After lunch, Seraphine noticed how the strength seemed to drain from Isolde’s shoulders. The proud set of her mother’s chin softened, a faint weariness clouded her regal posture. Edmund rose immediately, moving to her side with quiet urgency. He offered his arm, fingers curling around hers with a tenderness that was almost startling.

“Isolde, let me escort you to our chambers,” he said gently. “You should rest.”

Isolde gave him a tired, grateful smile. Though she had held herself with poise through the meal, the weight of childbirth and morning’s strain had clearly begun to tell.

Seraphine pushed back her chair and stood. Unsure of the precise formality expected, she gathered her charcoal skirts lightly in one hand and dipped into a graceful half-curtsy, low enough to convey respect, but not so deep as to seem distant.

“I wish you good health, Mother,” she said, her tone soft but sincere.

For a heartbeat, she worried she’d done something clumsy or out of place.

–Did I do that right? Did I look like a proper noble lady-ish?

She was not really sure how polite she should be with them, she wasn’t even sure what kind of time period or culture she could base this whole world on. The only thing she noticed was that the language they spoke was similar to old English. However, it didn’t seem like it was any issue to talk with them or even translate everything to modern English in her head.

Despite her worries, Edmund’s approving nod and Isolde’s gentle smile told her she had struck the right balance. The couple departed arm in arm, the door closing quietly behind them. She supposed Edmund would pen his letter after escorting Isolde, perhaps after that, he would join in on her training.

Speaking of training, she should change her attire. Fighting in her current outfit was not totally practical. Yes, she could move freely in it, but it might restrict her movements still.

She turned to Lucien and mirrored the gesture, the slight gathering of skirts, a modest dip of her knees. “I will meet you at the training grounds shortly, Lord Lucien. If you will excuse me.”

Lucien inclined his head in a curt but courteous bow. He was sometimes hard to read. It was not like he was the talkative type. Not that she blamed him for it, he must be going through some complicated emotions because of her. She cast him a single, fleeting glance before retreating to her chamber, a sharp pang of guilt tightening in her chest.

Back in her chamber, Seraphine checked beneath her pillow. Her journal was still there. She released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, only to nearly jump when Alisea stepped inside. She usually made more sound when coming inside, but this time she was almost as silent as a ghost.

The maid’s usual brightness was muted, her hands trembled faintly as she closed the door behind her. Her eyes were puffy and rimmed red, as though she’d wept herself hollow. Still, her movements were precise as she laid out the garments for training.

“Alisea… are you alright?” Seraphine asked quietly, stepping closer. Even if they weren’t truly friends, Seraphine felt a strange kinship with her, perhaps born from Alisea’s constant, gentle care.

Alisea paused, her lips parting as if to speak, then shutting again. She only gave her lady a nod, to avoid more questions. She busied herself helping Seraphine change, fingers deft but slightly unsteady. When Seraphine murmured an awkward “Thank you” for her help, Alisea only bowed her head, her throat working soundlessly. A single tear slid down her cheek, catching the light before she brushed it away.

When Seraphine was dressed, her hair brushed into a high ponytail, Alisea suddenly stepped back. She inhaled deeply as if steeling herself, and moved forward again. In one smooth, practiced motion, she sank to one knee, her fist pressed firmly against her chest. A quiet rasp of steel whispered through the room as the sword at her hip shifted.

Seraphine hadn’t even noticed that sword before. She blinked in shock. Alisea had never worn a blade while tending to her, never hinted at being anything more than a diligent maid.

“I have learned the truth from Duke Edmund,” Alisea said, her voice low but steady, threaded with emotion. “It does not matter whose soul you bear. I know you bear no ill will against my lady or her body, and….”

The soft afternoon light caught on the polished hilt, glinting like a silent promise. Alisea lifted her chin slightly, and Seraphine noticed a faint scar trailing across the back of her hand, evidence of battles fought long before this moment.

“I was entrusted with her safety,” Alisea continued, her tone growing firm. “And so long as you wear her face and walk in her place, I will protect you. As her maid, I will serve you. As her shield…” she paused, looking even more determined than before, “…I will defend you with my life.”

Seraphine’s breath hitched. For a moment she felt her heart skip a beat. Alisea acted as if she became her personal knight, kneeling in loyalty. If her father had entrusted her with this grave secret, and she had shown such unwavering devotion to her as master, then surely she could trust her. Having another ally at her side was far from a disadvantage.

She stared at Alisea, wide-eyed, realizing for the first time that the cheerful, gentle maid had been hiding a warrior’s strength all along. Her initial surprise softened into a smile, pride and gratitude mingling with a faint, lingering trace of guilt.

“Alisea, thank you.” Seraphine whispered, unsure whether her voice sounded like it was in gratitude, awe, or guilt.

Alisea stared silently for a heartbeat before beaming to a wide smile. “No need to thank me, my lady. This is what I was always meant to do.”

Seraphine swallowed hard, almost stunned by her maid. Damn, she thought, watching the sweet but unshaken maid. Alisea wasn’t just dependable, she was breathtaking, like a storybook knight brought to life.

