Silas's face had turned red, wet with tears that had not yet fallen. He stared at Gianna's hand extended toward him — small, dusty, but full of sincerity. But instead of accepting it, Silas knocked it away roughly. The slap rang out sharply in the cooling air.
Gianna recoiled slightly. The skin of her hand stung, but what pierced more deeply was the feeling of rejection itself. She drew a slow breath, watching Silas's back as it moved away, his steps stiff and hurried as he left the training field.
At the edge of the arena, dust still drifted faintly, mixed with the lingering scent of iron from the fallen sword. The afternoon sunlight broke through gaps in the clouds, illuminating Gianna's face as she lifted her chin — not in arrogance, but in a determination that slowly hardened in her chest.
She turned to where Duke Romanov and Miss Verity stood. Both of them were looking at her proudly. Gianna smiled faintly, then bowed deeply, receiving a round of applause from the Duke—a small token of appreciation for her bravery today.
****
When the sun finally sank behind the fortress towers, the sky turned golden and then slowly faded into gray.
In the outer courtyard, Gianna stood with Verity. The wind carried the scent of damp earth and old wood from the forest surrounding the fortress.
"It's time for me to go home, Gianna," Verity said softly.
Gianna nodded, looking at the woman with deep respect.
As the horse-drawn carriage departed, its iron wheels ground against the gravel, leaving behind a faint echo.
Now Gianna stood alone before the gates of Romanov Fortress — her small body wrapped in twilight, her eyes fixed on the sky as it slowly lost its light. She drew a long breath and was about to go inside, when her steps halted.
From a distance, she saw a small, familiar figure walking quickly, trying not to be seen — Silas. His movements were nervous, as if he were fleeing from his father's shadow. Gianna watched him quietly until the boy disappeared into the night mist.
A small smile appeared on Gianna's face. Not a smile of victory, but a kind of promise to herself. She then turned and stepped back into the cold fortress, where torchlight had begun to cast long shadows along the stone walls.
****
The sound of a gentle knock echoed through the dim study. Beyond the large window, moonlight began to seep through the heavy maroon curtains, illuminating stacks of books and war maps on the sturdy oak desk. Duke Romanov closed the book he had been reading — his gaze shifted to the door as it slowly opened.
Gianna stepped inside, wearing a wool dress the color of green leaves. Each of her steps was careful, yet there was a certain poise in the way she stood.
"Come here," Duke Romanov ordered. His voice was deep and commanding, yet devoid of cruelty.
Gianna stepped closer, gathered the hem of her dress, then bowed in greeting. Romanov gave a subtle gesture, and the guards and servants promptly left the room. The sudden silence felt heavy — only the scraping of branches stirred by the wind could be heard.
"Gianna… Whitmore."
Gianna snapped her head up, her eyes widening as she looked at Duke Romanov, her pupils trembling. Her family name, which had long been a disgrace in the eyes of the kingdom, was now spoken so clearly in this room.
"Calm yourself, child," Duke Romanov said, a faint smile forming on his face. "I will not drive you away."
The tension frozen in Gianna's chest slowly melted. Her breathing sounded calmer.
"Miss Verity told me that you wish to become a queen. Is that true?" Duke Romanov's gaze was sharp — not to intimidate, but to scrutinize her.
Gianna straightened her back. "Are you willing to help me, Your Grace?"
Duke Romanov gave a small grin. "You are still seven years old, the same age as my son. But your determination is truly great."
"My determination will grow even greater if the Romanov family is willing to help me," Gianna replied firmly, her voice clear, without the slightest hesitation.
Duke Romanov steepled his fingers on the desk. "And what is the reward for my family?"
Gianna thought for a moment, then answered calmly. "For now, I can only ensure your son becomes a formidable warrior."
Romanov's laughter burst and filled the room — loud and echoing among the stone walls. But afterward, he looked back at her with a sharp gaze. "Do you underestimate the Romanov heir and the trainers here?"
Gianna did not falter. "If he were already a capable heir, it would be impossible for him to lose to me, who had just held a sword for the first time."
Those words made Duke Romanov fall silent for a moment. His gaze traced Gianna's face, as if searching for a crack in her conviction — but finding none.
"And what favor do you seek from me?" he finally said, his voice now calmer.
Gianna looked at him with a faint smile. "Give me access to all the books in your library, and allow me to study alongside the young lord."
Romanov raised an eyebrow. "Is that all you need?"
"I need the loyalty of the Romanov family until I become a queen."
Romanov's gaze sharpened, yet within it appeared a slight glint of admiration. "What will you do to become a queen?"
Gianna did not lower her gaze this time. "Before I become a queen, I will restore the name of the Whitmore family and reclaim my noble rights."
Romanov leaned back into his chair, his fingers tapping softly against the surface of the desk. Silence fell between them once more.
Finally, he said, "I will give my loyalty once you succeed in making my son a capable fighter."
Gianna bowed respectfully. "I will honor this opportunity. Thank you."
****
Several days had passed since the meeting with Duke Romanov in his study. Since then, Gianna was almost always seen in the training yard, the library, or the stables — wherever Silas was. She did not merely watch, but carefully observed every movement and habit of the Duke's son.
Mornings began with lessons in war strategy. Silas sat at a long table with his tutors, his face serious, yet at times Gianna noticed an empty gaze — a sign that his mind was not entirely there. The afternoons were spent on horseback training, and when the sun lowered, Silas trained with the sword until his body was soaked with sweat.
There was no time for play, no laughter — only obligations and expectations weighing down the shoulders of a seven-year-old child.
