Damian was, in no small part, amused by how similar his chambers were to the rooms that had served as a plush holding cell for him just hours before. Really, the only notable differences were the lack of bars on the windows and the locking mechanism being on the inside of the door. A squirrely man named Mikhail showed him to his room and then showed him how to find his way to the feast hall, the kitchens, and where he could ask the castle servants to help with his laundry or bring anything he needed to his room.

  It was a little overwhelming.

  By the time they circled back to his chambers, Mikhail exclaimed as they walked in, stepping directly to the bed and lifting a set of clothes that had been laid out on it. A long linen shirt, a padded wool jacket, a brown fur-lined overcoat in vibrant blue wool, and a fur cloak with a fluffy collar. The man gave an appraising nod and turned to Damian on his heel.

  “You will wear this tomorrow when you return to her highness’s side,” he said, leaving no room for argument. “We will expand your wardrobe further after we’ve given the [Tailor] more time to adjust outfits. This should fit well—our [Tailor] is fantastic.”

  Damian was a little taken aback. On one hand, he was thankful they cared enough to make an outfit for him. On the other, it looked like... a lot. He was plenty happy in his plain clothes, but if he was going to be around the princess, it seemed they wanted him to look the part.

  “Thank you,” Damian said quickly, rubbing the fabric between his finger and thumb. It was delicately soft while still feeling sturdy.

  “Now, we should speak on your manners, Yeoman,” Mikhail said, grabbing Damian by the shoulders and guiding him to the center of the room.

  Damian frowned, standing there awkwardly as Mikhail circled him, looking him up and down. It was weird to be scrutinized so deeply. It made him feel naked and strange. The man passed in front of his vision again, and Damian saw he’d produced a wooden switch from somewhere, tucking it under one arm as he rubbed his chin with the other hand.

  “The King and Queen will always be addressed as your majesty, and the princess as your highness. For all other nobility, my Lord or my Lady will suffice. Knights should always be referred to as Sir or Dame. And you should never initiate conversation with a lord unless you have an existing relationship with them.”

  “Er... can we do this tomorrow?” Damian asked. “I’m a bit tired.”

  “No!” Mikhail said fervently. “Listen well—I’m trying to keep you from ending up challenged to a duel.”

  That was a thing that could happen?

  “Stand straight, keep your hands visible and never on your hips, do not fidget or scratch, and never keep your gaze upon their eyes or feet—try looking at a belt or clasp or pin.” Each command was punctuated by Mikhail poking him with the switch. Damian drew his shoulders back when he was told to stand straight and brought his hands together in front of him when instructed to keep them visible. The switch gently pushed his chin up when he was told not to look at feet.

  But that was just the start of it.

  “You should bow deeply to the royal family, and a short bow for all other nobility. Never bow while speaking, and hold the bow until you are acknowledged.” The switch tapped Damian’s back. “Show me.”

  Damian’s heart beat harder even though he wasn’t really in any trouble. The extra scrutiny and deluge of commands and rules were triggering his anxiety. He did as he was commanded and bowed at the waist.

  Mikhail clicked his tongue. “That’s actually... good. When it comes to speaking to nobility, never speak unless spoken to. Keep your answers short, keep your opinions to yourself, and for the love of the sun and moon, never attempt a joke. Our King and the Princess may be exceptions, and I understand you’ve already had personal interactions with them, but it’s still important they maintain a certain public image. Do you understand?”

  It felt like the man was sucking the moisture out of Damian’s mouth, but he nodded.

  “Oh, dining. Eh, that’s less important,” Mikhail said with a shrug. “One last list of absolutely important things. Do not lie—many [Lords] have skills to sniff that out. Never brag or boast, do not stare at jewels or weapons, never raise your voice, never refuse a gift, and do not sit unless indicated you should.”

  “So... pretend I don’t exist?” Damian summarized.

  “Yes!” Mikhail said, beaming. “When in doubt, do nothing. You’ll be fine. You carry the favor of the King and Princess.”

  “Right,” Damian said, not as assured as Mikhail seemed to think he should be.

  “Now, I’ll have dinner brought to your chambers. Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Bekham?” Mikhail asked.

  “Yes. Please call me Damian.”

  Mikhail flashed a brilliant smile. In fact, Damian was pretty sure it was a [Stunning Smile]. “As you wish, Damian.”

  He gave Damian a short bow, which Damian thought was quite a show of respect given he’d just explained it was meant for nobility, and walked for the door. Just as he was about to step through, he paused and turned back. “Also, try not to wander the castle after dark. Unless you’ve got a specific purpose.”

  Damian nodded, and then the door clicked shut. He deflated with a long breath and let his posture slip into a slump again. That was a lot to take in. Was spending time around nobles really so dangerous? It sounded awful.

