The Princess and the Blade

After she finished it off with a spoonful of caramel, a knock at the door preceded Nina’s entrance.

“Your Highness, Lady Eleonora has sent word that today’s lesson is canceled. She’s accompanying Lord Alfonso to their estate.”

Eleonora, Charlotte’s aunt by marriage—her maternal uncle Alfonso’s wife—was her teacher in embroidery and poetry. Charlotte held her kind aunt in warm regard, but she could never bring herself to feel the same affection for the work of embroidery or the crafting of verse.

“Really?” Charlotte’s eyes, despite herself, sparkled with delight. “Then I’ll go see Jack. I want him to train me in swordplay and magic.”

“What about the poetry assignment Lady Eleonora gave you?” Nina asked. “You’ve been struggling with it for a while.”

“It’s fine,” Charlotte replied airily. “Moving my body always sparks better ideas, don’t you think? Besides, I need to practice my magic properly.”

“Very well,” Nina said. “I have a meeting with the maids during that time, so I won’t be able to join you. Would you like me to arrange for a maid to accompany you?”

“No need,” Charlotte said with a playful laugh. “What could possibly happen inside the castle?”

She shed her formal gown for lighter attire—a cream-colored blouse tied with a ribbon, a brown corset cinching her waist, pickle-green trousers, and low-heeled shoes that allowed ease of movement.

Once ready, Charlotte parted ways with Nina and made her way toward the knights’ quarters. The ornate, gleaming corridors of the castle gave way to a sturdy stone building, its appearance plain and practical, stripped of color or embellishment. Yet sunlight poured through the windows, bathing the halls in a warm glow. Potted flowers lined the way, adding bursts of life to the austere setting.

Her red bow and braid bounced with each lively step as she made her way down the castle’s stone corridors, her footsteps light and eager. It’s far too beautiful a day for embroidery or poetry, she thought, slipping through a side hall. I’d much rather be outside, moving, and feeling alive than be cooped up writing about flowers in my head.

First, she made her way toward the armory to find a practice sword—unaware that someone was watching her from the shadows of the corridor.

When she arrived, the secondary armory was silent, lit only by slanting beams of afternoon sun spilling through the top windows. The place was cluttered with unused weapons stacked haphazardly, and the air smelled dry of metal and oil.

“Ugh! Someone should clean up this place,” she muttered under her breath, weaving between weapon racks and supply crates. “Now, where were those practice swords again?” She rummaged through piles of training gear, pushing aside wooden shields and battered gauntlets, hoping to find the practice sword that wasn’t comically oversized.

And then—a hand clamped around her arm.

Before she could even gasp, she was yanked backward, her back slamming into the frigid stone wall.

“Ah—!”

Her heart caught in her throat. Dizzy, she looked up—and froze.

Sharp, deep-blue eyes locked onto hers. A young man, clad in the uniform of the royal knights, loomed over her. His expression was unreadable, cold as a winter blade—and dangerously close.

Panic flared in her chest. She hadn’t heard a thing before he appeared. It was as if he had melted out of the very shadows.

Worse still, he brought a training sword close to her throat. Though dulled and blunted, the metal glinted menacingly in the dim light.

Is this a test? Some twisted knightly trial? Or have I just wandered into something far more dangerous?

“Who are you?” he asked, voice sharp like steel.

“Who—what?!”Charlotte stammered, struggling to find words. She should be the one demanding, not him.

Her hesitation only seemed to harden his suspicions. He narrowed his eyes, pushing the blade closer. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make her heart hammer against her ribs.

“Answer me,” he said. “Or—”

A squeak escaped her lips. With no other choice, she gathered herself, lifted her chin, and declared—

“I—I am the princess of this kingdom!”

Her voice echoed against the stone walls.

“. . . Princess?” he repeated, more to himself than her. His grip slackened, and he pulled back his sword. Surprise and confusion broke the impassive mask on his face, but he still didn’t let her go.

At that moment, the armory’s half-closed door swung open.

“Oi, someone in here?” Marius and Philippe, two young knights, stepped in—and froze at the sight before them.

A heavy silence settled over the room.

“Sir, I caught a suspicious intruder in the armory,” the mysterious knight reported, although his voice lacked sharpness.

Then Marius burst into laughter, doubling over. Philippe, pale as a sheet, grabbed his head in horror. “Hoche, what the hell are you saying? That’s the princess! OUR PRINCESS!”

