The tea party was a sea of pastel silks and the clinking of delicate bone china, but for me, it was a battlefield. Every time I reached for a cucumber sandwich, my triceps let out a scream that I had to mask with a dainty, ethereal smile.
"Lady Liliana," the Marchioness of Valois gushed, leaning in with a look of mock concern. "You look so... pale today. Like a spirit caught in a breeze. Is the weight of the upcoming Spring Gala already too much for your delicate constitution?"
"The air is indeed quite... burdensome today," I whispered, resting my hand on my chest. In reality, I was just trying to keep my ribs from expanding too much against my corset.
Saintess Seraphina sat across from me, her white gown practically glowing with divine smugness. "I have brought a special gift to help with your 'heavy' spirit, Liliana," she said, signaling her maid to bring forward a box wrapped in shimmering gold. "It is a necklace of blessed crystals. They are said to lighten the heart of anyone whose soul is... troubled."
I smiled politely, though inside I was rolling my eyes. Novel 101: The Saintess always gives a 'blessed' gift that's actually meant to make you look like a sinner. "How thoughtful, Saintess," I murmured.
But then, the atmosphere shifted. The light chatter died down as Lady Vesperia von Thorne approached the table. She wasn't wearing pastel. She was in a deep, blood-burgundy gown that made her look like a drop of wine in a glass of water. Her maid carried a box wrapped in matching burgundy silk.
"Gifts are all well and good," Vesperia said, her voice a cool blade that sliced through the sugary tension. "But I prefer gifts that serve a purpose. Open mine first, Liliana."
I reached for the burgundy box. My arms twinged—a brutal reminder of Kaelen's "Phase 2" training from that morning. I untied the velvet ribbon and pulled back the lid.
The noble ladies gasped. Some even shrieked.
Nestled in black satin was a dagger. Its hilt was wrapped in dark, rugged leather, capped with a sharp obsidian stone. It was sleek, lethal, and looked entirely out of place next to Seraphina's "blessed" crystals.
"A weapon?" Seraphina gasped, her hand flying to her throat. "Lady Vesperia! Are you trying to terrify poor, fragile Liliana? She might faint just from the sight of such violence!"
Vesperia leaned in close to me, her lips brushing my ear as the ladies erupted into frantic whispers. "My brother, Kaelen, told me everything," she hissed. "He said he's training a 'wild kitten' who keeps trying to fight the sun. He said a sword was too obvious for the Prince to notice... so a dagger it is."
My heart leaped. Kaelen. The scarred, arrogant man on the training grounds was the Iron Duke's son.
"I shall call it... The Thorn," I announced, raising the dagger just enough for the sunlight to catch the edge. "To remind me that even a lily needs a way to prune the weeds."
I looked directly at Seraphina. Her "innocent" mask didn't just slip; it shattered for a split second, revealing a look of pure, unadulterated venom.
The EscapeBy noon, I had successfully "fainted" into a chaise longue to end the party. The ladies scurried away, whispering about the "demonic" gift, leaving me free to sprint—well, limp—toward the ruins.
I was late.
Kaelen was waiting in the center of the clearing, arms crossed over his chest. He looked like a man who had spent three hours sharpening his temper.
"The second bell rang hours ago," he growled. "Did the tea and crumpets suddenly become more important than your survival?"
"I had to survive the Saintess first!" I panted, leaning against a stone archway. "And I had to hide the gift your sister gave me. It's hard to sneak out when the Prince wants to hire a guard specifically for my 'fragile' ankles."
"Vesperia talks too much," Kaelen muttered, his eyes flicking to the dagger at my waist. "And you're still breathing like a dying bird. If you can't keep a schedule, you shouldn't bother with the steel."
"I am not a bird, Kaelen," I snapped, pulling the dagger out and pointing it at him.
The man went dead still. His eyes widened, his gaze snapping to mine with a look of genuine shock. He hadn't expected the "Ethereal Feather" to use his name—especially not with that level of casual disrespect.
"Who told you that name?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"Your sister," I said, a tiny smirk forming. "She's quite proud of her 'difficult' big brother. Although, I think she forgot to mention you're also a bit of a grouch."
Kaelen stared at me for a long beat. The "mysterious instructor" facade was gone, replaced by the face of a man who realized he had underestimated his student.
"Fine," he said, pulling a real, gleaming short sword from his belt. "Since you've decided to be clever, we're done with the wood. If you want to use the Thorne name, you learn with the Thorne steel."
"Real steel?!" I squeaked. "Kaelen, I'm eighteen! I have a whole life of spicy chips and—I mean, high society ahead of me!"
"Then don't get hit," he replied, and lunged.