By the second hour, the "Novel 101" sparkle in my eyes had been replaced by a localized heatwave and the urge to commit a crime.
I had read about "Intense Training Montages" in my books, but they usually involved the male lead shirtless in the rain, not me sweating through six layers of silk in the high noon sun. My "Ethereal Feather" aesthetic was currently more like "Soggy Napkin."
"Hips lower," the handsome man commanded. He hadn't broken a sweat. He just stood there, leaning against a wooden post, watching me with the critical eye of a chef deciding if a steak was overcooked.
"I am... wearing... a corset!" I wheezed, swinging the wooden sword for what felt like the ten-thousandth time. Whoosh. "And six... petticoats! This isn't training, it's a biological experiment!"
Around the perimeter of the training grounds, the Knights hadn't moved. They were still staring, but the laughter had died down, replaced by a bizarre, wide-eyed fascination. They weren't watching me like a fellow soldier; they were watching me like an exotic pet that had suddenly started doing long-division.
"Look at her," Sir Alistair whispered, loud enough for the entire province to hear. "She is fighting the very sun! Her little wrists are glowing with the fires of determination! It's like watching a butterfly try to lift a mountain!"
"Someone get a scribe!" another shouted. "The Lady Liliana is performing a ritual of strength! This must be recorded in the royal annals!"
I wanted to throw the sword at them, but my arms felt like overcooked noodles.
"Ignore them," the scarred man said, his voice cutting through the Knights' chatter. "They see a doll. You're trying to be a person. If you stop because they're staring, you've already lost."
"I'm stopping because I can't feel my fingers!" I snapped, dropping the wooden sword. It hit the dust with a heavy thud. "And because this dress is a fire hazard in this weather. Why do the women in this world have to look like wedding cakes while you get to wear leather and actually breathe?"
The man walked over, picking up the wooden sword with one scarred hand. He looked at me, then at the heavy, frilled sleeves of my gown, which were currently stained with sweat and dirt.
"Because a 'Lily' is meant to be stationary," he said, his eyes trailing over my face with a look that was dangerously close to respect. "If you want to move, you have to stop dressing like you're waiting for a vase. If you come back tomorrow, wear something you can actually bleed in."
"Bleed in?" I squeaked. "I thought we were just doing the Plan B thing!"
"If you're going to marry the Prince off to a Saintess," he said, stepping closer until I could smell the faint scent of cedar and iron on him, "you're going to have to survive the Saintess first. She doesn't use swords, Liliana. She uses the people you're currently trying to impress."
He handed the sword back to me, hilt-first.
"One more hour. And if you fall, make sure you fall toward your target, not away from it."
I took the sword back, grumbling under my breath about how "Love Interests" in this world were way too demanding. I'm going to have so many callouses, I thought. Vesperia is going to think I've been possessed by a peasant.
My vision was beginning to swim. The sunlight hitting the white sand of the training grounds was reflecting back at me with a vengeance, and the weight of the wooden sword felt like I was trying to swing a literal tree trunk.
"Ten more," the scarred man said, his voice as steady and unyielding as the marble pillars of the palace.
"I'm going to... see... the stars," I panted. My hair was matted to my forehead, and my corset was cinching my ribs so tight I was pretty sure my internal organs were currently playing Tetris.
The Knights were still there, watching me with that disturbing "exotic pet" awe. Sir Alistair looked like he was about to burst into tears of pride at my "valiant struggle against the heat."
I felt the familiar, tingly sensation of a "Protagonist Faint" coming on. This world's physics were finally catching up to me. But before I went down, I had to secure the perimeter. If Prince Cassian found out I was out here swinging wood instead of being a "Fragile Lily," he'd probably put the entire training ground under a giant glass dome and ban physical exertion.
I dropped the sword—this time because my grip actually failed—and staggered toward the circle of Knights.
"Listen to me," I wheezed, grabbing Sir Alistair by his polished breastplate. He looked startled, as if a kitten had just tried to mug him. "All of you. You have to... promise."
"Anything, My Lady!" Alistair cried, supporting my elbow. "A cool cloth? A symphony? A battalion of healers?"
"No," I hissed, my eyes narrowing with the last bit of espresso-fueled strength I had left. "You must promise... that the Prince... hears nothing of this. Not a word. If he finds out I was training, I will tell him you forced me to do it. I will tell him... you called me... sturdy."
The Knights gasped in unison. The threat of being accused of calling the "Ethereal Feather" sturdy was like being threatened with high treason.
"We swear!" they shouted, falling to their knees with such synchronized panic it was almost impressive. "Our lips are sealed! The Prince shall only hear of your grace and your... your holy naps!"
I turned my head toward the handsome, scarred man. He was watching the scene with his arms crossed, that tiny, infuriating smirk playing on his lips again.
"And you," I pointed a shaking finger at him. "You don't say a word either, Mr. Novel 101."
"I don't talk to Princes," he said simply. "It's bad for my health."
"Good."
With that final word, the "Lily" subroutine finally won. The world tilted, the colors bled into a soft, aesthetic blur, and I felt myself pitching forward.
I didn't fall on my face this time. I felt a pair of strong, calloused hands catch me before I hit the dirt. They didn't feel like the Prince's soft, pampered hands. They felt solid. Real.
Task accomplished, I thought as darkness took over. Engagement sabotage: 10%. Muscle soreness: 100%.