The bewildered expression lingered on Prince Dominic's face for a few moments longer, the word 'dolt' almost visibly echoing in the air around him. Lord Theodore watched his cousin with an expression carefully balanced between concern and suppressed amusement.
"Ummm, Dom?" Theodore ventured, breaking the silence. "Dominic? Did that… rather unexpected 'dolt' comment shut down your brain? You look like you've seen a particularly rude ghost."
Dominic snapped out of it, a faint flush rising on his neck, though his expression quickly reverted to its usual stern neutrality.
"Nonsense," he said, his voice a shade too abrupt. "A momentary… distraction. Let's go. We're wasting daylight with idle chatter." He turned on his heel and strode towards the passage leading to the training arena, though Theodore could have sworn he heard him mutter "Dolt..." under his breath, like a particularly stubborn piece of grit he couldn't quite dislodge.
Meanwhile, Viviana, having made her hasty escape, composed herself before re-entering Lilliana's chambers, the offending books clutched tightly to her chest.
"There you are!" Lilliana exclaimed as Viviana entered. The princess was propped up against a mountain of pillows in her grand bed, looking much recovered from the previous night, though still a touch pale. "You've been gone for an absolute age, Vi. I was beginning to think a griffin had snatched you away to its mountain lair to tear you apart."
Viviana managed a calm smile, carefully concealing the memory of her recent mortifying encounter. "The West Wing Library is quite a sprawling distance from our chambers, Lily," she replied smoothly. "And the selection of light Tobitian poetry was… somewhat limited. I had to search rather diligently to find something suitable for your recuperation." She placed the books on Lilliana's bedside table.
Lilliana eyed her. "You look a little flustered. Are you sure a griffin wasn't involved?"
"Perfectly sure," Viviana said. "Just a long walk. Have you had your breakfast yet? You must be famished after all that… excitement, and then a long sleep."
"Elara brought me some fruit and warm milk. I'm feeling much better," Lilliana said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "And you will have a proper breakfast now. Because," she added, her eyes sparkling with a sudden, mischievous glint, "after you've eaten and we are both presentable, we're going somewhere rather exciting!"
Viviana raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Somewhere… exciting, Lily? After last night's 'excitement,' I was rather hoping for a day of quiet contemplation. And where, pray tell, might this thrilling destination be?"
Lilliana just smiled, a secretive, playful curve of her lips. "Oh Vi, you'll see! "
————————
Clank…
Shhhiing…
Thwack!
Clank… Hah! …
Clang!
The sharp sounds of steel striking steel, punctuated by the grunts of tiredness and the occasional frustrated yelp, echoed across the vast, sun-drenched training arena of the Eldorian palace.
A score of young recruits, clad in simple tunics and boots, were being drilled relentlessly, their faces grim with concentration as they practiced sword forms against scarred wooden posts or sparred cautiously with blunted practice blades.
Dominic moved among them like an alpha wolf circling a herd, his presence an unspoken demand for perfection. His voice, when he spoke, was sharp, cutting through the noise of the arena, barking instructions that left no room for misinterpretation.
"No, Joran! Steady your grip on the hilt! Don't hold the sword like it's a dead fish you're about to toss to the cats! It's an extension of your arm! Firm, yes, but not a white-knuckled death grip, or you'll tire before the real fight even begins!"
He paused beside another young man, whose stance was wide and ungainly. "And you, Alaric! Your stance is too wide, boy! You're an open invitation for a leg sweep or a thrust to your exposed flank! Feet should be shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, weight balanced. Feel your center! A warrior fights from his core, not just his arms!"
He moved to a third recruit who was clumsily attempting to parry a blow from a more experienced soldier acting as an instructor. Dominic stopped the exchange with a raised hand. "When you parry," he explained, his voice resonating with authority as he took the recruit's sword and demonstrated with a swift, economical movement against the instructor's blade, "you meet their steel with purpose, with intent! Don't just flap your sword vaguely in its general direction like you're shooing away a bothersome fly! Angle your blade, deflect their force, don't try to absorb it all like a stone wall. Use their own momentum against them. Make them overextend, then strike!"
He then pointed with his borrowed blade towards a practice dummy, its straw-stuffed torso bearing countless scars.
"And when you finally create an opening and you strike, you aim for the vital points! A shallow scratch on the arm won't stop a determined enemy. The throat, the heart, the unprotected side beneath the ribs, the groin – learn to deliver a disabling or fatal blow quickly and cleanly. In battle, hesitation means death. Most likely, yours."
As Dominic continued his careful, demanding instruction, a royal courier hurried onto the grounds, bowing respectfully to Lord Theodore, who was observing the training from the shade of a small canopy, occasionally offering a quiet word of advice to a struggling recruit himself. The courier handed Theodore a sealed parchment.
Theodore broke the seal and read the contents, his brow furrowing, a shadow of distinct worry clouding his usually cheerful features. He glanced around, then quickly moved to where Dominic was demonstrating a disarming technique.
"Dominic," Theodore whispered, his voice low and urgent, once the Prince had finished with the recruit. "A word, if I may."
