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As she stretched and yawned in her soft, warm bed, Princess Odette of Lyria and Rivia reflected there were many advantages to being the second-born. It had been only by a matter of minutes, in her case, but the short interval after which she had followed her older sister Sybella into the world had been sufficient to seal her fate. Far from resenting her sister’s claim to crown and throne, she was extremely content to enjoy the privileges of not being a future queen – which on this fine spring morning, meant lying in bed well past sun-up, whilst the crown princess had been required to wake at a far less civil hour, to accompany their mother to a meeting with the local barons. Fortunately, Syb had a boundless enthusiasm for politics and governance which suited her well to her role – though Odette was not looking forward to hearing her recount of the event on her return, which would likely be in far, far greater detail than she cared to hear.
She heard a knock at her door. “Yes?”
Her father entered her room and raised an eyebrow. “Still not up at this hour, Odette?”
She shrugged against her pillows. “I was late to bed last night.”
“Doing what, might I ask? Wait –” he sighed. “Perhaps it’s better I don’t know.”
Given she had spent some hours prowling the battlements and scaling a tower or two to practice the lessons in stealth and climbing taught to her by her Uncle Gascon, Odette thought blissful ignorance probably was the wisest course of action on his part. “Nothing too dreadful, I promise, Father, dear,” she said, getting up at last and throwing her arms around him.
He chuckled and kissed the top of her head, and Odette thanked every god there was that he was well, that he was still here to hold her tight. She and Syb had always been close to their father and loved him dearly, and she’d never been so afraid as she had been when they almost lost him a few months ago. He seemed as well as ever now, marching around with his usual powerful stride, and wielding his sword almost with his old strength when he was teaching Odette in the practice yard. But she would not soon forget the awful look on her mother’s face, or Syb’s painfully tight grip on her arm, as they waited and prayed that he would not be taken from them.
“Now, if you’re done being a lady of leisure for th’ morning, I wonder if you’re keen for some sparring practice.”
She grinned. “Always, Father.”
“Very good. I’ll see you down in the yard when you’re ready, then.”
There was a sense of barely contained enthusiasm in his smile, even more so than he usually mustered for her training, and Odette’s curiosity was piqued. So she dressed as quickly as she could, still lacing her quilted vest as she ran down the stairs.
It might go without saying that Queen Meve of Lyria and Rivia would not suffer to see her daughters unable to defend themselves with a blade, and hardly less so the Prince Consort, so as soon as they had been old enough to hold a wooden practice sword, both girls had been thoroughly drilled in armed combat. Sybella had undertaken it with the diligence she applied to any subject, and had attained a level of skill that would not see her helpless against most assailants; Odette, however, had inherited the lion’s share of her parents’ talent and passion for swordplay and was quickly becoming one of the most promising young warriors in the castle. Her mother had not hesitated to give her blessing for Odette to undertake a knight’s training, and under her father’s proud guidance, she was well on her way to earning her spurs. When she bounded into the practice yard, she found him waiting for her, conversing with someone in armour she did not recognise, their face already obscured by their helm.
“Ah, Odette – we have a newcomer here I’d like you to test. We’re ready just as soon as you get your armour on.”
She bit back a groan. “Fighting in full armour? In this heat?”
Her father gave her a look. “D’you think you can forgo fighting because of th’ weather when you’re at war? Leave your armour off in th’ summer, and hope th’ enemy kindly avoids aiming at your vital organs?”
“Must I wear my helm, though?” It would be stifling to have her head encased in metal on a day like today, and even if it had been the depths of winter, she hated how it blocked her view.
“Yes.”
“Mother never wears hers,” she grumbled.
Reynard gave a long sigh. “I can’t command your mother to wear her helm, as much as I would wish to. But you are both my daughter and a squire under my supervision, so you will do as you are told.”
And she knew well there was no point in arguing with that. Besides, the stranger had theirs on, visor down and all, yet made no complaint of the heat – and she would not act the baby in front of them, whoever they might be. So without further protest, she donned her plate and stepped into the ring.
It had always been Reynard’s custom to test the squires and new recruits himself to gauge their skill, but since his recent illness and subsequent recovery had prevented him from doing so – at least for now – he’d allowed Odette to take over the responsibility, under his watchful eye, so she might test her abilities against a wider variety of opponents. She had been pleased that he entrusted this task to her, that he thought her sufficiently skilled to take the measure of her fellow squires and newly made knights; even greater, however, was the thrill of testing herself against so many opponents and, more often than not, thrashing them soundly. She’d never been in finer form and, despite her complaints about her armour and the weather, there was not a doubt in her mind that she would prove herself the superior warrior once more.
