You know... I thought as I pushed myself off my bed in nothing but my favorite pair of blue boxers, I slipped into my slippers and made my way to the curtains, sliding them open and resting my elbows against the windowsill as I took in the warmth the morning sun showered me in.
Ariana used incantationless spell-casting last night.
My mind flashed back to the assassin's voice: "Then die," they said. SHE said.
The assassin's voice was that of a woman's. Could it be that Ariana was in the country before yesterday? Is she my assassin? Was my so-called dream, my subconscious's way of telling me who did it?
Honestly, I didn't know. But one thing was clear. There's more to her than meets the eye, and I aim to uncover her.
After all... she is my future wife.
I tightened my eyes, my bedroom was stationed on the east wing of the palace, overlooking my own personal training yard. A training yard that a very specific, short, red-eyed chick was currently using without my permission.
Is that Lord Fenrir?
***
His sword sliced past my cheek, wind slashing into my face as I stumbled back, dirt kicking up beneath my feet. The morning sun beat down on the back of my neck with annoyingly pleasant warmth, and the maroon of my robe had darkened slightly from sweat.
I've been here since the frost-bitten air of dawn clung to my skin, taking out my frustration on this so-called knight who I believe went by the name Fenrir. He had blonde hair that had wolf-like ears sticking out through, which told me he was of the beast-folk tribe. He also had downturned green eyes that were locked on me as he heaved heavily, sword in front of him, tightly held with both hands as he dropped low and adopted a wide defensive stance.
His uniform was full black, decorated with badges and a white cape to match the white leather gloves, which creaked against his blade's hilt. Vangardia's Imperial Knight attire. I wonder how well Sora can pull it off. If he could.
"Miss, I— please, could you at least— warn me before you cast—"
He tried in between heavy breaths before I launched a shockwave of wind in his direction without even a word.
The spell was Flante Vento, the spell for blowing one away with the surrounding wind; however, I was born with the innate ability of incantationless spell-casting. The ability to cast spells without so much as a whisper.
While others grind to learn this skill, I was simply born with it. The Princess, Ariana Aredhel, was born with incantationless spell-casting, a skill reserved for the strongest. And I aspire to be the strongest, and so I train, day in, day out, I train for strength, for power. But today I was training for something far more selfish.
I was here to unleash my frustrations on a poor knight who couldn't even use magic. Beast-folk are naturally unable to control mana, hence why they can't use magic. But they make up for it with muscles multiple times denser than humans, demons, or elves. Strength, durability, speed—all off the charts. And yet, I ordered him to stay on the defensive.
However, I instructed this individual to stay on the defensive, purely for my own selfish desires.
And it's all his fault.
The constant barrage of spells wouldn't stop, and Lord Fenrir began to bleed, but I didn't stop; I kept going, grunting with each Flante Vento, flicking only with my left wrist, so I could see that stupid ring. Each spell shot at him was fueled with rage and my absolute disdain towards this wretched ring.
Why on earth do I have to wear this stupid thing?
All. His. Fault.
Sir Sora Knight, the lowest of the low, and I'm expected to marry him? The thought of me and him sharing a life together disgusts me. But Father didn't care. Why would he? He left little Sis in Camelot without even so much as a glance, and he's gonna leave me, too, leave me to suffer in this stupid kingdom with that stupid fiancé of mine. Leave me in this ridiculous city with that ridiculous boy. A boy whom I couldn't stand.
And I didn't have a say in the matter.
Even with his apparent Divine ability, Sora is arrogant, undisciplined... and younger than me. He's immature and stupid and lacks common sense. In the few minutes I've spent with him, I was able to tell that he'd rather put his own pride over logic. And a man like him isn't worthy of a woman like me.
Curse you, Father. How could you?!
"I told you to raise your blade, Sir Fenrir," I told him flatly as his sword slipped out of his flimsy grip, cheek cut and drawing blood while he clutched his chest and dropped to one knee.
"My lady, I agreed to train with you; however, I believe I am ill-equipped to handle your constant barrage of attacks."
I groaned, tugging my sleeves tighter over my hands.
***
Is she trying to kill him?!
Oh, but this is gold!!!
Should I get involved???
Ugh… no. If I do, I'd have to get dressed and whatnot, then actually leave my room, and then trek all the way down to the yard. By the time I got there, Lord Fenrir would probably be a pool of blood on the grass.
Meh, he can handle himself.
But like... what if he can't? My grip tightened around the windowsill as I watched Fenrir drop his blade to the grass and fall to a knee. And she showed no signs of stopping.
Exactly what an assassin would do...
Shit.
I reacted before I thought and quickly opened the window before shouting out.
"Oi! Ari!"
Ari?! Why on earth would I call her that?!
She lifted her head, one dark eyebrow raised and a scornful, unimpressed gaze to match, with her left arm still raised and aimed squarely at Fenrir.
***
Did he just call me... Ari?
And since when was his room stationed directly over this specific yard?
"What do you want?!" I yelled back, trying my hardest to show him how low I thought of him.
"Good morning!!!"
He waved cheerfully while wishing me a good morning. Goodmorning? Goodmorning?! His energy, absolutely ridiculous for someone who clearly just rolled out of bed... and wait... is he... is he naked?
Ew!
Ew, ew, ew, ew.
Have you no tact? How shameless can you be?!
I completely ignored him and stormed off, pushing the doors to the yard open as I exited back into the building.
I need a bath.