The knight—Hoche—shifted his gaze from the laughing senior knight and the stunned young squire to Charlotte’s disheveled yet fuming form.

After a heartbeat, he immediately released her arm and dropped to one knee, bowing so low like he was offering his neck for execution.

“My deepest apologies. I have committed an unforgivable offense.”

Charlotte stood there, blinking. Her wrist, though unhurt, tingled from where he had gripped her. And the icy wall at her back felt like it was still clinging to her skin. She shook off the shiver and glared at his hair whorl.

“Seriously! What kind of knight doesn’t recognize his own princess?”

Between hiccups of laughter, Marius wheezed, “Dunno, Your Highness . . . maybe a careful one?” His own joke sent him into another fit of laughter.

“That’s not funny!” Charlotte snapped, but he clearly wasn’t listening.

Philippe gave him a side-eye. “Sir, I know you are Her Highness’s cousin, but shouldn’t you be more upset that she was just held at swordpoint?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Marius waved him off. “But c’mon! Our swashbuckling tomboy princess gets mistaken for a thief by the ridiculously earnest rookie knight . . . in her own castle . . . It’s just—”

As her cousin, childhood friend, and self-proclaimed big brother, he showed no mercy. Charlotte felt her face burning hotter.

“Enough already!” she yelled, even though she knew her voice carried no authority. Taking a breath to steady herself, she turned to the still-bowed knight.

“You—Hoche, was it? Look at me.”

Kneeling, he slowly raised his head.

And for the first time, Charlotte truly saw him. Her heart gave an unexpected, startled jump.

His features reminded her of the people of Bahharis, dwellers of the desert sands. He had brown skin and dark hair. But what drew her gaze most were his eyes like lapis lazuli—the indigo blue stone their people held most dear. She noticed a scar ran across his right eyebrow, half-hidden by tousled bangs, and beneath that eye was a small beauty mark—a strangely delicate contrast to his piercing eyes.

“I am Charlotte, Princess of Peridotia,” she said, summoning every scrap of royal dignity she had. “And you . . . You must be a new knight, correct?”

“Yes, Your Highness. My name is Hoche.”

Charlotte was usually good at remembering names and faces, but she had never heard his name—at least not anywhere in this kingdom. The absence of a family name or surname indicated he was of common birth. The knight’s attire was not easily acquired; it suggested that he had either graduated from the knight training academy, or—along with a recommendation from someone within the Order—had at least passed the entrance examination to join the ranks. That was all she could guess about this unknown knight.

She studied him, as though trying to read between the lines of his stiff voice and expressionless gaze, but she couldn’t grasp what emotions, if any, lay hidden beneath.

Philippe jumped in. “He’s that commander Jack brought back after the trip this time. Found him half-dead near the eastern forest.”

“The eastern forest?” Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

The eastern forest was the deepest and most rugged, its dense trees sheltering countless forest creatures. Few among the people of this country dared to venture near. Only one being dwelled there—the old witch, guardian of the forest.

Before Charlotte arranged her thoughts, Hoche placed his right hand on his chest, the place where his heart was.

“And once again, I deeply apologize for my actions. I am prepared to offer my life as atonement. Please—do as you see fit.”

“Y-your life?” Charlotte could only stare at him, wide-eyed in disbelief.

“I threatened a noble with a weapon and laid hands on her without permission. Such offenses cannot be overlooked.”

He said it with a flat tone that made her head spin. He looked ready to erase her from existence just moments ago—and now, with the same unshakable composure, he was offering up his life as recompense.

Yet, there was no trace of jest in his voice or expression. She knew he meant every word.

“I . . . I’m not that mad, Hoche,” she said, trying to wrap her head around his intense sense of honor. “It was a misunderstanding. I’m not hurt. And you didn’t mean any harm. So, no, I’m not going to punish you.”

“I am honored by your mercy, Your Highness.” Hoche bowed again, deeper this time, like he had expected to be beheaded right there in this cluttered armory.

Philippe shook his head. “Man, you really are too serious.”

“Oh, that’s what the commander said.” Marius was struggling to contain his chuckle. “‘The serious one’—now it all makes sense.”

Charlotte turned to him, scowling. “Marius! Are you still laughing?”

“I’m trying not to, Princess. I swear.” 

“You’re failing, dummy!”

Marius teased Charlotte again, and she retorted, starting their usual back-and-forth.

Philippe sighed, caught between staying silent and wanting to intervene.

Meanwhile, Hoche remained kneeling, listening without so much as lifting his head.