The Crownguard Main Hall
Luxanna, dressed smartly, was about to head out.
"Where are you going?"
A gentle but commanding female voice came from behind, causing her to freeze slightly.
She turned with a quick, practiced smile.
"Miss Laurent invited me to a noble gathering today. Ah—it's nearly time, I have to hurry!"
She moved toward the door, clearly trying to escape.
"Stop."
The voice came from a poised, elegant woman seated at the head of the hall.
Her presence radiated nobility and restraint—Luxanna's mother, Lady Augatha Crownguard.
Lady Augatha gave her daughter a slow, measuring look, a hint of disapproval flickering in her eyes.
"Are you going dressed like that?"
"It's a more relaxed event today. We can't go looking too soft—I'm a Crownguard, after all,"
Luxanna replied, forcing confidence into her voice. Her mother's ever-present authority nearly drew the truth out of her.
Lady Augatha kept her gaze steady until Lux fidgeted with the hem of her clothes.
Only then did she speak again, her tone calm:
"Very well. Be home early tonight."
"I will!"
Luxanna bolted for the door, grateful for the permission.
She had no intention of risking a second interrogation and slipped quietly through the back entrance.
As the door clicked shut, a faint smile touched Lady Augatha's lips. From a nearby side room, another voice joined her.
"You think she's ready? She wears her emotions on her face."
A tall, broad-shouldered woman stepped into the hall—Tiana Crownguard, Demacia's Grand Marshal and Luxanna's aunt.
"I was worse at her age. Still ended up Grand Marshal, didn't I?" Tiana sat beside her sister-in-law, pouring herself a drink.
"Oh, marrying a Jarvan would've been the better path," Augatha said with quiet regret.
"We don't need to get that close to the royal family. Garen and Jarvan are like brothers already," Tiana replied, shaking her head.
"You don't understand. A wife can influence a man more than any brother ever could," Augatha said bluntly.
Tiana gave a dismissive shrug. "I don't need to understand. I just don't like sending Luxanna into that world. She deserves better."
Tiana raised her glass and took a deep drink. Unlike Augatha, her status wasn't inherited or arranged—it was earned.
Strategy, discipline, war. That was how the Crownguard name was made. Not through parties or political marriages.
A Crownguard stood on strength—not on the Lightshield's grace.
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Laurent Estate, Training Grounds
"Whoosh!" a sharp command rang out across the sparring yard.
A rapier shimmered in silver arcs, slicing through the dummies.
Wood splintered with each strike, the rhythm fierce and precise.
The slender figure danced under the sun, swordplay like a waltz—elegant, yet deadly. Each thrust pierced through with pinpoint accuracy.
Clap clap clap!
Luxanna, now standing at the edge, clapped enthusiastically.
"Miss Fiora, your swordsmanship is incredible! Could you share the secret?"
"Faster, more precise thrusts. No secret—only practice," Fiora Laurent said curtly, pushing her short wine-red hair back as she strode toward her.
Noticing Luxanna's grip on the thin sword she carried, Fiora reached over to adjust it.
"You're holding it wrong," she said, gently but firmly.
Then, after a beat, she added, "But Miss Crownguard, you don't need to train like this. Just tell me what you came for."
Fiora's voice was professional, but not cold.
She was the youngest of the Laurent family—a noble house lesser than the Crownguards in influence.
And yet, her father considered her potential marriage into a lesser Crownguard line a step up.
Fiora didn't want that life. She wasn't born to decorate a parlor or maintain her family's standing. Her blade was her identity.
Swordsmanship wasn't a hobby. It was a path—and the only one she'd ever walk.
"I just wanted to be your friend, Miss Fiora… You'll be changing your name to Crownguard soon."
As Luxanna said this, her voice was tight with nerves.
She glanced at Fiora's expression from the corner of her eye, trying to read her reaction.
She had rehearsed this conversation a thousand times—literally.
Her magic book had analyzed every possible answer, every micro-expression Fiora might make.
But still, her heart raced.
This was her first time trying to make a friend with... ulterior motives.
Mixed in with the guilt was something else—something warm and electric.
Like joy. Like thrill. Like something she couldn't quite name.
"My name will always be Laurent," Fiora said coldly, her expression darkening.
Luxanna wasn't surprised. Over the past few days, she'd come to understand Fiora well enough.
The woman was a pure-blooded sword fanatic.
In her eyes, being a noble lady only slowed down how fast one could draw a blade.
And as for a fiancé? That was not a promising talent to her.
"But…" Luxanna hesitated, trying to sound sincere—like she truly had Fiora's best interests at heart.
"The wedding date has already been set. His Majesty Jarvan III will attend in person. I asked my mother about it, hoping I could help, but she said… your father was the one who proposed the marriage to our family."
She paused, watching Fiora carefully.
To propose a marriage alliance and then withdraw after everything was announced—especially with the king involved—was a scandal Demacia wouldn't overlook.
It would bring shame to both houses and possibly spark open enmity.
"That was his decision, not mine." Fiora's voice was firm, almost defiant.
"I'll make that clear on the day of the wedding. I will live by my own choices."
Luxanna stared at her in disbelief. She couldn't tell if Fiora was truly that naive—or just incredibly bold.
Even the worst-case scenarios she'd discussed with her magic book hadn't been this outrageous.
No rational girl would ever think to announce her refusal at the wedding.
Such a move would ignite an irreparable feud between House Laurent and the Crownguards.
Voice tight with concern, Luxanna asked hesitantly, "Do you... understand what that would mean?"
"What does it mean?" Fiora blinked, genuinely puzzled.
"I'm stating my intentions. Demacia values honesty and personal conviction."
She spoke with such confidence, as if it were obvious.
"To be honest is a virtue," she added.
"Hypocrisy and greed—that's what Demacia condemns. Not truth."
She said it like she was reciting a code of honor—one carved into her bones.
Fiora believed people would simply… respect her honesty.
That she'd declare her intent, and others would nod, understanding.
That they'd admire her strength, the same way they admired her skill in combat.
Luxanna felt her brain spin.
Every day, mages were hunted down in Demacia. Did they get their opinions respected?
Did Fiora's father ever ask her what she thought about this engagement before sealing it?
Luxanna's head ached, and her will to argue with Fiora's idealism faded fast.
She followed the magic book's advice—remain sincere, and issue a final, clear warning.
"Miss Fiora, please... understand the consequences. If you go through with this, the Crownguards and Laurents could be permanently divided. It could even lead to a death duel at the ceremony."
A death duel.
It was Demacia's version of a Noxian reckoning—an ancient, formal trial by combat. One fought to the last standing.
Fiora's lips curved, just slightly.
"A duel of honor?" she said, eyes lighting up.
"I welcome it. Let the sword decide who's right."
That calm, fierce confidence returned to her face.
With a blade in her hand, Fiora Laurent feared nothing.
Not scandal. Not family. Not war.
To her, the sword was not just a weapon.
It was the world.