Dance of Vines and the Blade

Across the dusty ground, Hoche stood still as a statue, his hands open and empty. She clutched a wooden sword in her sweaty palms, her shoulders tight with tension, breath shallow.

From the sidelines, Jack called out, voice breezy and light as ever, “Lotte, you know the drill. Start with your full strength.”

Her full strength—the blessing of the forest.

Charlotte turned to Jack. “But, you know that I still can’t control it properly. What if I hurt him—”

“Then all the more reason to practice. He can take it,” Jack cut in, folding his arms. “Besides . . . unless you go all in, he’ll pin you before you can blink.”

She winced, recalling how easily Hoche had bested her in the armory. There’s no running from this. I have to do it. She inhaled slowly and closed her eyes. The scent of grass, the rustling of castle trees, and the murmurs of nearby knights sharpened her focus.

Life magic pulsed beneath her feet. The air shifted as vines and flowers erupted from the earth, blooming around Charlotte like a living shield.

Hoche’s expression remained unchanged, but his eyes narrowed, observing the magic.

Jack stood with arms crossed, watching both of them from the sidelines. Nearby, a few knights glanced over, unable to hide their curiosity. He raised his voice. “This isn’t a spectacle, boys.” Embarrassed, they turned away.

She opened her eyes and locked them on Hoche.

“Begin!”

At Jack’s signal, Charlotte swished her arm. Vines burst from the ground, lashing toward Hoche’s legs with unerring speed and precision.

He let the vines wrap around him for a moment. With a swift twist of his body, he tore through them all. So easily . . . Charlotte’s teeth clenched. But she had expected that. She pressed more magic into the soil. One vine snagged his ankle. Another struck out for his arm. The vines pulled at his limbs, forcing his motion to falter.

Charlotte ran. She wasn’t trying to defeat him. All I need is one light touch of the blade. She knew she wasn’t born for battle. Jack had taught her to bend the rules, to be clever. To fight like a storm, not a blade.

Hoche tore the vine from his ankle and stepped back. She was ready for that, too. Before he could retreat too far, fresh vines shot from behind—this time targeting his knee. They coiled and pulled. His eyes widened as he stumbled back a step, then another, balance failing. One knee dropped to the earth.

Charlotte lunged, blade lifting. Her target was his open arm. Just one touch and—

As if seeing her clearly for the first time, he looked up and reached toward her. His arm moved with viper’s speed, ducking under her blade and snatching her wrist in one sharp motion.

“Ah—hey!” Her heart leapt. There was no pain, but the sudden pressure of his grip rooted her in place, her body going rigid.

Their eyes met. In the mirrored blue of his gaze, she saw her own face, clouded with raw unease. He held her for a heartbeat longer, then turned his focus to the vine still coiled tight around his other arm, muscles flexing as he strained to rip it free.

If he breaks it, he’ll capture me for real.

Before she could think, the magic answered her instinct. A thick wave of vines burst from the ground between them, forcing them apart.

Hoche released her wrist and sprang back, fluid and poised—a predator released from a snare. Even before the vines had finished collapsing, he was already moving again. 

She clenched her fist, digging deeper. It’s not enough. I have to give it more. The voice in her heart urged her on, frantic and insistent. Her arms moved with rising desperation as she poured magic into the ground, clinging to the hope that sheer force might hold him back.

Then—one vine snapped forward, wild and uncontrolled, whipping dangerously close to Hoche’s right eye.

She froze. The sudden violence of it—the near miss—startled her more than it did him.

Without a flicker of hesitation, Hoche charged.

She gasped, thrusting out a hand, ready to blast him with raw force—

—but stopped.

Instead, a wall of green magic surged upward, halting his approach. She stumbled back, buying time.

But he dodged the barrier, wove through the vines, and closed in. She fled—there was nothing else she could do.

Across the field, unnoticed by Charlotte, a ring of knights had begun to form. Some watched her retreating figure with visible concern; others stared daggers at Hoche, fingers inching with frustration.

From their midst, Marius scoffed. “It’s like watching a hound chase a rabbit.”

His voice carried just far enough for the nearest few to hear—and none of them disagreed. Jack stayed quiet, keeping his eyes on them and the field, which was gradually being covered with green.

Watching Hoche cornering her, Marius clicked his tongue. “Seriously, Commander. You’re pushing her too hard.”

“She needs this.”

“For what? You know she doesn’t have the heart or talent for combat. He’s too much for her to handle.”

Jack’s lips curved into a tired smile at her cousin’s brutally honest remark. But his eyes remained fixed on her.

“I know. But if she can learn to control it again, she won’t need to be a warrior. She should be the most powerful being in this kingdom. If only she would accept that . . .”

