Bronwen had caught Perry’s eye after his first month in Seraphinus, though he must have seen her at least a few times before then. She was a handmaid to the princess but seemed to have plenty of time to wander the castle, which sometimes took her close to him. It had taken him a long time to cotton on to the fact that this was deliberate on her part, that it wasn’t wholly within her responsibilities to bring him snacks and drinks while he was in Romauld’s library. He had still been feeling the crushing weight of Richter’s death, still deep in the midst of finding a way to become a healer himself.

Seraphinus was a place of shocking sexism, so unfamiliar to Perry that it had caught him completely off-guard and been almost unrecognizable. It was chivalric, a kind of well-meaning sexism rooted in the idea that women were soft, weak, and in need of protection, but it had initially rankled. Sometimes Perry would be having a perfectly reasonable conversation with someone only for them to say something that would have gotten them crucified on Twitter, or simply been taken as trolling. It was more difficult for Perry because the women were in on it, sometimes speaking idly about how a woman’s place was to support men, to have children and raise them properly, to sew, to clean, to cook. They seemed happy enough, not victims of domestic abuse or sexual violence, at least as far as Perry had ever seen, but the whole thing had made him deeply uncomfortable.

Perry hadn’t been a feminist, or one of those men who called themselves a feminist, at any rate. He’d only wanted to know what the rules were, and once they were laid out, was perfectly happy to follow them. He was easy-going, in that respect, and had been at college for long enough to navigate those places where the rules were unclear or dependent upon the person in question.

In Seraphinus that was harder, because there were more rules to know, many of them more foreign, many stupid, and asking questions was often seen as intensely rude, a transgression in and of itself. He had learned to keep his questions to himself, and to keep his mouth shut unless he knew he was treading on solid ground.

Bronwen had liked him though, in a way that was very clear to everyone. She asked after him when he returned from the frontlines, brought him small gifts and meals, talked with him when there were events at the castle, and he’d found that she had her own appeal. He was lonely in the castle, with Romauld the only thing approaching a friend. Maybe she’d liked his oddness, the way he had foreign sensibilities, or perhaps it was just that he was becoming widely regarded as a strong and capable warrior who was helping to turn the tide of battle.

People had joked about courtship, and he’d found himself talking with her a few times, idle chit-chat of the kind that it seemed was a constant among worlds. He’d asked about the meals she brought, and her family — she was one of ten children.

He’d been studying one of Romauld’s books in his room once when she came by with sweets. It had happened half a dozen times before, and he’d shown her the suit’s lights, which he was using to read by in lieu of candles. She had always lingered.

“That suit of yours is a marvel,” she’d said. “The craftsman who built it must have been a genius.”

“Richter was brilliant, yeah,” said Perry. He placed the book carefully on the table. “I … Richter was a woman.”

Bronwen startled at that. “A woman blacksmith?” she asked.

“She was much more than that,” said Perry. “My world, in the firmament, is so different from yours, and her world was even more so. She was a genius, more brilliant than even Romauld.”

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“You shouldn’t say such things,” said Bronwen, shaking her head.

“Your people believe that a woman has her place,” said Perry. “I’ve seen otherwise.”

“Men and women both have their place,” said Bronwen. “I had my wilding time, I know the ways of men.”

The ‘wilding time’ was another of those cultural things that Perry hadn’t quite gotten a handle on. It seemed to be a time period of a young person’s life after puberty but before adulthood when the ‘rules’ were relaxed and some experimentation was, if not strictly encouraged, then at least tolerated. Perry hadn’t really known what Bronwen meant when she said that she knew the ways of men, whether that meant that she’d slept around when she was younger, or whether she meant something else entirely. People didn’t like to talk about the wilding time though, and he’d had enough conversations to know that it should be avoided. Questioning whether she was a virgin was straight out, so extremely improper that she was liable to have someone duel him.

“I’m just saying that things can be different,” said Perry. “Things are different, in other places, and we’re no worse for it. You don’t need to be here, under these conditions, chained to this place.”

“You would take me?” she asked. She had her hands clasped in front of her chest.

“I would, if I could find the way,” said Perry.

He moved forward and kissed her. It felt as though it had been a long time coming, as though they’d been circling toward a kiss with every late-night visit of hers, every bit of attention she’d lavished on him. He’d had a hard battle earlier in the day, one of the rare losses, and while the healers had done their work and he’d had a hot, perfumed bath, he was still trying to shake it off. He enjoyed the warmth of her skin, a taste like strawberries on her lips. He stepped closer, pressing his body against hers, and she let out a small noise as she kissed him back.

Then she turned and fled.

Perry had stared blankly at the door that swung shut behind her. He didn’t know where she was going or what the matter was, and half expected her to come back. She didn’t, though he waited half an hour, and eventually he’d gone to sleep.

She had visited him the next day, in his room, this time with an older woman in tow.

“It was wrong of me to come here alone,” she said. “It’s been wrong. A woman, unchaperoned, will excite the fires of a man. It is a woman’s duty to take measures, to do her part to prevent anything untoward from happening.”

“I … see,” said Perry. His face was red, his heart hammering. The way she’d kissed him back, pressed against him, the way she’d sought him out and struck up conversation, all had pointed in exactly one direction. “If I … misread —”

“I don’t wish to cause either of us further embarrassment,” she said, bowing slightly. “I’ll take my leave, and would appreciate it if …” her breath caught. “If you wouldn’t mention what transpired between us. The matter of my honor would,” and then her breath caught again, and she started weeping.

She left soon after, escorted by her chaperone, who scowled at Perry.

He was befuddled by the whole thing. It had only been a kiss, a kiss that she’d invited, not even with any tongue. Apparently a kiss meant something different in this world, the question of honor so much more important and overwhelming than he’d thought. That a woman could be brought to ruin by a simple kiss, one initiated by a man, was abhorrent, a system that begged to be brought to the ground — but there were orcs and hobgoblins over the hills, slavers, who demanded his time and attention. He didn’t even really know where to start with telling them how fucked up their society was, let alone getting them to change it.

Worst of all, he hadn’t even realized how little he’d understood them.