Emmet stood, then froze, staring at her.

  “You what?”

  “I want to learn how to fight,” Seven repeated. “Or at least some kind of self-defense.” She leaned forward, bloodied towel still in hand. “Before leaving Veilhome, I’d never been touched. But since leaving, it’s like…I don’t know how to phrase it, but it’s like what people default to. No talking, no threatening, no ransom, no insults to my parentage—nothing.” The words tumbled from her mouth without filter. “They just grab me and do what they want with me.”

  “Did they…?” Emmet trailed off, his face somehow too pink and too pale all at once.

  “No,” she said immediately, knowing what he was thinking. But, well, who was to say that hadn’t been exactly what had been on those men’s minds? Both of them had certainly made the threat clear before she’d clobbered one and tattled on the other.

  “Well,” Emmet said, his face still pale. “I mean, you’re—“

  “I’m what?”

  “Pretty.”

  “Pretty?” Seven couldn’t help but laugh. Emmet’s tone was awkward, and he could barely meet her eyes anymore. It was true that she was royalty, but surely he could manage a little more tact, especially given the subject. “You’re calling me pretty when we’re talking about men trying to have their way with me?” She let out a sort of exasperated huff of a laugh, then added, “Have you ever talked to women before?”

  He went red. “I’m sorry, it’s just—I mean—law school was very busy, okay?” He shook his head. “Anyway, I’m not excusing the behavior or anything—I’m just surprised it’s never happened to you before. The women I know back home deal with it all the time, especially if they’re good looking. They either learn to put up a fuss, or they try to stay out of compromising situations, I guess—not that they should have to. And it’s not like you didn’t have the run of the city, according to Moore, anyway.”

  “Veilhome’s big, but it’s not that big,” she argued. “And I’m sure my father had people following me more often than not.” She’d spotted plenty before out of the corner of her eye. Those were only the ones she’d caught—she figured there were many more lurking behind shop windows, and at other tables in the gambling halls. She shook her head. “Anyway, I can’t keep getting cornered by every person bigger than me—which is most people.” She looked Emmet in the eye and made a little beckoning motion with her bloodied hand. “Teach me something.”

  She didn’t say the other half—that she was looking for an experiment. Perhaps strength could only take her so far. Maybe she needed strength and technique to activate the Luck she’d used just days before.

  Emmet stood there for a moment, seemingly torn or confused—or both. “Seven, I’m a lawyer. I don’t know how to fight.”

  “You’re also built like you could bench press a horse.”

  He blinked, looking strangely flustered. Luck above, he’s a strange man, Seven thought, watching the way his broad shoulders tensed. A man with Emmet’s looks would have been the conversation of choice at any palace gardens gossiping circle. And yet, when faced with any sort of comment about his looks—or the looks of others—his first response was to turn inward. “I mean,” he said, “I do work out. But that’s just macros, you know? Protein timing, progressive overload, proper form—“

  “I don’t need a gym routine,” she replied, thinking of that night in the inn. “I need to learn how to fight.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “What about a sword?” Pocket suggested. “Humans love swords. Pointy and jabby!” He made little slashing noises from within her shirt, his color an amused ice blue.

  “A sword!” Emmet agreed, looking relieved. “It’s not the worst idea.” He sat down, the bandages forgotten by now, and when Seven glanced at her hands, she was grateful that the bleeding had stopped, at least. “I don’t think it’s against company policy, and surely you had fencing lessons—“

  “With rules and referees—“

  “And with some of the best combat instructors in the Wheel.”

  “You’ve never fought me before. I could be terrible.”

  “I doubt it. And I am positively certain that I don’t want to.”

  “And what am I going to do if I don’t have it with me?” she argued. “Or if LMC decides that swords are ‘bad company liability’ or some such nonsense? I’d rather have something I can use.”

  And, truth be told, she wondered if that wild strength from the inn that night was still with her at all—if she should have kicked the other miner through the wall tonight instead of dealing with the SOS signal. Quite frankly, she wasn’t just hoping for a lesson—she was hoping for a guinea pig.

