The Princess and the Blade

Charlotte thought with a huff.

She had cast off her formal dress in favor of lighter clothes—a cream-colored blouse adorned with a ribbon, paired with a brown corset that cinched her waist, and trousers in a pickle green hue, complemented by low-heeled shoes. 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.

Today's lessons had been canceled at the last minute, gifting her a rare sliver of free time. She was supposed to work on her poetry assignment, some drivel about the joys of spring. But the idea of sitting in silence with a quill in her hand felt like pure torture.

It’s far too beautiful a day for that, she thought, slipping through a side hall. I’d much rather be outside, moving, feeling alive—than be cooped up writing about flowers in my head.

Nina had worked with the maids at this time around. Charlotte entrusted her with a message and made a beeline for the knights' training grounds on her own, hoping to find the Knight Commander Jack to receive training in magic and swordsmanship.

But first, Charlotte 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 armory was silent, lit only by slanting beams of afternoon sun spilling through the top windows. The place was cluttered with rarely used weapons, stacked haphazardly. Dust motes danced like tiny faeries in the golden light, and the air smelled dry of metal and oil.

“Ugh… someone should clean up this place…” Charlotte 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 something that wasn’t comically oversized.

And then—

A hand clamped around her arm.

“Ah—!”

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

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 and cold as a winter blade—and dangerously close.

Panic flared in her chest. She didn’t know this knight. His grip was iron-tight, his hand rough and calloused. The frigid stone wall seeped through her blouse, chilling her to the bone.

She hadn't heard a thing before he appeared. No footsteps. No presence, not a breath. 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 to avoid injury, the metal still glinted menacingly in the dim light.

...Was this a test? Some twisted knightly trial? Or had she just wandered into something far more dangerous?

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

“Who—what?!” Charlotte stammered, struggling to find words she should be 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 sharply against the stone walls.

“…Princess?” he repeated, more to himself than her. His grip slackened, surprise and confusion breaking the impassive mask on his face—But he still didn’t let her go.

At that moment, the armory 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 followed.

Then Marius burst into laughter, doubling over.

Philippe, pale as a sheet, grabbed his head in horror.

“Hoche, what the hell are you doing?! That’s the princess! OUR PRINCESS!!”

The knight—Hoche—shifted his gaze from Charlotte’s furious face to the laughing senior knight and the stunned young squire.

And realization hit like a punch to the gut.

He immediately released her arm and dropped to one knee, bowing so low like he were 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."

Still kneeling, he slowly raised his head.

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

Tanned skin, dark hair, and piercing blue eyes. A faint scar ran across his right eyebrow, half-hidden by tousled bangs, and just beneath that eye, a small beauty mark—a strangely delicate contrast to his severe features.

"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 that he was of common birth. In this kingdom, the knight's attire was not something easily acquired; it suggested that he had at least passed the entrance examination to join the ranks. 

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 the one Captain 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. Those deep blue eyes betrayed no emotion—not fear, not anger, not even regret. They were simply, unsettlingly, calm.

He looked ready to erase her from existence just moments ago—and now, with the same unshakable calm, he was offering up his life as recompense.

Yet, there was no trace of jest in his voice, no flicker of doubt in his expression. He meant every word.

“I…I’m not that mad, Hoche,” she said, still 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 truly expected to be beheaded right there in this cluttered armory.

Charlotte found herself at a loss for words. His formal, almost ancient way of behaving made him seem like a knight straight out of a storybook or a dusty history tome.

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

"Ohh, that’s what Captain Jack said," Marius was still 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, utterly still, listening without so much as lifting his head.

As if waiting for the following command.