  He carefully moved his new outfit to one of the chairs to reclaim his bed and then checked his bag of holding. It would’ve surprised him if they’d taken anything, but he still checked out of habit. Everything was in place.

  Dinner was a hearty stew, and Damian spent an hour practicing his writing after he was done eating before crawling into bed. Sleep came easy. Right before he fully passed into the gentle embrace of the land of dreams, the voice of the Great Game visited him.

  >Class [The Chosen One’s Squire] Level 17 Obtained!

  >Skill [Flicker Dodge] Obtained!

  >Do you accept?

  [Flicker Dodge]? That was a relatively common combat skill. Why was he getting that? Maybe because of Sir Kurakin, or the princess threatening to punch his lights out. Either way, Damian had heard only good things about the skill, so he accepted.

  He woke to a knocking on his door. Damian blearily crawled out of bed and opened it to reveal a smiling Mikhail. It only made him more certain the man had a [Stunning Smile]. “Good morning, Damian! I’m here to prepare you for your day with the princess. Let’s get you dressed.”

  “I don’t need help getting dressed,” he muttered.

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  Mikhail disagreed. As it turned out, the clothes fit Damian like a second skin, and getting into them was the easy part. Then the thin man with perfect teeth fretted over him for ten minutes, straightening things and removing invisible specks of dust. At first Damian glowered and swatted at him, but after the third minute he resigned himself to just let it happen.

  Eventually, by some metric unknown to Damian, he was deemed “good enough,” and Mikhail stepped back to admire his work. “You look like a proper [Gentleman] now. [Attendant’s Set].”

  Damian felt the skill settle over his clothes, and he looked down at them with a frown. Mikhail waved him to follow. “That skill will help keep your clothes stain-free and in place for the day. The King has decided you are to attend the princess for the time being. She will have formal lessons, fencing and animal care, a refresher on Solgorod’s geopolitical interests, receiving suitors, then arts and accomplishments, some personal time, and finally a family dinner.”

  The entire list was delivered without a single pause or moment of hesitation, and Damian’s head swam. That was all supposed to fit in one day? And why was she receiving suitors? There was a god coming to kill her. And she was supposed to be entertaining marriage proposals?

  “What, um... what exactly am I supposed to do?” Damian asked cautiously.

  Mikhail paused, giving him a look that might have been pity. “Why, attend her, of course. Come now, or we’re going to be late.”

  They arrived at Kat’s room, and Mikhail knocked on the door, only to have it immediately opened by a young woman who was notably not Kat. As they walked in, Damian realized she wasn’t the only one there—Kat sat in a chair in the middle of the room while a small army of [Maids] moved around her. Damian watched in a bit of awe as they brushed her hair, powdered her face, trimmed her nails, and tried various rings, bracelets, and other pieces of jewelry against her outfit. All at once. No doubt several skills were being used simultaneously.

  Mikhail brought Damian around the room in a wide arc to avoid getting in anyone’s way and to bring him into Kat’s eyeline. She was looking into a mirror as one of her attendants compared two different fur scarves around her neck. Damian thought the chestnut one looked better, and she seemed to agree. Then her eyes flicked to Damian and she snorted.

  Her attendants all paused, and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand, blushing. “You clean up well, Damian.”

  “My thanks, your grace,” Damian said.

  Mikhail smacked his back with his wooden switch, and Damian startled before bowing low at the waist. Kat chuckled. “Please, stand.”

  “It’s good practice,” Mikhail muttered as Damian stood, rubbing at his back. “And a better response would’ve been, you honor me, your grace.”

  “Noted,” Damian grumbled. Then he fixed his expression into something more pleasant when Mikhail raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Tell me, Damian,” Kat addressed him, “do you get bored easily?”

  Damian had spent the last three weeks trudging through the countryside to get here. He’d had a lot of practice not being bored. “Not really, K—your grace.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Kat said with a smile. “I’m afraid you might be terribly bored today. Okay, ladies, I appreciate everything, but my [Tutors] are waiting. Let’s wrap it up. We can touch up before the suitors.”

  The women attending her all stepped back after a few final touches and bowed. Kat stood, nodded once at them, and then curled a hand daintily in Damian’s direction. “Come, [Squire].”

  Damian followed as she practically flowed from the room. Mikhail followed them out but turned in the opposite direction once they were in the hall. He spoke to Damian in a low voice before walking off briskly. “Good luck.”

  That was ominous—not made better when a pair of [Knights] appeared out of nowhere to trail the princess, nearly giving Damian a heart attack. It was a short walk to the... room they were headed to. Down a floor and a few hallways. If there was a better word to describe it, Damian wasn’t sure what it would be. It had bookshelves, instruments, desks, and even a large slate board that must’ve cost a fortune. A study, maybe? Or a special lounge?

