I swung that wooden sword with every ounce of spite left in my exhausted body. Whoosh! The sound was satisfying, even if the vibration nearly rattled my teeth out of my skull. I glared at K through the damp strands of hair sticking to my forehead.
Oh, I hate you alright! I thought, my mind racing through the thousands of pages of tropes I had consumed in my past life. In fact, I hate you so much that I'm officially promoting you! Congratulations, K, you've just been cast as the Second Male Lead of this story!
It was perfect. In every "White Lotus Saintess" novel, there was always the overbearing, protective Crown Prince (Cassian) and the rugged, mysterious, slightly-mean-but-actually-devoted Second Male Lead who pushed the heroine to be her best self.
You have the scars! You have the 'tough love' routine! You even have the cool, monosyllabic name! I thought, giving him my most menacing "warrior" glare, which probably just looked like a very tired kitten trying to hiss.
"Your footwork is sloppy," K remarked, stepping forward to kick my heel into the correct position. "You're thinking too much. Stop narrating your life and focus on the weight in your hands."
"I'm not narrating!" I snapped, though I totally was. "I'm... strategizing!"
"Strategizing how to breathe?" He countered, his eyes flickering with that infuriatingly handsome spark of amusement. "You're trembling, Liliana. If I push you right now, you'll fold like the paper doll you claim not to be."
"Try it," I challenged, fueled by the pure, unadulterated "Second Lead Energy" he was radiating.
K paused. He actually looked surprised for a fraction of a second. Then, he moved. It was a blur—not a strike, but a sudden, close-range sweep of his hand.
By all laws of physics in this world, I should have performed a 360-degree dramatic spiral and landed gracefully in the dirt while weeping about the "heavy air." But because I was so busy assigning him a character archetype in my head, I actually reacted. I twisted my hips—bless the pants!—and parried his hand with the hilt of the wooden sword.
Clack.
The Knights around us collectively stopped breathing. Sir Alistair looked like he had just seen a statue come to life and start doing a jig.
"She... she defended?" Alistair whispered, his voice cracking. "She didn't shatter? The Little Lily... she's made of iron!"
K looked down at where I had blocked his move. He stepped back, his expression unreadable, but his gaze was lingering on my face longer than it had before.
"Second Male Leads always fall for the heroine's hidden grit," I muttered under my breath, a tiny, triumphant smirk forming on my lips.
"What did you say?" K asked, narrowing his eyes.
"I said... I think I'm ready for Phase 2," I wheezed, my legs finally giving out as I sat down abruptly in the dirt, the sword still clutched in my hand. "But if you tell anyone I sat down, I'll tell the Prince you're the one who taught me how to wear pants."
K looked at the modified, ripped-up royal gown I was wearing, then back at my dusty, sweat-streaked face. For the first time, he didn't just smirk—he gave a short, dry bark of a laugh.
"Fine. You stayed upright longer than I expected. Go back to your room and soak in some salt. Tomorrow, we start on how to actually hit something."
Chapter 6: The Tea Party of Terrors and Sore MusclesI was currently being held hostage by a corset, a tea set, and the persistent nagging of a Crown Prince.
"Liliana, my star," Cassian had said earlier that morning, looking at me with those eyes that were far too earnest for my liking. "The social season is losing its luster without your 'Ethereal' presence. You must host your monthly tea party. Show the kingdom that even the heaviest air cannot dim the glow of our Little Lily."
I wanted to tell him that my "glow" was actually a fever caused by lactic acid buildup, but I just nodded weakly while leaning against a wall so I wouldn't fall over.
So here I was. The invitations had been sent. I had no choice but to invite the entire "Who's Who" of high society, which meant inviting the influential noble ladies, my favorite "Villainess" Vesperia, and—of course—the Saintess Seraphina.
The Prep and the Pain"Mina, if you tighten that ribbon one more inch, I will actually meet the Gods," I hissed, clutching the edge of the vanity.
"But My Lady! You must look as though you are made of mist and dreams!" Mina chirped, oblivious to the fact that my biceps were currently screaming in agony from K's three-hour "Phase 2" session this morning.
Every time I moved my arms to adjust my hair, I felt like someone was pulling a violin string made of fire through my shoulders. K was a sadist. A handsome, scarred, Second-Lead-material sadist. 'Focus on the weight in your hands,' he had said. Well, right now, the weight of this porcelain teacup felt like a boulder.
"Vesperia is coming, right?" I asked, checking my reflection. I looked pale, which worked for the "Fragile" brand, but there was a new, sharp light in my eyes that hadn't been there before.
"Lady Vesperia von Thorne has confirmed, My Lady," Mina replied. "Though the other ladies are whispered to be quite nervous. They say her burgundy dresses are getting even darker lately."
"Good," I muttered. "I need at least one person here who doesn't speak in flower metaphors."
The Arrival of the "Star"The garden was set. The tables were draped in lace so fine it looked like spiderwebs, and the tea smelled of rosebuds and social anxiety.
I sat at the head of the table, performing my best "I'm a delicate flower" pose—which was actually just me resting my aching back against the chair. One by one, the noble ladies arrived, fluttering their fans and offering high-pitched compliments that felt like paper cuts.
Then, she arrived.
Saintess Seraphina de Luce floated into the garden, looking like she had been born from a sunbeam and a bucket of glitter. She was dressed in a white so pure it made the roses look dirty.
"Lady Liliana!" she sang, rushing toward me with her hands outstretched. "I have been in constant prayer since the Temple incident! I was so worried that the 'darkness' I sensed had truly taken root in your fragile heart!"
I smiled, though it felt like my face might crack. "How kind of you, Saintess. My heart is fine, though I find the air today is surprisingly... light. Perhaps your prayers pushed the humidity away?"
Seraphina's smile twitched. She sat down, her eyes scanning me for any sign of the "Demon" I had accused her of seeing.
The Entry of the VillainessThe chatter died down as Lady Vesperia sauntered in. She was wearing a dress the color of a bruised plum—not quite burgundy, but close enough to feel like a threat. She looked at the table of pastel-clad ladies and then at me.
Our eyes met. She saw the slight tremor in my hand as I lifted my teacup. She saw the way I was sitting—not like a lady, but like a soldier trying to hide an injury.
"Liliana," Vesperia said, her voice cutting through the Saintess's sweet hum. "You look... different today. Did you change your perfume? You smell less like lilies and more like... cedar and iron."
The noble ladies gasped. I froze. Cedar and iron? That was K's scent.
"It must be a new herbal tonic!" Seraphina chimed in, her eyes narrowing. "For her 'fragility,' I presume? Though cedar is such a masculine, aggressive scent for a Little Lily, don't you think?"
I felt a bead of sweat roll down my neck. My muscles throbbed. I looked at the Saintess, then at Vesperia, and finally at my tea.
"It's for my 'nerves,' Saintess," I said, my voice dropping an octave as I looked Seraphina dead in the eye. "I find that when people call me a 'Demon' in holy places, I require something a bit more... sturdy to keep me grounded."
Vesperia let out a low, delighted hum and took a seat right next to me. "I like it. It suits you much better than rosewater."
The tea party had officially begun, and my body was screaming, but my mind was already playing Novel 101: Phase 3—The Social Sabotage.