After passing through inspection, the carriage carrying the Romanov family and Gianna rolled slowly into the palace courtyard. Rows of lavish flowers lined the entrance path in neat order, their petals trembling softly as they were touched by a gentle, warm breeze.
Gianna took in every detail they passed — colors, shapes, even the faint scents carried on the air. Unbeknownst to her, Silas, seated across from her, watched in silence, as if trying to discern what occupied her thoughts.
The carriage came to a halt before the main hall. Silas stepped down first and extended his hand — a calm gesture, yet one filled with authority. Gianna accepted it, her steps light as she descended. The moment her feet touched the palace's marble floor, her gaze was drawn to the bustle around her: nobles arriving one by one, their gowns and cloaks adorned with their family crests.
As midday drifted toward afternoon, the air in the palace courtyard grew cool, and the tower shadows stretched long across the finely packed sand. Before the charity event to be held the following night, the nobles were invited to rest in the eastern wing — an area reserved for the great houses of the kingdom.
With light yet purposeful steps, Gianna walked alone through the palace corridors. The towering walls were lined with portraits of the royal family: proud faces set within gilded frames, eyes that seemed to scrutinize her every move. Her footsteps echoed softly against the marble floor.
Her steps halted when she reached an inner garden, hidden behind two massive pillars. She looked around — softly colored flowers blooming among green leaves, a small fountain flowing with a clear, gentle sound, and sunlight filtering through gaps in the glass walls, dancing across the grass.
Gianna let out a breath. After the long journey and corridors that seemed endless, she decided to rest for a moment. She removed her leather shoes, letting her bare feet touch the cool, soft grass. The sensation was calming, as if the earth itself were welcoming her.
In the distance, her eyes caught a small pavilion at the edge of the garden. She walked toward it, enjoying each step across the green expanse before stepping onto the cold white marble. In the gazebo, Gianna sat on one of the carved chairs, massaging her calves, which felt slightly stiff.
As she was about to close her eyes, the sound of metal scraping suddenly rang out — sharp, rhythmic, like two blades clashing against each other.
Gianna opened her eyes, her body immediately tensing. She looked around, but found no one. The sound came again, clearer this time.
With cautious steps, she stood and followed the source of the sound barefoot. Her feet felt wet again, but her curiosity was stronger than the cold of the grass.
Gianna's steps stopped as she passed a small bush at the back of the garden. Behind a stone wall partially covered in vines, she saw a boy — about her age — practicing with a sword.
His movements were fast and orderly, each swing accompanied by the sharp sound of metal cutting through the air. Sunlight filtering through gaps in the leaves reflected off his blade, making it gleam like a flame.
Gianna stood frozen. She was not merely impressed, but captivated by the precision and control in each of the boy's strikes. There was no hesitation, no wasted movement. Everything looked like a dance memorized even with eyes closed.
Her curiosity finally won. She stepped closer, her voice calm but loud enough to be heard.
"Do you want to duel with me?"
The boy immediately turned. Their eyes met — sharp and challenging, yet also filled with curiosity.
"Who are you?" his voice was low and steady.
Gianna smiled. She stepped a few paces closer, extending her hand confidently.
"My name is Gianna Clark."
The boy looked at Gianna's outstretched hand without answering. His gaze dropped to the sword he was still holding, then returned to Gianna's face, which met his without fear.
"Don't you want to introduce yourself to me?" Gianna asked.
"I don't want to duel with a girl," the boy replied flatly, then turned away, about to tidy his training equipment.
Gianna frowned. She glanced toward the wall and saw a training sword lying there. Without hesitation, she picked it up and pointed it at the boy.
"Do not underestimate a girl."
The boy turned slowly. His gaze changed — this time there was a hint of interest within its coldness.
"Why do you want to duel with me?" he finally asked.
Gianna lifted her chin slightly. "I admire your swordsmanship. It would be a waste if you only trained with that old armor." She glanced toward the dusty armor near the wall.
The boy fell silent for a moment, as if weighing her words, before finally raising his sword and taking his stance.
"Are you sure you can defeat me?"
Gianna grinned. "We'll see."
Their duel began without any signal.
The boy moved first — his steps heavy, his movements measured, like a trained young soldier. Each step of his boots made a soft sound against the sandy ground, while his blade curved sharply through the air.
Gianna parried deftly. Her movements were light, almost like a shadow. Each time their metal clashed, the ringing of steel echoed, cutting through the silent garden.
"TING!"
The sound was not merely the echo of children's play — but the true note of steel, cold and vibrating in the air.