Odette gently swung her sword in a few circles, loosening up her shoulders as she sized up her adversary through the narrow view from her helm. They had half a head on her, and were a little broader in the shoulder too, though she was certainly used to fighting opponents larger than her. Not that she was small, by any means – at sixteen, she had her parents’ height, and she was proud of the muscle she’d developed from her hours of training, practice with blades and riding. The stranger’s armour was plain and not flashy, but looked to be of decent quality and in excellent condition, and they held their sword as though it were an extension of their arm, with a grip that was neither too tense nor too slack. Though she couldn’t see her opponent’s eyes, she sensed from the angle of their head that she was being evaluated just as thoroughly. Well, no point delaying further; she could already feel beads of sweat forming on her brow. She assumed her ready stance, and her opponent did the same.
Once Reynard gave the signal, they began. Odette held back from the rapid series of blows she would normally open a fight with, wanting to see how her challenger would react. She felt a shock echo through her as she parried their first blow; they were strong, and not only that – they were not holding back, either. So many of her rivals did, doubtless because she was a girl, and a princess to boot, only to quickly realise their mistake. But clearly, this mysterious swordsman had no such qualms. She shifted her weight forwards, no longer intending to restrain herself. She whirled her blade around in a series of lightening strikes, pleased to find her opponent did not quite have her speed, and almost let her through their defence once or twice. She continued her assault, maintaining a relentless pace, intending to finish the fight before she could grow too tired in the heat and her heavy plate. Their reach was greater than hers, so she kept her footwork light, quickly darting back and forth as she lunged and struck again and again. The stranger was good, she had to admit – but she was better. She drove onwards, forcing them several steps back, and then with a swift strike, wrenched the blade from their grip. Before she could leap forward and secure her victory, they jumped back and snatched up their blade with their left hand; from the way they gingerly rolled their right wrist, Odette guessed it had been injured when she’d twisted the sword out of it. They circled each other warily for a moment, both coiled to spring at any moment.
“Yield?” she asked hopefully, more than ready to quit the ring as she felt a drop of sweat run down her back.
But the unknown challenger merely shook their head, then, after a moments’ pause, came at her again.
Her father could wield a blade with his left hand if he wished to, a skill he’d acquired with many long hours of practice, and he had on occasion used it to teach her how she might counter such attacks. But there was a world of difference between facing a right-handed swordsman who could also fight with their left, and a left-handed swordsman wielding a blade in their dominant hand, and Odette quickly realised she was facing the latter. If she’d thought her opponent had more than average proficiency with a sword before, it was nothing compared to the skill they displayed now. She soon found herself on the back foot, scrambling to block and parry the onslaught of blows raining down on her; she cursed inwardly as her technique became shoddy, and sweat began to roll down her face. The sunlight began to glare into her vision, forcing her to squint, and she realised with reluctant admiration that she’d been manoeuvred to her opponent’s advantage.
So distracted was she in maintaining her defence, it was a shock when she felt herself collide with the wooden fence behind her. There was no getting out of this corner, but still, she kept up the fight until the sword was knocked from her hand, and she found, for the first time in a long while, the tip of her opponent’s blade hovering just under her chin.
“Yield,” she gasped, raising her arms, which felt as heavy as lead. “I yield.”
She heard her father clap. “Well done, th’ pair of you.”
With relief, Odette tore off her helm, drawing in a deep gulp of fresh air. But she felt her breath catch in her throat as her challenger did the same. It was the smile that caught her attention first; framed by full lips, with a gap between the front teeth that was so charming Odette instantly thought every smile she’d seen without one sorely lacking. Slowly she took in the rest: the wide green eyes, the strong jawline, the slightly upturned nose, lightly dusted with freckles, the mop of unruly golden-red curls, as damp with sweat as her own hair must be. She…gods, she was beautiful. Odette felt a tide of heat rise up to her hairline as she realised that she was staring open-mouthed at her unexpectedly lovely sparring partner.
“Odette,” said her father, laying a hand on her shoulder. “This is Lady Alyce of Turnifen – her parents have finally given their consent for her to formally train as a knight, so she will be with us for th’ summer and receive instruction alongside you. Lady Alyce, please meet Her Highness, Princess Odette.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Highness.” Her voice was low and sweet, and Odette felt her knees threaten to go weak.
“I expect you’d like to go and settle in properly now, though I thank you for humouring me and allowing me to assess your skills so soon after your arrival,” Reynard continued. “I’m sure this afternoon, Odette would be delighted to give you a tour of th’ training grounds and show you how things are done here.” Her father’s voice contained a trace of amusement, and Odette realised, much to her embarrassment, that she had yet to say a word.
“I’d love to,” she blurted out, deeply thankful her face was already flushed from the exertion of the fight, for her cheeks were surely blazing now. “I – uh – it’s a pleasure to meet you too, Lady Alyce.”
“Then I shall look forward to it,” she said, smiling with such sincere enthusiasm that Odette swallowed hard. She bowed to them both and strode away, cutting a proud, striking figure in her armour that Odette was helpless to look away from.