  Emmet ran a hand through his hair, mussing it in a frustratingly perfect way. “I mean—Seven, you’re royalty. I’m just a guy who reads contracts and goes to the gym.”

  Seven stood, suddenly frustrated. “Can we forget the royalty part?” She marched over to him and took the bandages from his hands, tossing them on the other couch behind her, then gestured at his chest. “You’re a man,” she added. “Don’t you just…know how to fight? How to throw a punch? How to put someone on the ground?”

  “Oh yes,” Pocket chimed in. She was pretty sure he was chewing on the edge of her shirt from the moisture she felt there. “It’s encoded on the Y chromosome. Right next to the inability to ask for directions.”

  Emmet shot the slime a look, obviously still disturbed by his antics, then sighed, seeming to deflate all at once. “Look, I can teach you something. But, I mean, are you sure you’re fine?”

  “Fit as a fiddle,” Seven replied. “Which reminds me, can I leave my lute here? I’m pretty sure it’s going to get stolen back in my company quarters.”

  “I, uh—of course.” He squinted at her. “Are you sure you’re fine?”

  “I am,” she said. It wasn’t a lie. The throbbing in her head had faded to a dull ache, and while her hands looked terrible, they barely hurt at all. “Better than fine, really. Which is kind of weird, but I’m not going to question it.”

  “You probably should question it. I think you’re actually just insane.”

  “Motivated.”

  “Terrifying.”

  “Whatever,” Seven said. “Will you teach me or not?”

  “Will you sign a waiver of liability that you and your family won’t hold me responsible if you get hurt?” Emmet asked. He held her eyes solemnly, and for a moment, Seven thought he was serious. Then she saw the humor in his eyes.

  “I think the time for signing that is long past,” she said, laughing. Emmet’s smile broadened, and he moved over to the clear area of the living room behind his couch. Seven followed him, her body humming strangely in excitement. When was the last time she’d gotten to learn something in earnest? And not just something that she’d never use, but something practical. Something real.

  “This is going to be a disaster,” Pocket whispered cheerfully. “I can’t wait.”

  “We’ll do a simple toss,” Emmet said. “If I grab you from behind, you secure my arm, hike up my weight on your hip, and just turn me over. Gravity should do the rest.”

  He modeled the motions in the air as he spoke, and she had to admit that he was a very nice model to look at. Almost distractingly nice to look at. Still, she followed the motions carefully, though she couldn’t help but think that it might be harder than Emmet let on—especially given the difference in their heights. Doesn’t hurt to try, she reminded herself.

  “Try it on me,” Emmet said, coming up behind her. She tried not to think about how close he was to her—and how, unlike the last two times this had happened, she actually didn’t mind it. “You might not get it right the first time, but—“

  Seven grabbed his arm, lifted, twisted, and then dumped Emmet onto the ground with blistering speed. He landed there with a crack that splintered the wooden floor, groaned, and went silent.

  Seven stared, her heart thudding too fast in her ears.

  “Well,” Pocket said quietly, his eyes too large. “That’s new.”

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  ? An administration willing to stop at nothing to drive him out

  ? Coworkers so jaded they find hazing the new guy more entertaining than actual teaching

  ? A retention rate that is a body count

  Directive two: "teach them to fight"

  Personal Moral Imperative three: "every student must survive"

  Welcome to Dyntril Academy where survival is graduation.

  ?Found-family elements

  ?School bullying/abuse

  ?Social Stratification / classist society

  ?BATTLE SCHOOL TOURNAMENT!

  ?LitRPG elements, but no stat sheets

  ?Grimbright - Dark world, bright characters

  Monday, Wednesday, Friday

  LitRPGRuling ClassMultiple Lead CharactersStrong LeadActionAdventureFantasyRomanceAttractive LeadDystopiaFemale LeadProgressionGameLitMale LeadSchool Life