Warren Woodwick and Kennet Caern were ten years apart in age, but the Noble Lady had always seemed years ahead of him in so many other ways. Estelle and William Woodwick had raised their only son to respect everyone - commoner and noble alike, and he knew well what was expected of him but there was a difference between a person who allowed their Name to be the only reason they deserved respect, and one who worked hard to earn it. Man or woman, older or younger, Warren judged a person the way he judged a soldier. Were they loyal to those they had promised their loyalty to? Did they work hard, fulfill their duties, persevere despite doubt and push themselves to keep going even when they thought they couldn't?

His mother had made it clear to him when he was young. Women in Nevermere, despite having more power than men by way of their magic, hard to work twice as hard to be recognized, to earn titles, to be worthy. It was not fair, but it was reality. Being born into nobility certainly made it easier in ways, but that alone would not bolster one to the position of Hand of the King. Kennet had more power than almost anyone else in the entire Kingdom, save the King and Queen themselves. The second most powerful woman in Nevermere, there was no doubt about that.

All of those thoughts pressed toward the forefront of his mind as she rode across the field past he and his men. No matter the time or place, she drew the eyes. Multiple soldiers turned their heads to watch her pass, a woman as intimidating as she was beautiful. But it wasn't her physical features that impressed Warren. "Eyes on each other, soldiers," he barked. "Every one of you would have been killed already if this were a real fight. There are always going to be distractions. Put your swords down, give me fifty push-ups each, and then resume your spars. With your eyes on your opponents, please, not on passersby." The edge to his tone let them know he was being serious. Fifty push-ups was an easy punishment compared to some he had doled out in the past for giving way to distractions, so they quickly obeyed.

He walked across the field toward the Hand of the King. His hands were tucked behind his back. He was in training clothes. A loose, white tunic tucked into thick, brown trousers paired with heavy boots. He was a bit dirty. He was not a Lieutenant who shied away joining in training with his soldiers to ensure they knew proper form and technique. As he approached her, he gave a proper bow. If she hadn't dismounted her horse yet, he'd offer a hand to help her down. "Lady Caern, it's a pleasure to see you, as always," he said, his words genuine though his expression remained the same. He rarely smiled. "I see you've come prepared to practice your archery. Is there anything I can do for you while you're here? If not, I'm happy to give you your space."

Smirking as she watched the soldiers’ swords and shields fall to the ground one after the other, Kennet brought her horse around to a low trough. He was a stocky courser with a wild black mane and equally black feathering around each massive hoof. Mudslide, she’d named him, as much for the black and brown of his coat as for the chaos that flashed in his eyes.

“Lieutenant.” Grinning down at Lord Woodwick, Kennet accepted the hand he offered. It was a long way down from the saddle she sat to the leaves underfoot, but the path was a familiar one. Her boots landed easily enough, while her quiver and bow slapped at her back. Releasing Woodwick with a quick turn of her heel, she made quick work of tying off her horse’s reins while Mudslide plunged his massive head into the trough.

“I hope I’ve not disrupted your exercises too terribly.” There was a knowing grin in her voice as she turned, green eyes skipping past Woodwick to the soldiers rising and falling in rigid planks across the field. The matter of her intentions remained unanswered for the time being. Such was her way. For all his reticence to smile, Kennet brandished her easy grins and idle banter without reservation and with a great deal more intent than most ever realized.

She was a sight to behold, truly, graceful even in the way she dismounted. It was always hard to tell with nobility exactly how genuine they were in their presentations -- because they all had presentations, even Warren. But there was not a crack to be seen in Kennet Caern. He watched as she tied her horse off and it dipped it's head into the trough, thinking only that the horse was nearly as beautiful and graceful among it's kind as the woman who rode it.

He followed her eyes past him, turning slightly to look back at his soldiers, then shook his head once. "A brief distraction perhaps, my Lady, but not unwelcome. They should be prepared for all things. It will only help them to discipline their minds." Kennet was no simple noble, he knew that much. She hadn't always been a Caern. She had been born to a Delaney and all Delaney knew what it meant to be soldiers, to be fighters. Warren tried not to meddle in rumors, but the possibility that she was also the child of King Julius couldn't be ignored. No matter which way you looked at her, she was born to be great. She had reason behind every action, so he couldn't help but wonder what this display was for. Or who. "If I might add, Lady Caern, you spoke wisely in Open Court, as always."

