The next morning, I sat at the breakfast table staring into a bowl of something that looked like melted pumpkin and smelled like regret.
What the hell is this orange soup? Did someone puree a sunset and call it cuisine?
I poked it with my spoon, watching the thick liquid drip back in slow motion.
"Eri," Duchess said smoothly from beside me, "do not play with your food."
I straightened instantly. "Yes, Mother," I said, like a scolded schoolchild.
Across the table, Kirill finally looked up from his plate, his eyes narrowing. "You didn't sleep."
"How could I," I muttered, stabbing the soup. "Not after seeing your ghostly midnight workout session."
He blinked, looking deeply offended. "Excuse me? I was patrolling. It's my duty."
The Duchess raised a brow, and Duke Oberon paused mid-sip of tea. "What happened last night?" he asked, voice calm but curious.
Kirill, the traitor, smirked. "Meredia saw me patrolling and screamed like she'd met the Zielle (goddess of death). Then she bolted down the hall. I think she woke half the guards."
The entire table broke into laughter. Even the butler cracked a smile.
I glared at him, cheeks burning. "Your face was horrifying. Blame the torch shadows, not me!"
He shrugged with a grin. "Sure, sure. Maybe read fewer ghost stories before bed. You're losing your sanity."
I shot back, "At least I had sanity to begin with."
Duchess sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, while Duke hid his laughter behind his cup.
It was all because of that damn prince. I was so done with Kairan's random surprise appearances. The man had turned paranoia into an art form. I couldn't sleep, couldn't breathe, couldn't even eat without wondering if he'd materialize from a shadow like surprise, trauma!
Rubbing my forehead, I muttered, "Next time he comes, I swear I'll fight back."
After breakfast, I tried escaping to the library. The plan was to read and relax, but my brain tapped out after three lines. The words looked like worms.
So I wandered the halls instead, dragging my feet like some tragic widow haunting her husband's palace.
That's when I heard someone bark, "Can't you be any faster?"
I turned. Oh. Kirill. I'd apparently sleepwalked my way to his training grounds.
I crept closer but stayed at the edge, not suicidal enough to interrupt. Kirill was shirtless, glistening with sweat, because of course he was, and surrounded by his trainees, all of whom looked like they were one swing away from collapsing.
I blinked, watching them spar. Damn, he's good.
I dropped onto a bench under the shade of an old oak, propping my chin on my palm as I watched a dozen shirtless boys pretend this wasn't pain.
The sound of metal clashing over and over became… weirdly soothing. My eyelids grew heavy, and my head started drooping to one side.
Must be nice to be strong, I yawned..
Just five minutes. A tiny nap under the tree—
"DO YOU CALL THAT A GUARD'S STANCE!?"
"IS THIS HOW YOU HOLD A SWORD OR A BROOM, YOU HALF-ASLEEP DUCK?!"
I shot upright like I'd been electrocuted. My heart nearly escaped my ribcage. Kirill's roar could've scared off the entire cavalry.
He spun on his heel and smacked his opponent's sword aside like it was nothing, then kicked the guy's leg out from under him. The man, who was easily twice his size, hit the ground with a thud that made even the air flinch.
I blinked at the scene, my half-awake brain struggling between fear and awe.
Kirill just huffed, adjusting his grip on the blade.
That was so amazing. How was it possible to make a man twice your size lick the—
I need to learn swordsmanship. It hit me right there in that dumb sleep deprived moment.
Not because I wanted to be "strongest" or "fearless." Please. I just wanted to be ready for the day the crown prince decided to snap again.
If Kairan ever tried to kill me, I'd at least like to be prepared. I wasn't a petty animal who would be scared under his gaze. Even though I was...
Kirill was wiping sweat from his neck with a towel when he noticed me standing near the edge of the ground, arms crossed, probably looking way too serious for someone wearing a pale gown and house slippers.
He squinted. "What are you doing here, Eri? Lost your way to the library again?"
I ignored that jab. "I want to learn swordsmanship."
Every head in the field turned. The air stilled for a second. One of the trainees even dropped his sword with a clank. You'd think I'd just announced I was eloping with a ghost.
Kirill blinked once. Then twice. "You… what?"
"I said," I repeated, chin up, "I want to learn how to fight."
The poor guy closest to him looked between us like he was witnessing divine madness. Kirill finally barked out a laugh. "Eri, swords are not for delicate hands that can't even hold a book straight after midnight."
I crossed my arms tighter. "Then I'll use gloves."
That shut him up for a second, but then he smirked like the annoying brother he was. "You're serious?"
"I wouldn't be standing in the sun if I wasn't," I muttered.
He gestured toward one of the battered trainees, still trying to get up from the ground. "You see him? He's been training since dawn, and I've knocked him flat five times. You sure you don't want embroidery instead?"
"I can stab people with a needle too," I shot back.
The men around us broke into awkward coughs, half of them pretending not to laugh.
Kirill pinched the bridge of his nose. "You really think you can handle a sword?"
