At dusk, the two armies made camp together one last time on a highland sufficiently far from Icewater Creek.
Tomorrow, they would go their separate ways.
Karl would lead the heavily loaded convoy north back to Carnford, while Charlotte would command the cavalry southward back to Fran City.
The atmosphere in the camp was somewhat subtle; the joy of victory had been diluted by the sorrow of fallen comrades.
The palpable cold war between Karl and Charlotte made the air feel even more stifling.
Roland found an opportunity and quietly said to Karl, "My lord, I think... you should go apologize to Miss Charlotte."
Karl glanced at him.
Roland continued, steeling himself. "Although your decision on the battlefield was correct, and it had to be done for the sake of victory and minimizing losses, Miss Charlotte trusted you so much and helped you secure the cavalry all the way here, only to be... scolded by you like that. In both reason and sentiment, you ought to apologize. Even I could tell—she's really angry."
Karl fell silent for a moment, then sighed.
Roland was right. In public matters, he had done nothing wrong; in private ones, he had indeed hurt Charlotte.
The battle had been urgent, and he had been emotional at the time. Both his tone and his attitude had been too forceful.
He nodded. "I understand."
After mentally preparing himself, Karl went to Charlotte's cavalry camp.
Normally, when he came to see Charlotte, the guards would let him pass directly. Today, however, two expressionless cavalrymen raised their hands and stopped him.
"Lord Karl, please wait. Allow us to go in and inform the captain first." The guard's tone was polite, but his action was firm.
Karl understood. This had certainly been Charlotte's specific instruction. She was still angry with