She fell to the ground. "Your stance is unsteady, Your Majesty," Blancheless declared, one hand on her hip, sword tip resting against the stone floor. "And your sword technique isn't quite right. You rely too heavily on arm strength, which greatly reduces the effectiveness of your strikes."

  Claire Grace lowered her longsword, massaging her wrist. "Let me rest a moment, Blancheless."

  "That's the third break you've requested, Your Majesty," the maid sighed. "We've barely trained fifteen minutes."

  "You're relentlessly strict." The Queen used her sword as a prop to rise, brushing dust from her back and hips. "This leather armor's too heavy," she complained. "I might perform better without it."

  "Absolutely not," Blancheless refused instantly. "Unless you permit me to switch to a wooden sword, I cannot agree to that request."

  "We've been training nearly a month without a single injury. So..."

  "NO!"

  "...You seem to have forgotten who you're talking to."

  "I haven't forgotten. You are Her Majesty the Queen—and also my student. I forbid anything that might endanger my student."

  "...You possess remarkable assertiveness, Blancheless," Claire said with a faint smile. "Perhaps I should commission armor for you to charge across battlefields? I daresay you'd outshine many knights."

  "You flatter me excessively, Your Majesty," the maid's cheeks flushed. "I'm merely an ordinary lady-in-waiting, not a warrior."

  "If a kingdom's lady-in-waiting is teaching the queen how to use a sword and criticizing her, that kingdom's doomed."

  "Please don't jest, Your Majesty," Blancheless tapped her sword against the floor in displeasure. "Do you require further rest?"

  "No, I was simply indulging in habitual petulance. With Rhones," she clarified. "During my youth, he was my sparring companion. Whatever I requested, he invariably provided. Rhones accommodated my every whim, never uttering 'no,' let alone adopting such an imperious tone."

  "Why not ask him to practice with you now?" Blancheless asked, slightly annoyed.

  "If Rhones discovered my intention to personally lead our forces, he'd likely soil himself," Claire Grace said self-deprecatingly. "Our previous swordplay amounted to childish games, whereas now I require genuine combat training. Rhones cherishes and coddles me excessively; he'd never permit me near an actual blade. He seems to have forgotten we descend from the Argonians, the spectral remnants of Alaxia. Argonian women have always been renowned for their fierce courage and tempestuous nature. Perhaps time has diluted the Argonian blood flowing through Cynthian veins... Nevertheless, I must acknowledge that King Salt understood this aspect of me better than Rhones ever did. He bequeathed me that sword before departing, knowing I would eventually fight for our realm."

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  "I don't fully comprehend or presume to judge your relationships, but I believe King Salt truly loved you," the maid continued. "That runic longsword is exceptionally lightweight and slender—perfectly suited for a woman, particularly someone of your noble bearing."

  "Illutasingēr—a name that flows like music when spoken. He claimed that swearing upon that blade would ensure victory. Who can verify such things? The sword was gifted by a goddess who has meditated within Balithar Lake for years, so perhaps it truly possesses such power." Claire Grace raised her longsword. "Let's get back to it, teacher. We don't have time to waste talking."

  "If the sword proves too heavy, a wooden alternative remains available."

  "I said it's fine. I'm attacking, Blancheless."

  The maid raised her sword above her head in an ox-guard stance. The Queen likewise elevated her blade. Claire stepped forward with her right foot, delivering a horizontal slash toward Blancheless, who nimbly sidestepped the attack. The Queen raised her sword again, eyes fixed on the maid's hands. "Footwork," the instructor reminded her. "Observe my feet, not merely my hands."

  Claire Grace launched two more attacks, both easily evaded. She held her sword aloft, slowly alternating her steps. (She's creating distance,) Claire thought, breathing heavily. (She's retreating, subtly but definitely. I must pursue.) The Queen advanced with her right foot, swinging toward Blancheless's right side—her apparent retreat direction. Unexpectedly, Blancheless countered faster than Claire anticipated. Using her right elbow as a shield, she charged forward, toppling the unbalanced Queen.

  "Why body-check me?" Claire asked, bewildered.

  "Your intentions were transparently obvious." The maid extended her hand to help Claire rise. "Battlefields have no rules, Your Majesty. Enemies won't engage you in honorable combat. Besides, I violated no dueling protocols. Every body part serves as a potential weapon; the key is disrupting your opponent's equilibrium." She retrieved the longsword and returned it to the Queen. "Most adversaries you face will be men, physically stronger and more capable. That's precisely why I discourage direct confrontation. Once grounded, their physical advantages melt like ice beneath summer sun. Leverage your agility. While hand techniques matter greatly, footwork remains equally crucial."

  "I understand. Again." She raised her sword. "Don't consistently employ the ox-guard. Sustained elevation drains stamina, especially for women with lesser physical strength." The instructor lowered her sword to chest level. "Try the plow stance."

  Claire Grace positioned her sword vertically before her chest. "Here I come."

  Blancheless began sidling leftward.

  (I can do this.) With steely determination, she charged forward.

  She fell to the ground, lighter than dust. Holar Peter Wilton stood atop the corpse, wrenching his axe free.

  The infant wailed, occasionally gnawing her tiny fingers.

  "What have you done?" Fendi Firshield stared in horror at Caroline Tobias's still-warm body, overcome with vertigo. He rose, summoning all his strength to seize Wilton's collar. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"

  "Killed someone."

  Jim Harad's mouth opened and closed, nearly convulsing. Walin Barklo Vaslov leaned heavily against Wyrm Ember for support. "This was completely unnecessary!"

  "Trust me, boy."

  "You didn't have to kill her! We could have gone back to Crivi like we planned! Gods! Even Oris wouldn't kill someone like that!"