Gianna realized this. She knew well what it felt like to be shaped by another person's ambition.
That night, a cold wind blew through the courtyard of Romanov Fortress. Gianna stood behind a stone statue, waiting. The hood of her black cloak covered her dark hair.
When the side door of the fortress slowly opened, Silas's small figure appeared, stepping carefully while occasionally glancing back. Gianna smiled faintly.
Without a sound, she followed from a distance — her footsteps light, like a shadow that did not wish to be caught.
The journey led them into the heart of the night market in the lower city.
Oil lamps swayed in the wind, the sweet aroma of roasted bread mixing with the laughter of the townsfolk.
Music from an old violin drifted faintly from the direction of a small stage.
Gianna closed the distance, watching Silas as he stopped near the stage. A female singer was performing a folk song that was soft and filled with longing.
Silas, who was usually cold and rigid, smiled. Only briefly — but enough for Gianna to see a glimpse of his true self.
She stepped closer until only a few inches separated them.
"So you can smile after all," Gianna said softly.
Silas jolted, his eyes widening, then he looked at Gianna, who had already lowered her hood.
"Does your father know that you harbor a fondness for singing?" Gianna's tone was teasing, yet lacked any malice.
At the mention of his father, Silas's face hardened instantly.
"Relax, your father isn't here. I'm the only one who followed you," Gianna explained.
"Why did you follow me?" For the first time, Silas asked her — his voice more curious than angry.
"Because I want to be friends with you," Gianna answered simply, then extended her hand.
Silas looked at the hand, but ignored it. He turned and walked away. Gianna let out a breath and continued to follow him.
"Don't you want to watch it until the end?" she asked lightly as she walked behind Silas. "It looks like the storyteller is about to begin his tale."
Silas's steps stopped abruptly. He turned with an irritated expression. "What is it you want?"
"I want to be friends with you," Gianna replied casually.
"To what end?"
"My purpose?" Gianna gave a small smile. "I want to help you become a Great General."
"A General?!" Silas's voice rose, his eyes blazing. "You followed me here because of my father, didn't you?"
"Your father didn't order anything. He doesn't even know that you and I are here," Gianna said as she stepped closer. "If you are friends with me, you won't need to sneak out in shadows anymore."
Silas stared into Gianna's eyes for a long moment, as if trying to detect a trap behind her words. "I still don't want to be friends with you."
Gianna only smiled. "I will help you become a Duke Romanov greater than your father."
Those words were like an arrow striking its mark. The look in Silas's eyes changed — there was something there, between doubt and hope.
"How?" he asked slowly.
"The first step is to be friends with me." Gianna extended her hand again.
Silence enveloped them for a moment. The music from the night market had changed songs, oil lamps swaying. Silas finally raised his hand, hesitating, then accepted the offered hand.
"Gianna Clark."
"Silas Romanov."
Their small hands clasped — warm, firm, and full of promises yet unspoken.
****
Since that night, something changed within the Romanov family. It was not a great change that was immediately visible — but a small one, slow, like embers glowing beneath ash.
Gianna was no longer merely a guest in the fortress. She began sitting beside Silas every morning, reading books on war strategy, royal history, and noble law. Sometimes they argued, sometimes they listened to each other earnestly. In the training yard, they fought together, fell together, and rose together.
Until even the Romanov trainers began to say, "The Duke's child no longer trains alone."
Season after season passed, and time moved unnoticed. The children grew together — not merely as friends, but as two souls sharpening one another.
Five years later.
Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows of the Romanov library. Dust drifted lightly in the air, gleaming like golden particles. There, Gianna and Silas sat side by side beneath the shadows of old bookshelves.
Stacks of books were piled on the table before them. Each time one book was closed, their discussion began.
"I still disagree with the southern army's tactics," Silas said as he crossed his arms. "They won because of cunning, not courage."
Gianna looked at him calmly. "Victory never asks for its origin, Silas. What is remembered is only who remains standing."
Silas snorted softly, but could not deny it. "You always speak like a sage."
"And you always fight like a child," Gianna replied lightly.
There was a brief silence — before the two of them laughed softly, a laughter that appeared only between those who truly understood each other.
Besides studying and reading, they also rode horses together in the fields behind the fortress, trained with swords under the guidance of the finest instructors, and sometimes… simply sat together beneath a great oak tree, enjoying time without words.
Days like those passed quickly. Until one autumn night, in the Romanov family dining hall, Gianna sat with the family as if she were one of their own.
Candles on the dining table glowed softly. The air carried the aroma of roasted meat and spices. As the dinner atmosphere settled, a servant arrived carrying a sealed letter — a royal invitation.
Duke Romanov opened the letter slowly, reading it in silence. After a moment, he placed it on the table.
"The kingdom will be holding a charity event at the main cathedral," he said flatly, though his eyes reflected a hint of intrigue.
Gianna looked at the letter with a different gaze — not merely curiosity, but a deep desire, as if there were something behind the event that she had been waiting for.
"May I attend the event as well, Your Grace?" she asked carefully.
Silas, seated beside her, glanced briefly at her, then turned to his father. "Allow us to go, Father."
Duke Romanov looked at them in turn. His expression was hard to read — a mixture of pride and calculation. At last, he nodded slowly.
"You may go. We depart tomorrow. Prepare yourselves."
Gianna bowed in respect. But beneath the table, her hand sought Silas's — gripping it tightly. Silas looked at her gently, then returned the grip with equal strength.
Within that clasp lay gratitude, trust, and promises that had grown stronger with time.
To be continued~~~