Chapter One

  Windsor, Kingdom of Centinali - Spring

  Era 1251

  I stood upon a stone wall, taking in the breathtaking ocean view. Waves crashed against the shore as I nibbled on some bread, savoring the peace and solitude. For the moment, I was free from Mr. Orin's lessons, but tomorrow, I would be back behind closed doors, learning how to become the ideal wife. In this brief moment of freedom, my thoughts wandered away from reality and into the horizon—into worlds I could only dream of. The wind from the sea played with my long skirt, bringing the sharp tangy scent of seaweed and salt. As I inhaled the pleasing scent, a familiar voice snapped me back to reality.

  "Roseti! Are you certain you should be up there? What if you fall?"

  Restraining a heavy sigh with some difficulty, I turned to see Cecein Steelblane, a young man who shared the same tutor as me. He was twenty-one, with a kind face, thick curly ginger hair, soft brown eyes and freckles dotting his cheeks. Dressed in casual attire, he was looking at me with a deep, worried crease between his brows.

  "I should be capable of standing upon a wall, Cecein," I replied, managing a smile despite my annoyance.

  He shrugged, a hint of sheepishness in his demeanor. "There is always the risk."

  I grinned to myself, grabbed my skirt, and jumped down from the wall in a way that would surely displease my mother. Once my feet hit the ground, Cecein visibly eased.

  "I appreciate your concern," I said gently.

  He flushed a light pink and looked down. "I am only returning the favor."

  I regarded him kindly. "Did you come looking for me? Or did you stumble upon me by coincidence?"

  He met my gaze. "Both, I suppose. Your mother asked me to find you."

  My expression turned serious. "Did she say why?"

  Cecein shook his head, studying my face. "No."

  I turned my gaze back to the ocean, lost in thought. My mother must have wanted to introduce me to yet another suitor with the hopes that I'd finally agree to marry. I sighed, feeling the weight of that expectation.

  "Very well," I muttered unenthusiastically. I gave him a forced smile. "Thank you. I shall go to her now."

  He nodded, but his eyes revealed he saw through my feigned cheer as I walked back into the city. I could feel his gaze on my back until I turned a corner and disappeared behind a stone wall.

  The walk back felt tense. Thoughts about my mother's intentions swirled in my mind, hinting at something serious. She would not send someone to personally find me if it wasn't important.

  I passed a stone house with a wooden porch where a young girl sat humming as she sewed. She spotted me and squealed my name with excitement.

  "Roseti!"

  Jarred from my thoughts, I halted mid-stride, my heart skipping a beat. Nelia dropped her sewing project and dashed down the steps, her toffee hair flying behind her and her skirt held in her hands. She sidled up to me, breathless, but her wide smile faded slightly upon seeing my expression.

  "Why, what's wrong?" she asked.

  Realizing my emotions were visible, I shook them off and smiled. "Oh, nothing. How have you been? I haven't seen you since last week."

  She offered a shy smile, then frowned. "Much as happened. Perhaps too much." Her expression shifted, revealing concern. "Could you not have heard?" Nelia pondered, finger to her chin.

  Curiosity piqued, I turned to her. "What do you speak of? Has something happened?"

  Nelia nodded, her eyes wide with urgency. "Queen's Port was attacked just yesterday, by Carragean ships. They slaughtered many families and set the port ablaze. The king did not believe that the murder of those noblemen last month was sufficient proof of war, but this proof cannot be so easily denied! You do understand what this all means, yes?"

  My mouth went dry. I knew the implications all too well.

  "Are you certain?" I asked. "This isn't just a rumor?"

  Her look of indignation at my doubt was clear, but she waved it off, nodding with conviction. I could see the truth in her eyes. A deep breath filled my lungs, worry settling in as the reason for my mother's summons became clear. "Forgive me," I said abruptly. "I need to go. Goodbye."

  I turned and ran through Windsor's winding, cobbled streets, the heavy skirt limiting my speed. I hurried to the manor I called home, sweat trickling down my face. The guards at the black wrought iron gate leading to the manor watched, astonished, as I sped past, for noble ladies usually did not run. Nero Manor was much like the stone manor that was my home in Syrina when I was a child, except that it had three floors and a roof of red shingles.