  Two men and a woman were waiting in the room, all three of whom bowed. Damian wasn’t sure what to do, so he ended up just standing off to the side. Quickly, he realized why Kat had asked if he got bored. They started with language lessons, and Damian didn’t recognize a lick of it. He thought they might be doing more than one language, but he couldn’t be sure.

  Then she moved on to the history of her house and the houses of her country. It was interesting to listen in on, but Damian wasn’t about to interrupt to ask questions, so he could only pick up what she was being taught. From what he gathered, the Solgorod family had a long history of royalty very in touch with their people. The King and Queen toured outer villages every other month, staggered so it was once a month for the villages.

  As Damian was personally privy to, once a week the King dedicated half his day to seeing to the problems of the people. The crown also subsidized the Wolf Knights, contingent on them keeping villages protected from the various monsters in the harsh region, and a lot of the political power of the noble houses depended on their support of the Wolf Knights. It sounded to Damian like they’d somehow managed to keep good people in charge for at least a dozen generations, which was... distinctly not the case in the countries he’d passed through.

  While she learned, [Maids] hovered in and out of the room with tea and snacks, and at one point one sat behind her and started brushing her hair while she was studying. In short, she was waited on hand and foot. Damian tried not to judge but couldn’t help feeling slightly perturbed when he saw one of the [Maids] put the end of a scone into Kat’s mouth for her. It just felt a little disturbing.

  Formal lessons also covered calligraphy, and that ate up the second half of what Damian guessed was about two hours. It was the woman instructor who stopped the lesson, flicking her fingers and summoning a small magical light that flashed rapidly. Damian had seen magic spells that told time before, and he was sure this was some version of that.

  Kat finished her page of writing, and then off they went for fencing and animal care. In hindsight, Damian should’ve expected what “animal care” meant, but he was still caught off guard when they entered a courtyard and a giant white dire wolf bounded up to Kat and began aggressively nuzzling her face and shoulders. Its tongue was large enough to swipe most of her face in one go, and Damian was astounded to see her makeup stay firmly in place, unsmeared by wolf drool and persistent licking.

  A sharp whistle called the wolf back, and a tall, thin man in a padded leather outfit snapped and pointed at the ground, causing the wolf to immediately sit. He frowned at Kat. “You shouldn’t let him assault you as such, your grace. It teaches poor manners.”

  “Oh no,” Kat replied in mock horror, holding the back of her hand to her mouth. “A wolf with poor manners? Whatever shall we do?”

  Without thinking Damian snorted. It drew looks from both the knights standing nearby, the [Beastmaster], and Kat. Only Kat smiled at him, and Damian blushed.

  “Damian, this is Severin,” Kat said, holding a hand out to the wolf. “Severin, come.”

  The wolf stood and padded over to her. She snapped and pointed at the ground, and he dutifully sat. Kat glanced back at Damian with a mischievous grin. “Damian, come.”

  Damian hesitated a moment, not appreciating the comparison, but relented and walked to her side. Or at least, two steps from her side, as the wolf was significantly scary, tame as he seemed. Kat took his hand and pulled him closer, bringing his palm up to the wolf’s nose. Severin leaned down slightly and sniffed Damian’s fingers before his large pink tongue curled out and licked him. The tongue was warm, wet, and rough-textured.

  “He’s a beautiful animal,” Damian said, leaning forward slightly to pet his snout.

  The princess nodded in agreement. “No more regal an animal could you hope to find. None more loyal either.”

  “I believe you,” Damian said. Then he hastily added, “your grace.”

  Kat laughed a very un-princess-like laugh and shoved Damian’s shoulder. He staggered slightly and huffed in annoyance. He really didn’t like that almost anyone could push him around—literally. One of the many curses of his small stature.

  “Now stay back. I’m going to be giving him combat commands, so best not be in the way.”

  Damian thought watching a dire wolf do combat training would be much more interesting than history lessons, but no sooner had he walked back to the edge of the courtyard than a shadow detached itself from one of the eaves. It was the second time Damian had seen Sir Kurakin appear out of seemingly nowhere, and he decided then and there the knight definitely had some sort of skill for it. Sir Kurakin headed directly to Damian and looked down at him with stern eyes.

  He wasn’t nobility, so Damian held his gaze.

  “His majesty has asked me to use this time to train you in swordsmanship,” the man said in a flat voice. “Have you ever used a sword before?”

  Damian blinked in surprise. King Morozov wanted him to learn how to use a sword? That... wasn’t so surprising when he thought about it. If he was supposed to protect the princess, then it made sense for him to have combat training. He’d never really considered it before—he just wasn’t the right build for fighting. Or at least, not the build most people would say made a good fighter.

  That had been Finn, or Konrad. Not him. But they were dead, and he was not.

  “No, sir,” Damian answered.

  Sir Kurakin nodded. “Then we will begin with fundamentals.”