"No," I said honestly. "But I can learn. Besides—" I pointed toward the spot where he'd flattened that giant of a man earlier, "if you can do that to someone, I want at least ten percent of it."
That earned me another round of shocked looks from the trainees. I could practically hear them whispering: The duke's daughter's lost her mind.
Kirill sighed like a man defeated. "You're going to regret this, Eri."
I grinned, already knowing I would. "Probably. But let me try first."
Kirill stared at me like I'd suggested we replace the barracks with a knitting circle. For a long beat he said nothing, which meant he was either deciding how to roast me properly or actually considering the possibility I wasn't insane.
Finally, "Fine. Tomorrow at dawn. You'll meet me at the training yard. And don't wander in like you do everything else. Be on time, dressed appropriately, and don't expect coddling."
"Dawn?" I echoed.
He barked a laugh. "Also, no gowns. Wear something you can move in. I won't have you tripping over fabric when I'm trying to keep you alive."
"Yes, sir," I managed. The "sir" tasted weird and official in my mouth, but I swallowed it.
The trainees muttered among themselves like I'd announced I'd marry a hedge. Kael, who'd been hovering nearby like a confused bumblebee, clapped his hands in tiny, earnest support, "Lady try! Lady brave!" He beamed. Fenric looked like he was trying not to smile and failing by a fraction. The rest of the boys were visibly torn between cheering and betting on my imminent dismemberment.
Kirill's eyes softened just enough for me to think maybe he was proud of my idiocy. "You'll start with the basics," he said. "Footwork, grip, balance. If you last a week without spraining something crucial, I'll let you handle a real sword."
"Sprain something crucial," I repeated, mentally listing everything I could afford to sprain.... hmm....fingers, maybe. Pride, definitely.
"Also," he added, deadpan, "you will not, under any circumstance, try to stab the yourself." His tone made it sound like he'd issued the single most reasonable command in history.
I bowed my head. "Understood. No self abuse."
He looked at me...really looked and for a sliver of a second I saw something like reluctant approval in his face. Then he turned and dismissed the trainees. "Back to drills. And somebody fetch proper practice gear for the lady. No more slippers."
Next morning, I showed up thinking I was prepared. I was not. I had prepared emotionally....pep talks, savage pep talks, threats against myself, but my body had other plans.
Kirill handed me a wooden practice sword that felt, in my hands, like an oversized popsicle stick. It was heavier than it looked (liar marketing), and when I raised it, my arms shook like leaf flags.
"Footwork," he said, and demonstrated, "One. Two. Turn." He made it look like treading on a ballroom floor rather than preparing to survive an attempt on your life. I tried to copy him and immediately stepped on my own foot, nearly face-planting into a pile of sand.
"Like this, not like a broken puppet," he said, suppressing a grin.
We went through it again snd again. My footwork would have been fine if everyone in the world agreed gravity was optional. Kael shouted encouragement.
At lunchtime I'd tripped over the target dummy, bounced off its wooden ribs, and done an ungraceful tumble that a circus would have accepted as modern interpretive art. I expected humiliation. Instead, a trainee, who'd been first to bet on my failure, wandered over and whispered, "Not bad. You hit the dummy on trial three." He winked like I'd just scored a goal.
Kirill slapped my shoulder, hard but not cruel. "Progress, Lady. Keep at it."
By the end of the day, my arms felt like raw noodles and I smelled like sweat and determination. I'd managed to not cut myself, not embarrass the house too badly, and actually land a very clumsy glancing blow on the training dummy that made dust puff up like a tiny victory cloud.
I sat on the bench, triumphant and destroyed, and could hear Fenric and Kael arguing about whose family made the best pumpkin pie.
Kirill raised a brow, still wiping sweat from his jaw. "Did you give up now?" His tone carried that smug older brother edge that made me want to throw my sword at him.
I rolled my eyes. "I don't give up."
I am, however, spiritually and physically deceased.
He smirked, dragging the cloth over his arms. "Really? I doubt that. Can you even stand now?"
"Oh, I can," I snapped, and immediately regretted it the moment my knees tried to function. Pain shot up my legs like I'd just been kneecapped by destiny. I dropped back on the bench with the dignity of a dying potato.
My soul just left my body.
Kirill chuckled low. "It's normal, Eri. I wouldn't be shocked if you gave up."
"I hate you," I groaned, dragging my gaze toward Fenric and Kael like a queen summoning her knights. "Oh holy warriors, carry me to my chambers before this cruel man mocks me again."
Kael's face lit up. "Yes, my lady!"
"Take me away from this sadistic creature," I added dramatically as Fenric sighed and scooped me up with embarrassing ease.
Kirill was doubled over laughing now, towel slung over his shoulder. I pointed at him from Fenric's arms, finger trembling with righteous fury.
Kael, ever loyal, gently lifted my wrist for emphasis. "We curse you, sir," he said solemnly.
That made Kirill laugh even harder, loudly echoing off the walls until I considered haunting him if I ever actually died from sword practice.