The Kingdom of Belmar

Chapter 6

I haven't fought with a sword without layers of padding and a netted mask before, not since I was waist high and my sword was nothing more than a stick. It was thrilling, like anything could happen, but it was terrifying because anything could've happened.

The Duchess is knelt in front of me, wrapping a bandaid around my wound, careful not to harm me further. She dismisses the nurses and maids from the room, requesting a moment alone with her daughter, and the servants quickly oblige. "A young lady really ought to be more careful, knight or not you are a Ewell. Even if it's not the Prince you wish to marry, it might be awfully difficult to find a proper suitor for a scarred woman." I look at her with a smile; such a dignified duchess, taking a moment out of her day to patch up her only daughter. The mother in my past life wouldn't have done this for me. From where I'm seated, I can see how The Duchess's hair is decorated with gold, her shoes with jewels, and her dress with lace. But here she is, allowing her chiffon dress to collect dirt as she cares for me with love and delicacy. Exactly how a mother should.

She glances up and catches me watching her. "I know what you're thinking," she sighs, "Every aristocrat looks at me the same." When she finishes bandaging my leg, she sits beside me with a huff and a sad smile. I can't help but admire the exquisite technique of her wrapping. "Listen Amalie, I applaud your performance with Queen Rista yesterday. I didn't get a chance to tell you how proud I am of you." The Duchess glances at her hands where the leftover bandage hangs between her fingers.

Looking down at her hands, I finally see the age behind the Duchess's eyes. I'm sure she's lived through more than I can imagine. "Your father loved me dearly, but he was promised to Lady Bauer before meeting me. I, a lowly maid at the Bauer estate, a marquis estate, fell in love with him the moment our eyes laid on each other. We eloped, much to the displeasure of both parties involved, but your father was adamant, and his family eventually relented." The Duchess, my mother, reaches for my hand, and she squeezes it with conviction.

I try but I simply can't imagine the dignified woman sitting in front of me now mopping floors and attending to aristocrats. I can't see her being ridiculed for being of inferior status. I can't see her with anyone other than the Duke. She's beautiful, refined, and elegant in ways that no one can even hope to replicate. The novel never described this side of the Ewell estate.

I do, however, see the Duchess running off and having secret rendezvous with The Duke, laughing at something he said and hitting his arm playfully, and them promising themselves to each other. "Love triumphs all my daughter. I was a bit worried about you before, but when I heard that you wanted a relationship like ours, one filled with blessings and promises, loyalties and appreciation over one conquered by power and prestige, I realized that my worries were for nought. You've grown into such a wonderful, beautiful, talented young lady, and that's more than what I could have possibly asked for. You are the daughter I had hoped for, and you learned everything I could have possibly wanted to teach."

With tears in her eyes, the Duchess pulls me into an embrace. I feel her shaking, and I know she's fearful for me and the decisions I might make, but in her arms I feel the trust of a parent I've always longed to feel. "Live the life you want, Amalie, whether it's with a man or a sword. Never let this society tell you otherwise. Your father and I will support you in whatever endeavors you choose. I love you, Amalie."

I'm not her daughter. I never plan to see her as my mother. But as she holds me, trembling with tears and pride, I allow myself to cry with her.

* * *

Three weeks has passed since the first day I sparred with Garrison. The Duke has been drilling me with combat and endurance training day in and day out. The instant dawn broke, I was ordered to sprint twenty laps around the massive estate with the Duke's second regiment, whack an old rotting stump off the side of the sparring ground until my arms felt like they were falling off, and then spar a different soldier everyday. If the regiment's knight won, I'd be subjected to an additional ten laps, if I was able to evade the knight for five minutes – or god willing I best him – I'd be allowed a warm bath and a quiet night to myself.