Gianna stepped back one pace, letting her opponent's force flow past her body, then rotated her sword with a small, flexible motion. She did not oppose the strength; she channeled it.
The boy attacked again, this time with quick thrusts. Gianna evaded, each of her movements resembling water sliding between sharp stones. Her breathing was steady, her eyes alert, focused not on her opponent's sword — but on his shoulders, wrists, and every small change in his posture.
Their fight grew faster. The boy's breathing began to quicken, sweat beading at his temples, yet he kept pressing forward, driving Gianna back toward the edge of the small clearing.
Gianna felt the pressure. She knew the final attack was coming — a single strike filled with force to end everything.
When the sword came down from above, Gianna lowered her body slightly, rotated her wrist, then made a small feint downward. Her opponent's gaze shifted for a fraction of a second — enough for Gianna to raise her sword and strike the boy's wrist with the hilt.
"TAK!"
The strike was brief and precise. His sword slipped free, spun through the air, then fell with a heavy sound onto the ground.
Silence swallowed the garden.
The boy stood motionless, his chest rising and falling, his eyes wide.
Gianna lowered her sword slowly, her breathing also ragged — but a faint smile rested on her face. She stepped forward, not to boast, but to extend her hand.
"What is your name?" she asked gently.
The outstretched hand was finally accepted. "Julian."
Gianna gave a small nod. "It was a pleasure to duel with you."
A faint smile formed on Julian's face. "Thank you."
"How did you find this place?" Gianna asked as she looked around, her breathing beginning to calm. "Are nobles allowed to bring swords into the palace? Or did you borrow one? Are we actually allowed to borrow it?"
Her words flowed rapidly, without pause, like a river that had just found its mouth.
Julian, who had just retrieved his sword from the ground, paused for a moment, then looked at Gianna with an expression that was half confused, half amused.
"You're surprisingly talkative," he said, his deep voice unable to hide a hint of amusement.
Those words made Gianna glare at him. "What do you mean?" she said, her tone rising slightly. She even raised her sword again, as if a new challenge had just begun.
Julian quickly raised both hands, stepping back, his eyes widening. "I–I didn't mean anything," he said quickly. "Your swordplay is truly impressive. I thought you were the quiet type, but I was wrong."
Gianna snorted softly, then lowered her sword. "I am a quiet girl," she replied flatly.
Julian raised an eyebrow, holding back a laugh. "Really?"
Gianna did not answer. She merely glared at him with an annoyed expression, then walked toward the wall and placed the sword back in its original place.
"TENG."
A few seconds later, another sound was heard — this time from afar. The palace bells tolled, deep and layered with echoes.
Gianna turned quickly. "What sound is that?" she asked, slightly panicked.
"It's time for the dinner banquet," Julian answered as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"Really?" Gianna exclaimed. Without a second thought, she lifted her dress slightly, ready to run.
Julian stared at her, his eyes widening. "You're not wearing shoes?"
"Ah…" Gianna looked at her dirty feet. "I left my shoes at the pavilion!" she said quickly as she ran toward the garden.
Julian could not hold back a small smile, then unconsciously ran after her.
****
Upon reaching the pavilion, Gianna immediately bent down, searching around the chairs and the grass.
"Please help me find my shoes," she said, lifting the hem of her dress so it would not get dirtier.
"Are you sure you left them here?" Julian asked, carefully looking around.
"Of course…" Gianna sounded panicked. "I'm sure I put them here."
Julian saw her anxious expression, and without much thought, he removed his own shoes. "Do you want to wear mine?" he offered calmly.
Gianna looked at his shoes — slightly too big, but clean. "If I wear them, what about you?"
Julian guided Gianna to sit on the chair.
"You don't need to think about me," Julian replied as he knelt in front of her. "A noble lady like you should not be barefoot inside the palace."
Gianna fell silent. She let Julian gently lift her foot as he put his shoes on her. The gentle touch left Gianna frozen for a few seconds — whether from awkwardness, or from a strange feeling she could not yet explain.
"What about you?" Gianna asked softly, her voice gentler than before.
Julian gave a faint smile without looking at her. "You don't need to think about me."
And just as he finished putting the shoes on Gianna's feet, a deep voice very familiar to Gianna cut through the air between them.
"Gianna."
Duke Romanov's voice echoed at the edge of the garden — firm, cold, yet heavy with meaning. His eyes stared sharply toward them: the sight of a young boy kneeling before a girl who now stood stiff with her head lowered, while the light of the setting sun filtered through the leaves, illuminating the two young figures like a scene that should not have been witnessed by anyone.
To be continued~~~