The sun had shifted, mellow now, casting long shadows across the yard. Seraphine adjusted the soft leather gloves on her hands, her dark trousers and fitted forest-green tunic moving easily with each stretch and twist. The pale fur lining of her cloak shifted in the breeze, and the sunlight caught her hair, turning the usual crimson red into streaks of raspberry pink, shimmering as if aflame. She felt almost weightless, the cold barely touching her as she took a deep breath of the crisp air. Some fresh air really did some wonders.

She noticed Lucien standing there with a wooden sword in his hand. He seemed to be staring at her intensely, almost as if he was piercing daggers in her with his eyes.

Seraphine first thought it might be some hatred he had for her, she was an imposter after all. However, as she stepped closer to him, she noticed that the look he had in his eyes looked more dazed. Almost as if he was mesmerized. But by what? Her?

This was still Seraphine’s body, so perhaps he couldn’t help himself. However, this caused her to feel uncomfortable in his presence. She sure hoped this would not cause any issue with her training. For now, she would pretend to be oblivious. It might very well be that he did not long for her at all and she was just reading too much into this situation. Which would only embarrass her.

~Lucien’s POV~

Lucien stood a few paces away, sword in hand, eyes lingering longer than necessary on her. He had seen Seraphine in skirts, in delicate dresses for formal occasions, but never like this. She looked practical, striking, a natural elegance paired with confidence. There was something about the way her hair swayed in the wind, the raspberry hues flared like embers. It reminded him painfully of another day, of his Seraphine, who had smiled at him in a sunlit courtyard. He forced his gaze away and focused on her outfit instead.

That was the wrong distraction. He stared at the curve of her tunic, the sharpness in her stance, the leather hugging her legs. It made him pause, heart skipping, though he quickly forced himself to focus again on anything but her. She wasn’t the true Seraphine, he reminded himself, yet it was impossible to look away for long.

“I hope you’ve eaten enough to keep your energy up,” he said at last, his voice steady though tinged with a faint embarrassment. He hoped his face gave nothing away, hiding the thoughts he knew was quite inappropriate.

“I’m ready,” Seraphine replied, a grin tugging at her lips, her hands tightening around the practice sword Lucien had handed her.

~Mina’s POV~

It was a simple, unsharpened wooden blade for beginners. She had held nothing like it before. In her world, she had swung light branches like a sword, mimicking moves from games, anime, or movies, but never a real weapon. Sometimes when she walked in the forest with her lover, they would have a duel with those wooden sticks. She was often the one that lost though.

That nostalgic thought made her smile softly, but she didn’t want to feel sad so she focused on the wooden sword. She felt the weight, the balance, and it was… exciting. Maybe now she could finally be better at sword fighting.

Lucien arched an eyebrow. “Any experience with combat, or… magic?”

“None,” she admitted, shrugging slightly. “Well… I’ve watched a lot of shows… or what you call ‘plays’ in this world? Sorry, I’m not sure what kind of entertainment is here. Anyways, I also played games related to combat, I guess. I never fought for real though.”

She thought about magic and shrugged her shoulders again, shaking her head. “Magic didn’t exist in my world, it was only a fantasy like in some fairy tale stories. Though I do wish there was magic.” She laughed softly.

Lucien paused, as if mulling over what she had said. Something shifted in his expression, a brief spark of interest he quickly smoothed over. “Then we’ll start with the basics. Footwork, stance, and learning to wield the sword. If you have any preference for other weapons, let me know. I’m mostly experienced with the long sword, but I can teach you at least the basics of other weapons too.”

Seraphine tilted her head, as if in thought. She was then swinging the wooden sword Lucien gave her and grinned excitedly. “Sword will do for now. Ah, but won’t this trouble me in the dungeons? Is a short sword or dagger not more appropriate?”

She thought back about all kinds of different dungeons she read and heard about, there were different versions of it. Some were like cramped caves, while others opened up so wide it could be almost another world in itself.

Lucien was quiet for a while at her question, pondering over how to answer. He then shook his head lightly and looked apologetic. “I’ve actually never ventured in the dungeons myself. So you should ask Duke Edmund or Duchess Isolde what they know about it, they are as far as I know the experts of the dungeons. However, from the tales I hear here and there, you should be able to freely use your long sword. I’ve seen adventures before and some even wielded a greatsword.”

“Hm, that will do, I will ask the rest later. Thank you, Lord Lucien. Let’s begin my training then,” Seraphine said with determination, wielding her practice sword up, pointing towards Lucien’s chest. Quite ironic, not long ago he did the same to her.

Lucien stepped closer, planting the tip of his blade against the snow packed earth. “First, your stance. Spread your feet shoulder-width apart. Place your right hand high on the grip, just beneath the guard, and your left hand lower, nearer the pommel. Keep both hands firm but relaxed.”

Seraphine obeyed but kept her knees stiff.

“Bend them slightly,” he corrected. He touched her elbow lightly, only long enough to adjust her posture. “You need balance. Imagine the ground is trying to push you over, and you’re refusing to let it happen.”

She gave a small laugh at the imagery, then tried again. Her boots scraped the snow mixed with dirt, her weight awkwardly off-balance until she realized it and shifted, trying to steady herself.

