CHAPTER 166: SLOPPY FOOTWORK

[Dawnspire Wing—Lavinia’s Chamber]

"Aaagghh!! My arms hurt..." I collapsed face-first onto my bed with a dramatic groan. Marshi—my overly large, overly energetic dog—sprang onto the mattress after me. (For some miraculous reason, the bed didn’t collapse into splinters from his heroic leap. A mystery for the royal carpenters to solve.)

Behind me, Marella let out a tiny chuckle. "I heard His Majesty... punished you today."

I twisted my head and narrowed my eyes at her. "Are you perhaps... mocking me?"

Her gaze darted to the floor like a guilty squirrel. "No, Your Highness..."

Before I could interrogate her further, Nanny walked in holding a small jar of balm. "Come, Princess... let me massage those poor arms."

I shot up so quickly you’d think I’d been summoned to inherit a fortune. I plopped down again, stretching my arms toward her with pitiful puppy eyes. "Did Papa send the balm?"

"Of course," Nanny said, opening the jar. "Who else would think of you?"

My lips curled into a smug little smile. "I knew it..." I mumbled, enjoying the cool touch of the balm as Nanny began working it into my aching muscles.

"So..." I tilted my head toward Marella. "Is your marriage finally fixed, Marella?"

Her cheeks turned pink so fast I wondered if the balm had fumes. "It’s... next month, Princess."

Hah. Look at her, all shy like a romance heroine. I smirked.

"We’ll have to hire a new lady-in-waiting for you," Nanny commented casually.

I blinked. "Wait, you’re leaving me?" I turned to Marella like she’d just announced she was defecting to a rival kingdom.

Marella’s smile was soft. "Yes, Your Highness. After marriage, my duty will be to serve my husband."

I gasped. "But serving the princess is the greatest honor in the realm!"

She chuckled, tilting her head. "Well... I also have to plan a child—"

"Alright, I get it, no need to go into details!" I raised both hands in surrender, my face scrunching up. "Some of us are still recovering from parental punishments, thank you very much."

Nanny tried to hide her laugh. Marella just looked amused.

After all those heavenly massages from my nanny, I wandered to my balcony. Leaning on the railing, I took a deep, dramatic breath.

"What a fresh air..." I murmured, as if I were the tragic heroine of an award-winning anime. My hair caught the soft breeze, fluttering like it had been personally styled by the wind gods. Honestly, I could almost hear background music.

...Until it

happened.

A brown, feathery menace swooped down and landed on the railing right in front of me. An owl. And not the cute, wise kind you read about in children’s books—no. This one was glaring. At me.

I blinked. The owl did not.

It just... stared. Like I had stolen its inheritance. Then I noticed the tiny scroll tied to its leg.

"Oh... are you a messenger owl?" I asked hopefully.

It didn’t respond. Not a hoot. Not even a pity blink. Just pure judgment.

"Riiight... silent type," I muttered as I reached out to untie the letter. The second I freed it, the little demon took off without a goodbye.

"Wow," I called after it. "Rude! I hope you fly into a closed window!"

Shaking my head, I looked down at the letter. The parchment felt oddly ominous for something so small. I unrolled it, expecting... well, something more than this.

It read:

I’M COMING.

...

...

"That’s it?!" I sputtered. "Who writes that and nothing else?!"

Then I spotted it. A very, very tiny "R" was scrawled at the bottom—so small it was practically hiding from me.

My stomach dropped. My brain connected the dots.

"Oh..." I muttered, "It was Rey Morvan."

And then—because my brain clearly has no concept of staying calm—I tilted my head and squinted at the note again. "Wait... did he find out about Eleania?"

"I hope he does."

***

[Imperial Palace, Training Field, The Next Day]

The sun was merciless, glaring down on the polished steel in my hands as if daring me to drop it. I didn’t. Obviously. I’m not here to humiliate myself in front of Ravick. We circled each other on the training field, boots scraping against the packed dirt. My sword was steady, my stance perfect—or so I thought.

"Your front foot’s too far forward," Ravick said, flicking his blade against mine with insulting ease.

I scowled. "It’s exactly where it’s supposed to be."

"It’s exactly where you think it’s supposed to be," he corrected, stepping in and pushing me back three paces before I even realized I’d moved. "You’re leaving yourself open on your right side."

"I am not—" I lunged, aiming for his shoulder.

Steel rang against steel as he parried, barely even looking like he was trying. "That was slow."

"It was not slow!" I said, glaring at him while adjusting my grip.

