Chapter 8: The Shadow and the SteelA month had passed since I traded my porcelain-doll life for a routine of sweat, bruises, and enough caffeine to power a locomotive. My muscles no longer screamed in agony every morning; now, they just gave me a firm, localized glare. I wasn't at the level of the Prince's elite guard yet, but according to Kaelen, I had officially reached "Squire Level"—which meant I could at least hold my own against a moderately coordinated commoner.
The hidden garden had become my sanctuary. Here, under the crumbling stone arches, the "Ethereal Feather" didn't exist. There was only the weight of the steel in my hand and the rhythm of the duel.
Clang!
The sound of my short sword meeting Kaelen's blade echoed through the ruins. I didn't stumble. I planted my feet, used the momentum of his strike, and parried to the left, just as he had taught me.
"Better," Kaelen grunted. He wasn't holding back as much anymore. His movements were fluid and lethal, a stark contrast to the pampered grace of the court. "Your center is steady, but your eyes are telegraphing your next move. Don't look at where you want to hit; look at where I'm open."
"Easier said than done when you're a foot taller than me!" I shot back, lunging forward.
I felt alive. The "Pants Revolution" had become a permanent fixture of my training sessions, and the dagger Vesperia gave me—The Thorn—was tucked securely against my thigh. For the first time since waking up in this novel, I didn't feel like a character being pushed by the plot. I felt like I was writing it.
Kaelen twisted his blade, catching mine in a lock. We were inches apart, the heat radiating off him smelling of that familiar cedar and iron. "Novel 101," I whispered, a smirk playing on my lips. "The 'Training Montage' always leads to a breakthrough."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Kaelen muttered, though his eyes were fixed on mine with an intensity that made my heart do a very non-fragile thud. "But you're—"
The Golden Intrusion"LILIANA?"
The voice didn't just boom; it shattered the afternoon.
We both froze. My blood turned to ice as I turned my head toward the entrance of the ruins. There, framed by the ivy-covered stone, stood Prince Cassian.
He looked like a painting of a hero, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun—but his face was a mask of pure, unadulterated horror. He wasn't looking at me; he was looking at the cold steel in my hand. He was looking at my dusty, modified pants. And then, he looked at Kaelen, who was still holding my wrist in a training grip.
"Your Highness," Kaelen said, his voice dropping into a flat, neutral tone as he slowly released my arm and stepped back. He didn't bow—the Thorn family didn't bow to anyone but the King—but the tension in his body was like a coiled spring.
Cassian ignored him. He walked toward me, his boots crunching on the gravel with a sound like a death knell. He reached out, his hands trembling as he took the sword from my grip as if it were a poisonous snake.
"Liliana..." he whispered, his voice cracking with a mix of grief and fury. "What is this? Why are you... why are you holding a weapon? Why are you dressed like a... a common mercenary?"
I opened my mouth to explain, to give him a "Little Lily" excuse about a "prophetic dream of self-defense," but the words died in my throat. I was tired of lying.
"I'm training, Cassian," I said, standing my ground, my posture straight and my chin high. "I'm learning to stand up."
"Training?" Cassian repeated, his eyes finally snapping to Kaelen. The protective "hero" energy in the room shifted instantly into something much darker. "You. Kaelen von Thorne. You have taken my fragile flower—my delicate, sickly fiancé—and forced her to labor in the dirt with steel?"
"I didn't force her to do anything," Kaelen replied coolly, crossing his arms. "She came to me. She wanted to be more than a decoration. Perhaps you should have noticed she had a spine before I did."
Cassian's hand flew to the hilt of his own golden sword. "You have corrupted her! You have put her life at risk! Do you have any idea what a single scratch would do to her constitution?"
The Knights who had followed the Prince began to spill into the garden, their faces pale. Sir Alistair looked like he was witnessing the end of the world.
"Liliana, come with me," Cassian commanded, reaching for my hand. "We will have the Royal Healers examine you for exhaustion. And as for you, Kaelen... you are lucky your Mother is the Iron Duchess, or I would have your head for this treason against her health."
I looked at Kaelen. He didn't look scared; he looked bored. Then I looked at Cassian.
Plan B—marrying him off to the Saintess—suddenly felt more urgent than ever. If I didn't get out of this engagement soon, he was going to wrap me in bubble wrap and lock me in a tower for my own "protection."