  Surrounded by shrubs, flowers, trees, and a section for crops, the manor cast a large shadow over the grass and dirt path. I slowed to a walk at the front doors, catching my breath as I climbed the stone steps to the grand wooden doors. I stepped into the entrance hall adorned with many silver and bronze gilded decorations. Thick rugs covered the stone floors and paintings decked the walls.

  I moved across the threshold, turning left onto a set of stone stairs and ascending swiftly. On the second floor, I took a sharp right and walked down the carpeted hall to the last closed door. Voices I recognized came from within.

  My parents.

  I knocked softly, and light footsteps approached. The door opened to reveal my mother. A pale but beautiful woman with tightly gathered dark brown hair, my mother often had a serious expression on her thin lips and steel grey eyes. But in this moment, the furrow of disapproval usually on her brow had vanished, to be replaced by swollen, bloodshot eyes that filled me with dread.

  Nothing but the gravest troubles could bring my mother to tears. She now appeared as fragile as porcelain.

  "Mother?" I began uncertainly, only to feel her head fall against my shoulder as she sobbed.

  "Oh, my dear. . . Oh, my dear, Rose. . ."

  I froze. No one called me 'Rose', especially not my mother. The only person who'd ever called me by that name was. . .

  A distant memory flashed through my mind of a young boy with messy dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes that sparkled shyly. A sudden pang of sadness squeezed my heart. I shook him away from my thoughts and lifted my mother's head gently.

  "What is wrong, mother?" I asked.

  She took my hand, guiding me into a large room filled with chairs and various instruments. My father, a tall and burly man with short black hair, stood by a tall window, his back turned to me. I closed the door and helped my mother into a plum-colored chair before I turned to face the still figure by the window.

  "Father," I said, my voice tinged with uncertainty.

  Slowly, he turned. His bright blue eyes, which I shared, held a dark expression. His bearded mouth tightened. "My daughter," he said, his voice deep and unemotional. "You've heard the rumors, I take it?"

  I looked away from his intense gaze, licking my lips as I straightened my posture. "Not quite rumors, but I know enough." I gathered the courage to meet his eyes, noting a flicker of sadness within them. "So, is it true? You must go to war?"

  He pursed his lips, staring at me for a moment before returning his gaze to the window. "The king has yet to announce it publicly, but, yes."

  The last time he'd gone to war, I was too young to understand what it meant. But I did recall him returning home with a severe wound to his left leg, which left him permanently impaired. He was not the agile man he once was, and the thought of him facing war in his current state filled me with dread. I stepped forward and grasped his arm with affection, a gesture which surprised him enough to freeze him in place, eyes wide.

  "Is there no other way?" I pleaded. "Why—why can't I go in your place?" The words escaped before I could stop them.

  Silence hung in the air. Even my mother had paused her crying. Eventually, he regained his composure, uncertainty flickering across his face. He shook off my grip and backhanded me across the face. I stumbled into the chair beside my mother, rubbing my cheek as I stared at him in disbelief.

  "Do not speak such nonsense," he said sharply, his fist clenched. "Do you honestly believe it is acceptable for a woman, let alone a girl, to venture into those savage fields stained with blood, where blade meets blade? All for what purpose? Nothing more than to satisfy kings and their raging conquest for land."

  My father's anger was palpable as he spoke. In that moment, I understood that my reckless words had provoked him, but his fury also stemmed from worry for my safety. He sighed heavily, releasing his fist and relaxing his fingers as he sank into the nearest chair. I held my breath, too afraid to move, the memory of the pain in my cheek fresh in my mind. I looked at my mother; her gaze toward my father was filled with sadness.

  After a moment's pause, I rose and cautiously approached him from behind, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. "Forgive me," I whispered.

  He sighed again, patting my arm lightly, causing me to stiffen. "Young minds need guiding," was all he said before continuing to stare out the window in silence.