Odette ran a hand over her sweat-soaked forehead. She needed a bath, but more than anything right now, she needed to sit down and try to understand what on earth had just happened to her. Tugging at the buckles on her plate, she crossed the yard to sprawl in the shade of an old oak tree. She’d noticed pretty girls at court before, and even shared a kiss or two with one of her mother’s maids of honour at the last Midwinter feast. But now she felt as though the ground had just been pulled out from under her, as giddy as the time she and Syb had stolen and drunk a whole bottle of wine from the cellars.
“You fought well today, Odette.”
She glanced up as her father sat down beside her.
“I’m sorry for springing such a surprise on you, too – I’d noticed you’ve become a touch complacent lately. I thought perhaps that facing Alyce might just be th’ way to remind you not to get cocky.”
“Lady Alyce is an excellent swordswoman,” she said, looking away, not quite able to meet her father’s eye.
“She is indeed. Two of her older brothers are knights under my command, and a couple of years ago they told me their younger sister could just about beat th’ lot o’ them with one hand tied behind her back. I’d written to her parents several times since, urging them to consider letting her train properly, and they’ve finally given in – though only once I’d pointed out if it was good enough for a princess of the realm, it was surely good enough for their daughter, too. It’s a shame that so many parents – especially noble ones – still balk at the idea of letting their daughters learn to fight, let alone enlist, if that is their wish. Not even your mother’s example changed much in that regard – but I’m hoping yours might.”
She merely nodded, still lost in thoughts of Alyce’s gap-toothed grin.
Reynard seemed to misinterpret her silence as disappointment in her defeat. “Cheer up, my darling. You’re still the finest squire I know – you remind me much of your mother. She wasn’t much older than you, th’ first time I saw her with a sword in hand.”
Odette looked up with interest, Lady Alyce’s freckles momentarily forgotten. “Really?”
“It was not long after she first came to our court, newly married and crowned queen – she’d already won us all over a dozen times or more with her beauty, her spirit, her boldness. But it was only once Reginald learned th’ way to her heart was through finely forged steel that we saw what a fierce warrior she was, too. She hadn’t much in th’ way of formal training, then – for a long time her parents had forbidden her from learning how to wield a blade. Yet she had a natural talent, an instinct that few possess – as raw and unpolished as her style was, then, she was still formidable. I shall never forget th’ first time I saw her in the practice yard; th’ old sword master clearly thought her naught but a spoilt princess, seeking to be indulged on a whim – well, I’ve never seen th’ smile vanish so quickly from a man’s face, nor seen someone so quickly disarmed. To see how her eyes flashed, how she seemed lit from within, as though a fire blazed inside her…”
“Is that when you fell in love with her?”
“Perhaps that’s when it started,” he said with a smile, “though it was a long time yet before I realised it. Certainly, from that day I knew just what an extraordinary queen we had, what an honour it would be to serve her, and she has continued to astound me every day since. Just as my remarkable daughters do, too; you are both so like her.”
He put his arm around her, and Odette leaned happily into the embrace. It was strange to imagine her parents so young; so long before they had married, so long before she and her sister had even been thought of. But her thoughts quickly drifted once more to her extraordinary new acquaintance: the strength of her stance, the force with which her blows had landed – her arms still ached from the effort of blocking them…
This time, her father seemed to correctly guess the reason for her preoccupation. “I must confess, I’ve been hoping that Lady Alyce will prove a good companion for you, too. It cannot be easy, to be th’ only young woman of noble rank undertaking a knight’s training – I thought you might be good for each other.” He smiled fondly at her as he said it, though there was a faint spark in his eye that made her wonder if he had caught just how much she had admired Alyce. “Now, young lady – I believe you’ve armour that needs attending to, and a guest you’ve promised to acquaint with th’ castle…”
She groaned. “I haven’t even broken my fast yet.”
“Then I suggest you consider that before you spend all night scaling th’ castle, next time,” he replied, getting to his feet. “Oh come, now, Odette – don’t think I’m so old you can pull th’ wool over my eyes that thoroughly, just yet.”
“Yes, Father,” she sighed, reluctantly standing and gathering her discarded plate.
“I’m so very proud of you,” he said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You truly are your mother’s daughter, in so many ways.”
“And my father’s too, I hope.” And her heart leapt at the way he beamed at her.
“All right, get along now,” he said, with a gentle nudge. “You know we don’t stand for idleness around here. Discipline…”
“…will bring us victory,” she finished, and gave him a kiss on the cheek before she turned to leave for the armoury.
She tended to her plate with all the diligence one might expect from a squire trained by General Reynard Odo, but her mind was far away the whole time, her missed breakfast quite forgotten; her thoughts were still very much consumed by a charming, gap-toothed smile – and how very much she was looking forward to seeing it again.