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.
When I'm left alone in my room once again, I take the opportunity to review the notes I had scribbled in my journal. If the chronology of events of this story is the same as the original novel, the knights exam will be held a month from now during the Sonna festival. Amalie and Prince Cole's engagement was supposed to be announced a week from now, but that's no longer part of this timeline. After the exam, a ball will be held to close the festival. This ball is where the events of the original novel begin: where Prince Cole has a fated encounter with the heroine Margarite Hastings, and together they dance the final dance of the evening.
All newly indoctrinated knights are required to take part as well, so I'll just watch these main characters fall in love from afar. A month after that, and two from now, Lambhurst castle will burn, possibly with the Crown Prince inside, if Queen Rista has her way. I'll be sure to plan a trip home before that happens.
I feel bad for Cole. He's not a bad person, in fact he was my favorite character, but my goal in this life is to survive.
To avoid the main events of the novel, and to live my life.
* * *
Mary was a bit...excited when choosing my sparring outfit. She attempted to fit me into frills and floral print, even pinning my hair up with a bow, anything that would make me seems more lady like. I settled for a light navy coat, and some pleated slacks to protect my new scar.
The area where I'm supposed to meet the Duke and Garrison is some ways away from the estate. It's a large sand lot, padded by boot marks and splintered wood, situated beside the Duchess's private garden. In my limited time in this world, I've only seen soldiers making laps around the training grounds from afar, marshaling to Duke Ewell's every word.
This being the first time I've left the main manor, it dawns on me just how large the duchy is. Eons larger than what I pictured in my mind – roughly the size of a small town. The gardens are breathtaking, the towering fountains spout oceans, and I'm starting to understand the absolute magnitude of the Dukedom's influence.
The Ewell boys are already waiting by the time I reach the sparring grounds. Duke Ewell smiles at me, excitedly fawning over his daughter despite the roves of soldiers behind him. I think it's the clothes that he finds exciting.
The Duke approaches me with a loving embrace as he dotes on how "beautiful his baby girl looks". Garrison rolls his eyes, but I see him stifle a smile of his own.
"Alright Father, this is no time to be soft. You've had sixteen years to coddle her. Amalie has chosen her vocation, and now we must see if she's capable. Remember Amalie, if you are unable to become a knight, I can't guarantee that we can always protect you. Without a living of your own, you'll have to eventually marry."
He's right, I can't live under the Duke forever, especially when Garrison inherits the Dukedom, I'd just be a burden.
"I'll just have to take up residence on a merchant ship, I suppose," I smile at him.
The Duke audibly gasps, astonished I could suggest such a thing. "Do you wish to kill your father?" He clutches his heart.
Garrison rolls his eyes and makes his way to a short, rotting stump, pulling from it a silver sword. It's significantly smaller in size and weight compared to his, but that's understandable given our statures and skill. "You can practice with my old training sword. We'll find you a better replacement if you prove yourself worthy of one."
He tosses the weapon in my direction, and I catch the handle, narrowly missing the blade.
"I look forward to it, Brother," I smile at him a toothy grin, tossing the sword from hand to hand. I purposefully fumble a bit, making sure not to make myself too suspicious as this will be the first time Amalie's ever touched anything larger than a knife. While Garrison's sword can cut mine in half, this one is perfectly capable of holding its own for now. It's surprisingly light, similar to the type of saber I used while fencing. There's no chance of holding my ground with Garrison if I focus on attacking, not now at least.
The Duke claps his hands and backs away from the two of us. The afternoon sun starts to set, bathing the three of us in a golden hue as Garrison and I enter a defensive stance. He leans forward, both hands gripping his sword's handle tightly. Pivoting one leg to the side, widening my stance, I use one hand to point the blade at the air in front of me. Duke Ewell tilts his head in confusion as I'm sure my fencing stance isn't commonplace for knights, but he doesn't say anything about it. My weight shifts to my front foot, and I grin at the familiarity.
En garde!
Garrison rushes toward me, launching from his stance and closing the ten foot gap between us with only a few steps. I back away, narrowly avoiding the swing of his sword. Well, I wasn't expecting that. Garrison's face has changed completely; his eyes glow ill intention, and it's clear how much blood has already been spilled by his hands. It's like he's a totally different person while fighting. No, he's the same person, he's just been restraining himself this whole time. Another attack comes my way and I do all I can to avoid it.
The novel made note to say that Garrison was the youngest knight ever to be indoctrinated, and it shows in his movements. He was knighted shortly after his debut into society, so he couldn't have been much older than fourteen. He's faster than the other knights I've seen in my time here, he's bigger and stronger too. I have no hope of winning this match, but I continue to parry my sword with his in order to put on a decent show for the Duke.