  * * * *

  That night, sleep eluded me. Dinner conversations turned to the looming war. These discussions made me restless, yet they revealed truths I hadn't grasped before, such as whom had sent those Carragean ships to attack Syrina, the sister kingdom of Centinali.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  One name echoed across all versions of the recent events.

  The Black Knight.

  All people knew that The Old Land of Carragean was king-less, and had been ruled by Duoira for over two decades. No one had reclaimed the Carragean throne, as far as anyone could tell. Yet, it seemed clear that the Carragean did have a leader again, this time of their own blood.

  These thoughts swirled in my mind as I sat in the lounge room, watching the flickering flames in the fireplace. I finally rose from where I was curled on the plush, sapphire blue couch to retire to my bedchamber on the first floor. As I walked down the hallway, I passed my parents' bedchamber. A golden glow shone through the crack at the bottom of the door. I slowed, noticing the door was slightly ajar, and heard a faint, strange whooshing sound from within. I hesitated, peeking through the crack.

  To my surprise, it was my father who resided inside. My mother must have taken to her sewing room for the night. A glint in the candlelight caught my eye. The whooshing sound came from a sword, which my father was practicing with. I watched, transfixed, as he swung it with a practiced hand. Soon, he shifted to footwork, but then faltered, grimacing in pain as he touched his bad leg.

  I winced.

  Once he steadied himself, he used the sword as a walking stick, limping to the nearest chair. He collapsed into it with a sigh, frowning at the sword in his hand. "That wretched king," he muttered. "I have served him and the queen well, yet still, I must serve them more. When will it be enough?" He glanced down at his leg, still frowning.

  I bit my lip, once again wishing I could do something to help him. He was a selfish man, reserved and demanding, often expecting me to be someone I was not. He struggled to show love, haunted by past demons. Yet, despite his flaws, I cared for him. My mother needed him alive; without him, she might lose her purpose and follow his dark path.

  I would miss him too.

  I was certain he did not want to die alone in battle, far from home. After years of serving the king and queen, he deserved peace.

  But how could I make him stay?

  I frowned as I stepped away from the door. I could hear him mumbling, but my thoughts consumed me. I walked down the stairs, repeating the question in my mind: How could I make him stay?

  I couldn't ask him directly; it would hurt his honor and pride, and I'd likely receive a sound scolding. Pleading with the king was out of the question as well; that would also offend him.

  If only I were a boy. I could take his place, and he would feel pride rather than anger at the thought.

  I fell short, struck by a thought.

  Mr. Orin's lessons echoed in my mind. His voice rang clear as he explained one of the seven grand laws of Centinali.

  When war is declared, one eligible person per household must join the king's garrison. Typically, this falls to the men; fathers, husbands, and sons.

  Yet, there was no explicit rule against a woman taking her father's place as a soldier. Society simply frowned upon it. But if society disapproved of a woman in combat, how could one even hope to pursue that path?

  Hope and excitement surged through me, mingling with fear. I knew my parents would disapprove, but I was already a disappointment in many respects, I doubted I could disappoint them any further. I redirected my steps and hurried to the library.

  The wooden door, adorned with silver hinges, creaked as I pushed it open. Inside lay my father's most treasured space. Dark chestnut shelves lined the walls, each crammed with books, some which were from my great-grandfather's time. In the far corner, three chairs surrounded a large stone hearth. The ceiling displayed murals of ancient fables and legends, from the tales of the Oredia Table to the stories of King Cain and The Giants of Saurdi. The artwork was exquisite, but I couldn't appreciate it now, for the ceiling was covered in shadow.

  I navigated through the dimness, guided by the moonlight streaming through the windows. I approached the shelf I knew had what I sought. Grabbing several books on the topic, I settled into one of the chairs by the hearth. Under the moon's glow, I began to read.

  Time slipped away, and I did not leave the library until past midnight. But come the following nights, I returned, hunting for a solution, and answers

  Finally, on the fifth night, bleary-eyed and dazed, I blinked, registering the morning light beginning to fill the room. I realized I had read the same line six times without grasping its meaning. Frustrated, I closed the book and rubbed my tired eyes, gazing at the rising sun as my thoughts drifted to Mr. Orin. . . and my lesson with him at half past eight.