Dominic straightened, his gaze questioning.
"My father," Theodore continued, keeping his voice down, "General Francis, is returning from his inspection tour of the northern border fortifications. He sent this letter; he's already on his way back to the capital. He could be here within a few days, a week at most."
Dominic paused his instruction to the recruit he had been addressing. "Alright, Silas, continue with that disarming drill. Focus on your footwork and leverage." He then turned fully to Theodore, his expression unreadable. "Uncle Francis is coming back? So what? He often returns from border inspections. It is his duty. Why are you so… shaken, Theo? Has he threatened to confiscate your collection of pencil portraits again?"
Theodore ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely anxious. "Worse, Dominic. It's just… I just procured a new, rather expensive set of oil paints from that Valois merchant who passed through last month. And those exquisite charcoal sketching pencils you admired, the ones that create such deep blacks. I'll have to hide them all in your chambers before he arrives. You know how he gets when he discovers I'm still 'indulging in the frivolous and unmanly way of art,' as he so eloquently puts it. He'll subject me to a week-long lecture on a true nobleman's proper martial pursuits, and probably assign me extra guard duty for a month."
A rare, brief smile, almost a smirk, touched Dominic's lips. "Your father is a man of… singular focus, true. Very well, your precious paints and pencils will find temporary sanctuary amongst my collection of weaponry and tactical manuals. He'd never think to look there. It's fine, you…"
Dominic didn't finish his sentence. His gaze, and Theodore's a moment later, shifted towards the arched entrance of the training arena. Princess Lilliana and Lady Viviana were approaching, Lilliana looking around with wide-eyed, open curiosity at the sight of so many armed men, Viviana more reserved, her gaze taking in the scene with a calm, almost analytical detachment.
They both curtsied politely as they reached the two men. "Your Highness. Lord Theodore."
Dominic and Theodore returned their greetings with short, formal bows, their earlier conversation about art supplies instantly forgotten.
Theodore,recovering more quickly from the interruption, smiled warmly. "Your Highness, Lady Viviana. What brings you to our humble, and rather noisy, training grounds? It is not a place often frequented by the ladies of the court, I must confess."
Lilliana answered cheerfully, her eyes bright with excitement. "Oh, we just wanted to watch the soldiers train! I find it all terribly exciting – the clash of steel, the discipline! And I thought," she added, her voice softening a fraction, "it might help relieve some of the… lingering anxiety from last night's rather unfortunate events. A display of Eldorian strength and skill can be quite reassuring, don't you think?"
Before Theodore could offer a suitably polite and reassuring response, Dominic spoke, his voice as cold and sharp, cutting through Lilliana's innocent enthusiasm. "This is a training arena, Your Highness. A place of sweat, steel, and serious preparation for battle. It is not a place for women, nor is it intended as a spectacle for your amusement." His eyes, hard and dismissive, flicked briefly over both Lilliana and Viviana. "I suggest you return to your chambers, or perhaps the more suitable environment of the palace gardens, if you seek diversion."
Lilliana's face flushed a brilliant crimson, her cheerful demeanor vanishing in an instant, replaced by a spark of rage. Her chin lifted defiantly. "What do you mean this isn't a place for women, Your Highness?" she challenged, her voice rising with unexpected spirit. "Are women only fit for embroidery, polite conversation, and looking decorative in your esteemed kingdom? Is that the extent of your regard for half your subjects – and your future queen?"
Viviana subtly cleared her throat, trying to signal Lilliana to de-escalate, but the princess was now on a roll.
"Do you have any idea what women can achieve when given the chance?" Lilliana continued, her eyes flashing. "Do you know that my own Lady Viviana here," she declared, gesturing dramatically towards Viviana, "has quite a vast and impressive knowledge of the sword herself? She could probably teach some of your less experienced recruits a thing or two about proper form!"
Viviana shot Lilliana a sharp, desperate, warning glance – a silent, frantic plea of 'Lily, for all that is sacred, what are you DOING?! Stop talking, please!'
Too late.
Prince Dominic and Lord Theodore both turned their heads sharply, their gazes, previously on Lilliana, now fixing directly, and with unnerving intensity, onto Viviana.
Dominic's eyes narrowed, that familiar cold suspicion flaring within them, now tinged with a new, dangerous curiosity. Theodore's expression was one of pure, surprised intrigue.
A wave of cold panic washed over Viviana. Her carefully constructed facade of a demure, unremarkable lady-in-waiting felt as if it were cracking under their combined scrutiny.
"Oh, Lily," she thought, her mind racing, a silent scream echoing in her skull. "You sweet, blabbering, fiercely loyal, and utterly disastrous fool! What in all the seven hells have you just done? I'm done for. Utterly and completely done for. He already despises me for imagined slights. Now he'll be watching me like a hawk scrutinizing a field mouse with a guilty conscience. This is bad. This is very, very bad." She forced her expression to remain one of mild, embarrassed surprise at Lilliana's impulsive outburst, hoping it looked convincing.