"It was," he replied calmly, like it was just a fact of the universe, the same as gravity or his superiority complex. "If I were your enemy, you’d be on the ground right now."

I huffed, swiping at him again. "If you were my enemy, I’d have already distracted you with a witty remark and stabbed you while you were laughing."

His mouth twitched—barely—but it was there. "Creative, but impractical."

I grinned. "Unpredictable, you mean."

He came at me faster this time, his sword clashing against mine with a sharp clang. My arms trembled a little with the impact, but I held my ground.

"Better," he said, tilting his head in that annoyingly approving way. "Still sloppy on the wrist."

"Sloppy?" I echoed in disbelief. "I’ve been doing exactly what you taught me!"

"Yes," Ravick said, effortlessly sidestepping my next swing. "And I’m telling you again—tighten your wrist, Princess." He tapped the flat of his blade against mine for emphasis. "Control the sword; don’t let it control you."

"Oh, now you’re making it sound like the sword has feelings," I muttered.

"It does," he said without a trace of irony. "And right now, it doesn’t respect you."

I stared at him, torn between offense and intrigue. "...Did you just say my sword doesn’t respect

me?"

"Yes."

"Well," I said, adjusting my stance, "I’ll just have to make it fear me then."

This time, I attacked first—and for a split second, his expression actually changed. Just a flicker. But enough for me to know I’d done something right.

This time, I attacked first—lunging in with a diagonal slash meant to test his guard. For a split second, Ravick’s expression changed. Just a flicker. But enough for me to know I’d done something right.

His blade met mine with a sharp clang, the vibration racing up my arm. He twisted his wrist, forcing my sword down, and with almost casual precision, he stepped inside my reach.

"Better," he said, the word like a cold coin dropped in my palm, "but you’re still too honest."

I growled under my breath and wrenched my sword free, stepping back before pivoting into another strike—this one aimed at his shoulder. He parried, but my follow-up thrust nearly grazed his side.

"Almost," he murmured, eyes narrowing as if he’d spotted a weakness in my soul rather than my stance.

His counterattack came in a blur—two rapid slashes and a thrust that forced me back on my heels. I blocked the first, dodged the second, but the thrust clipped my sleeve, the fabric tearing with a faint hiss.

"You hesitate at the last second," he said. "That’s when you die."

Then I shot back, circling him, my boots scraping the sand of the training field, and I saw Ravick, smirking. Before I could snap back, he lunged, and instinct took over. I dropped low, my blade sweeping upward in a sharp arc. The clash of steel rang out again, and for the first time, his wrist faltered ever so slightly.

My pulse spiked. I pressed forward—strike, parry, feint, thrust. He deflected each one, but his steps grew tighter, his stance more guarded.

"Princess," he admitted, his voice almost approving. "Your footwork is still sloppy."

I snarled, "Ughh—"

He disarmed me.

One flick of his wrist, and my sword went spinning across the sand, clattering to a stop several feet away.I stood there, chest heaving, sweat sliding down my temple.

Ravick stepped closer, the tip of his blade hovering near my throat. His voice was low, calm—far too calm for someone who had just humiliated me in under a heartbeat."You need more... harsh training, Princess."

I swallowed. "Am I really that bad?"

The corner of his mouth curved—not a full smile, just enough to be infuriating."No," he said softly, "you’re... currently the best I’ve seen in a long while."

I couldn’t help it—I smiled. But it faltered when he added, almost as an afterthought, "But Lord Osric is much stronger."

"Oh." The word left me flatter than I intended.

Ravick’s eyes sharpened. "So... I want you to be stronger than him. Or, at the very least, his equal. But you cannot—" his blade tapped lightly against my collarbone "—be lower."

I nodded, and he lowered his sword."Which means," he continued, "starting tomorrow, you’ll train with Lord Osric directly."

I hesitated. "...Don’t you think we’re piling too much on him?"

His brows pulled together slightly. "What do you mean, Princess?"

"I mean..." I stepped back, brushing grit from my palms, "...he’s the heir of Rynthall. He has a mountain of responsibilities waiting for him every single day. And yet he’s always beside me—protecting me, shadowing me everywhere I go. Now sword practice with me, on top of all of that? It feels like we’re stretching him thin."

Ravick’s gaze cooled, his tone shifting into something steel-edged."Do not forget, Princess... no one forced him into that oath. He took it himself. And once sworn, an oath comes before every other duty. Even—" his voice dipped slightly, "—the duties of an heir."

There was a finality in his words, but also... something else.A weight. A bitterness.

My lips parted. Does he... have some grudge against Osric?