Mudslide snorted happily into the trough, sending a spray of water over the sides with a pleased stomp. Kennet, meanwhile, continued her survey of the soldiers, watching the most industrious few return to their feet while the rest finished their punishment in turn.

“I’m sure my father would agree,” she mused. Mason Delaney was a jocular man by all accounts, but the Nevermeran army had expanded tenfold under his unwavering—and occasionally unforgiving—command. Julius, too, would have undoubtedly approved of Woodwick’s tactics, but he was not the father she spoke of. Now or ever. Even in the dark of her own thoughts, Julius remained the king. Cassian’s father. Never hers.

It was a wound, perhaps, but an old one. Striding forward with wind-burnt cheeks and a wry smile, Kennet was more than content to play the part of the Delaney. To simply be. It had always been easier out here, amid the familiar clang of metal and the dull clash of shields. Within the castle walls, she was all too aware of the shadows that trailed her, whispers that strayed too near the truth for comfort and those that trudged boldly into the realm of fiction. Rumors that named her Julius’s bastard, darkening every success and diminishing every victory to a matter of blood and circumstance, while others put her between Cassian’s bedsheets, another Delaney-born mistress to another Rainecourt king. Each haunted her in kind, but it was the former that drove her. Compelled her. To prove herself, and to prove to herself that she was more than Julius’s unclaimed bastard.

Out here, on the field, with her bow slung across her back and her boots laced up to her knees, it was easier. If only barely.

It was Woodwick who recalled her attention from the soldiers and their calisthenics. Looking up at the lieutenant once more, Kennet abandoned her smirk in favor of a softer smile. “And you,” she added, turning to make her way toward one of the nearing sparring rings, “spoke rather boldly.” It might have been an admonition, were it not for the hint of amusement dancing behind her eyes when she looked to ensure he had to decided to follow her to the ring.

She spoke of her father, and he would assume she was referring to Mason Delaney and not Julius Rainecourt. It was a compliment in a way, if not for the fact that the Lady didn't say that she agreed. Men often though in different ways than women, and maybe Kennet could think of other ways to better train the soldiers. He wouldn't doubt that. She seemed to be good at most things she put her mind to. "If so, that would honor me," he said simply. Having grown up a military man himself, his family (his father, more specifically) have always had great respect for the skill and dedication of the Delaney family to their military service and the crown. Maybe that made Warren and his family simple. He didn't mind. He was a simple man.

As she moved forward he followed at her side though always a step behind, allowing her to lead. Though her eyes watched his soldiers, her steps carried her closer toward the sparring ring rather than what he had expected, which would have been the direction of the archery targets. Her softening smile and the emphasis put on her words drew the full attention of his eyes to her, though he could see his soldiers in his peripherals well enough to at least know if they were obeying him - and they really had better be. "It was not my intention to be bold," he admitted, hands still tucked behind his back. "Lord Howell's words did strike a nerve. I'm aware I may have come off a bit eager to engage in war, but in truth I only wish for preparedness. Which can only be born from knowledge, not the ignorance of proud cowardice."

Woodwick’s remark followed her as she stepped up to the nearest sparring ring, turning another quiet smirk over her shoulder at the lieutenant. In truth, the compliment she’d paid him was among the highest Kennet had to offer. It was Julius’s blood that ran in her veins and his approval she tirelessly sought, but it was Mason Delaney she admired.

Nevertheless, the look she turned over her shoulder was a fleeting one. Her grin shifted to the sparring ring with an appraising eye. She did intend to make her way to the archery range eventually, but for once, there was nowhere immediately pressing she needed to be. While Woodwick folded his arms behind his back, Kennet’s hands found purchase against the fence that cordoned off the ring. She surveyed its occupants for a moment, hearing the lieutenants’ admission without responding to it immediately. Her grin slipped away, ebbing into a more thoughtful expression. Howell was a nuisance. He always had been. But it wasn’t his wrinkled face staring back at her now, smiling at her from the dark of a memory that was not her own.

“You were right, though.” Chasing away the stolen memory with another quiet smile, Kennet looked to Woodwick once more. “The Eldouirs are a scourge, and we should be prepared.” For anything. For magic and depravity beyond their comprehension. For the prospect of war materializing in the streets without cause or warning in the blink of an eye.