  I leaped from the chair and looked at the sun, all exhaustion momentarily erased.

  It must be nearly eight now, I thought.

  Flustered, I hurriedly replaced the books in their original places and dashed to my bedchamber. I changed clothes swiftly and raced from my room, passing only to snatch a roll of bread from the kitchen before bolting out the door.

  The morning was warm and cloudy. People hurried through the city's cobbled streets, their movements tinged with unease. News of war had likely spread rapidly through Windsor, leaving everyone on edge. I weaved through the restless city folk toward a grand, three story building in the town square. As I approached, I found my path blocked by a large crowd gathered near the steps of the university where Mr. Orin taught.

  A knight clad in hauberk and plate armor stood on the wide staircase, holding a scroll. His white horse waited below the steps, held by a squire who nervously watched the crowd. Four other knights were accompanying him, one carrying a wine red banner adorned with the white head of a unicorn, the sigil of Centinali.

  I slowed as I reached the back of the crowd, realizing that the knight was reading an announcement.

  "Hear, hear, citizens of Windsor! The Old Land of Carragean has proclaimed war against us! It is King Enrique's wish for all eligible men and boys to register at the castle in due time to join the garrison! No men over sixty-five or boys younger than fourteen are eligible. The king sends his gratitude for your service," the knight proclaimed before rolling up the scroll.

  I pursed my lips, thinking of my father, while the crowd around me erupted. Some shouted praises for the king, others voiced their anger. A man, clearly agitated by the knight's words, approached the steps with an axe in hand.

  "Why does the king demand more from his country when he already takes from it? Give me an answer, puppet!"

  The knight instinctively reached for his sword, but another, larger knight intervened. His sword drawn, he pointed the blade at the man. "These are the king's orders. If you know what's good for you, you'll follow them," he growled, the tip of his blade dangerously close to the man's throat.

  The man shot a fierce glare at the knight before, with visible reluctance, slipping back into the crowd. The throng remained tightly packed, forcing me to navigate slowly through it toward my tutor's building. I reached the steps where the knight stood, just as chaos erupted around me. The opposition shouted and hurled objects, soon physically clashing with those who supported King Enrique's proclamation. I paused at the edge of the steps, astonished. I was taken aback by how they so resembled the animals deep in the mountains, fighting for survival.

  "My lady," a man's voice said.

  I turned. It was the knight who'd read the king's message. He was extending his hand for mine. In the polished surface of his great helm, I caught a glimpse of my own reflection, but his eyes were only black slits.

  "It is unwise to linger where you might become caught in their riot," he warned.

  I accepted his hand, and he guided me up the grand staircase leading to the building's entrance. Upon reaching the massive door, he released my hand. "Thank you," I said.

  "Gratitude is not necessary. I am merely fulfilling my duty," he replied, bowing his head. "Good day, lady."

  He turned and descended the stairs to rejoin his companion, who still had his sword drawn. They exchanged a few words, and the other knight sheathed his weapon.

  I observed them both, wondering at his words, however, I was soon reminded of my previous urgency. I pushed open the imposing black door before me. I made my way through the shelf laden halls crammed with books and entered the room where Cecein and me received our lessons.

  It was a simple room, with two small desks accompanied by chairs, and a large desk toward the back wall, which was covered in bookshelves and various ornaments, including a globe and a several swords.

  Cecein was absent, but my tutor, Mr. Orin, stood by a bookshelf, selecting volumes for our class. He turned as I closed the door, greeting me with a warm smile. A tall, lean man in his forties, he was well-respected at the king's court, having taught several of the king's councilors in their youth. His hair was gathered into a ponytail, and though once light blond, it was now mostly grey. Thick eyebrows framed his face, complemented by a mustache, goatee, and warm blue eyes that scrutinized me as I stepped further into the room.

  Mr. Orin scrutinized me intently. He raised an eyebrow. "Up late, were we, Miss Semnia?"

  I felt my cheeks warm. "Possibly."