Charlotte, meanwhile, was running out of space. The arena felt smaller with every breath. Vines lashed out around her, trying to keep him back, but Hoche pressed forward, relentless.

She knew what to do. Make the vines thicker. More numerous. Stronger. But she couldn’t. She could awaken towering trees, make vegetables swell. But fine control—delicate, exacting restraint—was like grasping a tiny bead with a thick glove.

She had taken up the sword because of her mother, because she had admired that strong, regal queen who seemed unshakable. But reality was nothing like that dream. The poisonous thoughts crept in: Maybe I should just surrender. What’s the point of any of this?

Surrender would be easier—but a stubborn spark of pride refused to let her yield. Her face twisted, and the magic inside her began to swell—no longer obedient. Sparks of golden light cracked and flared from her hands, raw magic seeking escape.

Jack, watching from the sidelines, began to move forward—but then paused.

Charlotte’s expression had changed, from panic to something closer to surrender. The wooden sword slipped from her fingers with a sharp clack.

Hoche halted.

But Charlotte raised her head, steady now, her peridot eyes bright with grim resolve.

If I can’t fight him . . . I’ll capture him.

And then she stepped forward. And the earth trembled.

A thunderous BOOM erupted beneath her feet. Vines exploded outward, shattering the dirt. Petals whirled in the air.

Charlotte stretched out both hands—unarmed—and began condensing the air between herself and Hoche.

Vines surged—not toward him to strike, but encircling him like a thousand dancing serpents. They wove a dome of green, thick and unbreakable.

From inside, tendrils curled around Hoche’s arms, legs, and torso like chains. They didn’t harm him, but pinned him down and locked him in place with unyielding strength.

She had caught him.

Charlotte bent to retrieve her sword, breathing heavily. There was no joy on her face.

This will do. It’s all I have.

Bound by vines, Hoche lifted his gaze—not to her sword, but to her eyes.

And in his eyes, she saw no emotion. Instead, she saw a void. A chilling emptiness. He didn’t care if she would hurt him. He didn’t resist.

She knew those void eyes. She knew them all too well. And that terrified her, but she shook it off.

It doesn’t matter. Let’s just end this already.

Charlotte lifted her sword again, preparing to end the match.

But before she could take a step, the voices of knights rose from the sideline—bright, joyous, filled with praise, as though blessing her.

“Incredible, Princess Charlotte!”

“You’ve mastered the Green Magic again!”

“That stance and power. She’s becoming just like Queen Jeanne!”

Charlotte’s hands went still. “No,” she whispered, a word of denial too faint for anyone else to hear. “I’m not . . . I could never be . . . !”

Her inner turmoil swirled, and her magic wavered. The vines slackened, slightly at first, then all at once. The brilliant magic that had roared only moments ago dissolved in her hands.

“W-what, why—?!”

Gasps rose from the field. Marius covered his face. 

Jack muttered under his breath. “Ah . . . there it is.”

Hoche moved.

In one fluid motion, he flexed his body, tearing through the vines once again with brutal force. But it wasn’t just his strength she had to contend with—it was his speed.

Charlotte’s magic faltered completely. She saw him blur—circling her like a phantom, movements light but precise.

“Ack—wait—!” The panic broke her focus. Her eyes struggled to track him—he was too fast. Faster than before.

In a blink, he was behind her. Her wrist was pulled, and her leg swept out from under her.

She let out a surprised cry. Her sword clattered to the ground. The crowd gasped and fell silent.

Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for impact—

—but it never came.

She had been caught. Not by brute power, but by a far gentler, far more disarming force.

When she slowly opened her eyes, Hoche was there, closer than ever. His arm wrapped around her waist, steady and strong. His other hand held her wrist, like the final step of a waltz—poised, breathless, and inescapably close.

“. . . Are you all right, Your Highness?”

Those deep blue eyes locked with hers. Within his gaze, she could see a quiet concern for her. Or at least, that’s how it seemed to her.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she let herself relax in his grip. A confusing blend of defeat and a strange, fluttering warmth bloomed within her.

That marked the end of the match. “Good effort, both of you,” Jack called out.

Hoche gently helped her to her feet. The warmth of his hold lingered on her skin, grounding her in the present.

He bent, picked up her sword, and placed it back into her trembling hand.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Her words stopped him in his tracks. Before she could grasp why, he replied, “No thanks are necessary, Your Highness.” He stepped back with a bow. Without another word, he left the field. But her magic still clung to his limbs—vines adorned with flowers and leaves twined around his arms and legs.

From the sidelines, the knights flared up.

“Boo! Too fast!”

“No fair, Hoche!”

“Give the princess a chance!”

Marius sighed. “You lot . . .”

Jack chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, that’s one way to end it.” But he kept his eyes on Charlotte, who was still standing in the field, staring at her own hand as if gazing at the fading remnants of a spell.