Can I use some paper?"
Ana didn't even think to question it. She immediately slid a sheet over and dipped a quill into the ink pot.
"Are you practicing your letters, again?" she asked, reaching out to gently brush his shaggy bangs away from his eyes. The touch was soft and warm. Familiar. Bruno leaned into it without thinking. Only Ana and his mama ever did that. And he liked it—he really liked it.
But today, he had more important things to focus on. Important knight things.
Bruno shook his head, already dragging the quill across the page. "I saw a funny-looking book. But it didn't have normal words. It looked like this." He carefully scratched out a few clean lines and numbers, drawing what he remembered. Then he glanced up, hopeful. "Do you know what this is?"
Ana furrowed her silver brows for a moment, then looked at the markings again, eyes sharpening with interest.
"It looks like some kind of ledger, Bruno."
"A what?"
"A ledger," she explained, her tone gently instructive, the way it always was when she taught him something new."It's for keeping track of spending. Of supplies and stock and things like that."
She smiled, but her attention drifted, just for a moment, toward the food tray. Her lips turned down slightly at the sight of the glass of blood, the crimson liquid catching the light and gleaming like wet rubies. A shadow crossed her expression—something between revulsion and resignation. Like a child staring down a plate of vegetables, yes, but with the weight of a kingdom behind it.
Bruno's mind, however, had already launched ahead, galloping like the imaginary war horse he rode in his games.
"Ah, I see." Bruno nodded, looking at the paper himself, his finger hovering just above the ink to avoid smudging it. "It's a ledger."
A ledger. One that had the word 'arrow' in it. One that Lord Charles kept in the safe. Important.
No. Something then clicked in Bruno's head like two puzzle pieces snapping together.
Hidden.
It wasn't just important. It was secret. Hidden because it mattered.
His heart leapt in his chest. It felt like all the air in the room shifted. His whole body buzzed like lightning was crawling under his skin, but he kept his face still. Calm.
Knights were always calm, even when they discovered the dragon's weakness.
Still, he couldn't stop the little smile creeping across his lips.
The book is the key. He was sure of it now. As sure as he knew his own name.
It could help Ana. He could save her. He, Sir Bruno the Brave, could be her champion against all the mean people who made her cry.
He just had to get the book. And to do that, he needed the combo—the code. Whatever that word was.
Bruno's hand slid across the paper, finding Ana's fingers again. She was turning, walking toward the couch, eyes still reluctantly fixed on the glass of blood.
"I suppose I will have to eat it," Ana murmured, her voice light but tinged with dread. She gave a soft sigh, as if resigned to some small torment.
Bruno lifted his chin, chest puffed out just a little. His voice was clear. Steady.
"Come on, Ana. You need to keep your strength." He squeezed her hand, trying to push all his courage through his fingers into hers. "The battle has only begun."
Bruno looked up, watching her closely. For a moment, her eyes stayed on the glass of blood, her face quiet and distant, like she was somewhere else—somewhere tired.
But then something shifted.
He saw her pause, like she'd really heard him. Like his words had reached some quiet part of her that nobody else could touch. Her mouth twitched, almost like she didn't mean to smile—but couldn't help it. A soft laugh puffed out, barely there, but warm.
"The battle?" she repeated, turning to him now—not as the Empress, not as the grown-up who always had to be strong, but just… Ana.
And she was smiling.
Not the tired kind. Not the tight one she gave adults when they told her what to do. This one was different. Real. Like for a second, she'd stepped into his world—the one with dragons and heroes and victory right around the corner.
Bruno's heart leapt. She needed that, he realized. A reason to believe. And he'd given her one.
Bruno nodded solemnly, his burgundy eyes shining with something fierce and wild now, like tiny flames dancing in the dark. His baby fangs peeked through as he grinned, pressing their sharp little points against his bottom lip. He stood as tall as his little body would allow, imagining himself in shining armor with a sword raised high.
"Yes. The battle," he said, with a knight's certainty, with a hero's promise. His small hand gripped hers tightly, as if already protecting her from unseen dangers. "And soon… a victory."
The thought made his chest swell with such pride he felt like he might float right off the ground. His feet tingled with the urge to run off right now and begin his quest.
That's what knights did. They saved princesses from dragons.
And Bruno was every bit a knight.
His eyes gleamed with determination, with the absolute certainty that only a five-year-old on a mission could possess.
The battle had indeed begun. And Sir Bruno would win it.
For Ana.