Lucien circled her slowly, watching every angle. “Better. Now, keep your shoulders loose. If you tense them, you will tire before you even swing.”

Seraphine adjusted her stance, biting her lip softly as she focused. The wind shifted her hair across her cheek, and from the corner of her eye she caught a flicker in Lucien’s expression. A tiny breath escaped him, almost too soft to notice, and his gaze darted away as if the sight had startled him.

He focused on her grip instead, correcting the angle of her hands with clipped, careful movements. Whatever memory had crossed his mind, he shut it away before she could read it.

“Show me a simple cut,” he said.

She lifted the wooden sword and swung. The blade wobbled mid-arc.

“Your wrists are too stiff,” Lucien said gently. “Let the motion flow from your hips and shoulders, not just your arms.”

She tried again, this time overcompensating. The hilt slipped in her palm and the blade dipped. She lurched forward with a small gasp, but Lucien caught her by the shoulder before she could fall.

His hand was firm and steady. Even through the thick fur of her cloak, she felt the sudden tension in him, a sharp inhale he cut short. The moment stalled, just for a breath, something tightened in the space between them, then he withdrew his hand quickly, masking the gesture with stiff composure.

“Sorry,” she apologized softly, cheeks flushed from exertion and maybe embarrassment.

“It’s all right,” he said softly.

He stepped back quickly, clearing his throat before he spoke loud and clear again, resettling his grip on his own blade. “Now, strike against me.”

They traded simple strikes and blocks, the wooden swords clacking. Seraphine’s movements were clumsy, her timing off, but she adjusted fast, eyes bright with determination. Each time she improved, even by a fraction, a spark of pride flared in Lucien’s eyes followed by something else, more heavy or sad. Every so often she saw his expression change more sad, but blinked it away. Whatever he was thinking, he shut it down fast, straightening his posture and forcing his attention back to her stance.

“Watch your footing,” he reminded her as she lunged too far. She stumbled, catching herself with a small gasp.

“I’m really not good at this,” she said through uneven breaths, but her smile made it clear she saw every mistake as another step forward.

“You’re learning,” Lucien replied. “That’s what matters.”

She grinned wider, breathless but exhilarated. “How about I try some magic now?”

Lucien lowered his stance slightly, watching her grip the wooden sword. “Magic exists, yes,” he began, his voice calm, measured. “But I don’t think in the way you imagine. It is rare. Some commoners are born with an affinity or blessing, but usually only for a single element. Nobles with magic… they are almost unheard of, for some reason. Unless they hide it all.” He paused, letting her absorb that.

“And as for the royals…” His expression remained neutral, not sounding fond nor against them. “They alone may wield multiple elements. In the rarest cases, light itself. The crown prince bears that gift.”

Seraphine’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. She had imagined a world where magic was more accessible, where she might pick up a spell as easily as a video game controller. Instead, it seemed as distant and exclusive as a star she could never reach. She forced herself to nod, hiding the faint pinch of disappointment in her chest, though the longing in her eyes did not go entirely unnoticed by Lucien.

A flicker of realization crossed Seraphine’s face. She should be able to wield dark magic, or at least, that was what she had understood about the du Fane lineage.

“How about dark magic then?” she asked, her voice tinged with excitement.

Lucien’s eyes narrowed slightly, concern flashing as he glanced around to ensure no one else could overhear. He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice.

“You should be careful with your words. Dark magic is often associated with curses, witches, or cultists seeking power through unholy means. They make pacts with demons, devils, or beings of shadow to gain it. Such power carries a price. It corrupts the user. It is not something to speak of lightly.”

Lucien noticed her disappointment, which she seemed to barely hide. A strained look flickered across his features for a moment before he drew a slow breath, steadying himself. “If you truly wish to learn more, the only person who can guide you is His Grace. As the direct bloodline of the du Fane family, he alone can teach you what you seek.” He hesitated, the words weighing on him. “I wish I could do more, but this is beyond my reach.”

Seraphine nodded, trying to balance her excitement with caution. The weight of his words sank in, but the gleam of curiosity didn’t fade from her eyes.

“Then, let’s go back to swordsmanship. You have a long way to go if you even want to defeat a goblin, let alone a dire wolf.” Lucien’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly, a faint hint of amusement in his sharp gaze, though his posture remained controlled, ready to correct her at a moment’s notice.

Seraphine’s eyes narrowed, and a spark of mischief and determination lit her gaze. She recognized those creatures, the weakest kind in the monster realm, and let out a scoff. She mirrored Lucien’s stance, mimicking his precision even if clumsily.

“We’ll see about that,” she said, her voice tinged with challenge. “Before long, I might even land a strike on you, Lord Lucien.”

Lucien’s lips twitched, just barely, a shadow of a smile in his otherwise taut expression. He didn’t move, letting her words hang in the crisp air. She had potential there, raw and untrained, yet stubborn and eager. A dangerous combination.

Seraphine’s heart thumped, a thrill of anticipation coursing through her. This was only the beginning. Soon she would step into the wild, where true danger waited. Yet… somehow, she felt that peril might also be closer than she realized.