Flashes of silver gleam in the setting sun as a barrage of swings come my way. Leaning from side to side, dancing on the hardened sand, I manage to avoid every single one. My eyes take a moment to glance at the Duke and I see him holding himself back, trying not to interrupt this match. He's testing me. He's testing to see if my resolve is really as strong as I keep telling him it is. It really would be pathetic if this was enough to make me quit. That must be why he approved of my match with Garrison in the first place.
His sword swings faster than I anticipate and clashes against my inferior training blade. I grit my teeth, leaning back as Garrison looms over me with strength equal to that of a horse. His weight presses down on me, forcing me to bend with his blade, grit my teeth, and bear it. He's placing a lot of weight on his front foot, maybe a little too much?
In a swift motion, my balance swings to my right, sliding out of his attack, and I dive to the ground while extending my leg in a sweep. My foot hits his ankle and the two of us topple onto the ground. His knees buckle, but he grips the handle of his sword to keep himself upright. I on the other hand fall on top of my sword, cutting through my pants where my burn had just barely healed. A small yelp escapes my mouth, but I don't have much time to react as I see Garrison's shadow looming above me, brandishing his weapon into a downward motion. I roll onto my side, picking up myself and my blade when the sound of metal piercing the ground narrowly misses my ear. It's enough force for the sand beneath our boots to displace, and a twinge of fear courses through my veins.
Before he gets the chance to stand up again, I take the opportunity to swing my weapon very decidedly at his sweat stricken neck. It's a sloppy move – one driven purely by instinct and desperation – and as I attempt to follow through, I see a flash of panic cross Garrison's eyes.
He grabs my hand mid swing, and twists, the impact of which forces the sword out of my hand. It clatters to the ground beside me as I wince in pain. "Alright Amy, I think we should stop there before you kill me." Garrison gets up, smiling at me a bit, his harrowing demeanor now dissipated. It's not like he didn't aim for my head while I was on the ground, I think derisively, and then I realize that he probably missed on purpose. "You held out for longer than I thought you would, it's pretty impressive for someone who has never wielded a sword before."
The excited claps of Duke Ewell sound from across the sparring ground. He practically jumps as he makes his way over, giddy and ecstatic. "Amy you were magnificent!" He takes me in his arms, kicking aside my sword. "I thought when Garrison first charged at you, you'd run for the hills, that's what most newcomers would do. But you stood your ground. You moved quickly, and your mind moved even quicker. I've never seen a girl as clever as my darling daughter. Though you are a little sloppy with a sword, slightly forgetful, and a bit lacking with your strength, but all these things are to be expected." He kisses my forehead and laughs with my face between his hands. "My daughter's going to be a knight!"
"I haven't passed the exam yet father," I shrug off his hands and wipe the sweat from the side of my face. "I still have some ways to improve before the Sonna festival."
"Regardless, you have promise Amalie," Garrison interjects, "Such a skinny girl should have snapped during my first attack, I was surprised you didn't." He claps a hand on my back, leaving a red stain on my freshly ironed jacket. There's a small cut on his palm from when he fell, but it doesn't seem like he minds. I wish I could say the same about the wound on my leg, but as the adrenaline subsides, I start to feel a sharp pain I couldn't before.
The Duke pulls me away from my brother, angry. "How could you be so aggressive with your baby sister, Garrison? Can't you see how fragile she is? And you have re-injured her like a brute. Apologize to her."
Garrison laughs a bit, "Father, clearly she's strong enough to take it. Besides, it's not like she would never be injured as a knight. Let's call this conditioning."
The Duke glares at his words, but I just laugh them off. As the two continue bickering, the second knights' regiment finish their evening laps around the palace, a cloud of red uniforms trekking their way back to the training grounds. The soldiers stop in front of the Duke and collectively bow low in greeting.
I hear concerned murmurs about the blood on my uniform, and the cuts on my legs, but none of them loud enough to bother me. The Duke steps forward, his demeanor changing completely from when he was talking with either me or Garrison. His face falls into a scowl, and I feel the fear from the crowd emanating. "Welcome back soldiers, I'm sure you've all trained hard today." He grabs my hands and pulls me in front of him, displaying me like spoils of war. "I have news for you all. Starting tomorrow, the newest trainee of the Ewell estate's second knights' regiment will be none other than Lady Amalie Marinette Ewell."
The soldiers continue their speculations, some voicing their support, and other feigning disapproval. "Now go get yourselves patched up," the Duke whispers to me and Garrison.
We both turn back to the manor as the hushed whispers carry on behind us.