The Kingdom of Belmar

Chapter 5

The skin on my calf is still hot to the touch, but the pain has subsided tremendously. The Duke sits beside me, rubbing my shoulders like the caring father he is. Queen Rista has long left, and the other concerned members of the Ewell family have filled her vacancy.

Queen Rista may have given up on this particular plan, but I'm sure she has another in order. She's relentlessly calculating, so it's not a matter of if but when. Maybe she'll find another unsuspecting fiancee for the Prince, or maybe she's abandoning the idea altogether; either way, it's no longer my concern.

Duchess Ewell paces at the door, still trying to fathom the news of her only daughter wanting to be a knight more than a princess. Her reaction is understandable since, as far as the novel mentioned, there was not a single noble lady in the Kingdom of Belmar that became a knight. Well, there's a first for everything.

Thompson is like the Duke, supportive and entertained by my endeavors. He was astonished by the audacity of Queen Rista, but after hearing my plans, he had all basically forgotten about it. Garrison, on the other hand, looked at me with worried eyes.

"Amy," he says, kneeling down to me, "You've never even held a sword. You could do strength training for the entire time leading up to the Knights exam, but that doesn't change the fact that you lack technique, skill, and experience." He's right, Amalie has never held a sword, but Caroline Rosings – the gifted university student I once was – went to school on a fencing scholarship.

"Worry not brother. Mary tells me the burn isn't nearly as serious as she anticipated, and that I'll still be able to start my training tomorrow." I turn to my father. "In fact, if Brother Garrison were to spar with me, could you help me devise a regimen? I would be most grateful." Duke Ewell is vulnerable to his daughter's charms, so while his expression seems uncertain, he agrees without hesitation.

This body is weak and feeble, I can feel it, but it's also small and fast. I could use my size and experience to my advantage. Though, my main priority for the next few weeks is definitely to build some muscle on this puny constitution.

As I stare into the mirror later that night, Amalie's small frame stares back. I'll never quite get used to this, I tell myself as I brush my fingertips across my cheek. Underneath, there's nothing but skin and bones. The real Amy would probably roll in her grave if she were to ever find out what I'm subjecting her body to.

She's too skinny, gaunt and malnourished. Her hands are too delicate, like a child who's never worked a day in her life. Her hair hangs loosely past her hips, in carefully folded curls. This girl was not meant to be a fighter.

After a few minutes, Mary walks in with a tray: a dainty looking salad and a single piece of fish. "Mary," I call to her before she leaves, "Could you bring me a different meal?"

She blinks at me, confused. "My Lady, you chose this menu yourself so not to gain too much weight before you marry. Though, I guess that's not your goal anymore." She looks down at the tray, and I'm sure she's wondering what everyone else is wondering: why such a frail noble child would wish to become a knight when she could've been Queen.

"Don't you agree that I look too skinny?" I ask. Mary puts down the tray in disbelief and shakes her head vehemently. "Of course not My Lady, you are the most beautiful maiden of Belmar, regardless of what your body may look like."

"But does this look like the body of a knight?"

She doesn't respond, and I know she agrees with me. There's nothing wrong with being skinny, and there's nothing wrong with being not, but this body can barely hold its own weight, nevermind thrive in battle. "Double the size of the platter, and fill it with meat, grains, and potatoes." Mary nods silently and takes the tray away.