  He chuckled and returned to the shelf. "What prompted such behavior?"

  I hesitated, biting my lip. I trusted him like a second father. But would he keep my secret? Especially from my own father?

  He turned at my silence and studied me more closely, his expression turning serious. "What is troubling you?"

  I sank into the wooden chair near me. "If I confide in you, will you keep it between us?"

  Confusion flickered across his face, but he nodded slowly. "Of course."

  "You have heard about the approaching war, correct?" His frown confirmed my suspicion. "My father must take arms," I said. "But he shouldn't. He cannot."

  Mr. Orin crossed his arms, looking skeptical. "Why do you believe that?"

  I lowered my gaze. "Call it the weakness of a lady, if you will. The last war took a toll upon him. I doubt he would survive another, and. . . frankly, I do not wish for him to die."

  He remained silent as he studied me. I met his gaze, searching for understanding. "And. . ." he began thoughtfully. "What do you propose to do to solve this?"

  My heart began to hammer in my chest. I muttered my answer, bracing myself for his reaction. "To go in his place."

  Mr. Orin raised both brows, his eyes widening in deep surprise. He began to pace, stroking his goatee nervously. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Do you mean to say that you wish to join the army so that your father isn't obligated to fight?"

  I sensed his doubt, but answered truthfully nonetheless. "Yes."

  His gaze sharpened. "Have you truly thought this through? This is not a thing to take lightly."

  I sighed. "That is what I have been doing these last few nights."

  He studied me further. "You are resolute about this?"

  I nodded. For a moment, he stood perfectly still. Finally, he returned the nod, but it felt heavy, not like the support I expected. He approached and placed a hand on the table beside me. He lowered his voice. "You have a chance of accomplishing this."

  I knitted my brows at him. "What do you mean?"

  Mr. Orin looked at me knowingly. "The king is currently searching for a woman, not too old and not too young, to act as a disguised guard for Princess Meriana of Duoira on the night of the Spring Festival."

  I raised my brows in surprise, but he pressed on. "If you are committed to this goal, I will begin teaching you the necessary skills for such a position. You may not be selected, but it is the only path that will not raise suspicion."

  Shock flooded me, and my heart raced. "How do you know this?" I asked with disbelief.

  "Let us say that word travels fast among friends," he said.

  I sprang from my chair. "You. . . You would aid me in this? Truly?" I could hardly believe it. I thought he'd scold me or at least caution me against pursuing this path. But he was offering to help me instead.

  For a moment, he looked conflicted, then, he smiled gently. "Yes, I would. But, I must admit, I worry about sending a young woman like you into such danger." He frowned. "Woman are to be protected, not thrown into the snake pit when it can be avoided entirely."

  I gazed at him sympathetically, understanding his internal conflictions. "Thank you, Mr. Orin, but you are not sending me down this path, I am choosing it for myself," I said.

  Mr. Orin regarded me searchingly for a moment, then bowed his head. He walked to a wall adorned with four swords: a longsword, an arming sword, and two bastard swords. "To become a knight and a guardian," he said, pulling the arming sword from its place, "you must learn to master one of these."

  He turned to me, the sword held between his two hands. He offered me the sword's hilt. I hesitated and he nodded toward the weapon. Slowly, I grasped the hilt. The weight surprised me, but I managed to hold it upright, my arm trembling under the strain.

  Mr. Orin smiled approvingly before taking the sword back. "Well done, but that was only holding it. You must learn how to use it."

  "You will teach me?" I asked, my heart racing with hope that I didn't want to trust.

  He returned the sword to its place and turned back to me, looking all at once pleased yet conflicted. "Yes."

  I smiled thankfully, my body trembling in both excitement and fear. Was it just coincidence that my tutor of all people was willing to help me, or did the gods wish me to pursue this path?

  Just then, Cecein entered, shutting the door behind him. He glanced at us, sensing the seriousness of our discussion. Mr. Orin remained unfazed. He approached his desk, retrieved two books, and placed them on our tables. With a warm smile, he looked between us.

  "Mister Steelblane, Miss Semnia, are we ready to begin?"