By all accounts, Ailn was improving exceptionally fast.

  He was under the tutelage of three exemplary knights, each of whom had a distinctive style. Camille’s was fluid, improvisational, and intuitive. Nicolas’s was plodding, yet domineering and suffocating.

  And Kylian’s somehow managed to be adaptive, methodical, and incisive all at once. Sometimes Ailn felt as if Kylian was learning more than he was, the way his swordplay seemed to constantly morph. It was as if each round, Kylian’s technique evolved specifically to counter Ailn’s.

  In any case, the sheer breadth and depth Ailn was exposed to led to rapid growth; it almost felt unfair. Not only had he been granted an exceptionally fit body, but thanks to the original Ailn’s relentless training, he had all the requisite skills to fully take advantage of his teachers’ advanced skills. It was like skipping straight to Calculus, with a high proficiency in every subject prior.

  Still, he knew there was one stone he had still left unturned. If he was going to make a decision, it had to be now.

  Ailn was getting winded.

  Nicolas was strong, but that wasn’t what made fighting him so miserable. The man was like a wall of water that constantly pressed forward. Unlike Camille who almost excessively raised her sword above her head, Nicolas kept his guard downward and across his body.

  He used his guard ambidextrously, which made him hard to read. Nicolas deflected in fluid, circular motions that smoothly transitioned to the other side. This defensive bladework, when combined with his holy aura, was maddening.

  Every time Ailn felt he could press the advantage, Nicolas’s aura would come flowing in and stall his blade—even from his unguarded side—and Ailn would have to take yet another step back. It felt like he was being chased around by a slow, relentless waterwheel.

  Rounds sparring Nicolas were excruciatingly long, and Ailn almost felt grateful when, finally, a sharper flow of holy aura knocked his blade out of his hand.

  When it was over, Ailn realized he was wheezing.

  Nicolas came over, and raised his hand like he was going to pat Ailn on the back. Then, hesitating for so long it was noticeable, he seemed to think better of it and tried to pass his hovering hand off as some sort of affirmative wave.

  “That was tough,” Nicolas said.

  And that was it.

  “Yeah… uhuh,” Ailn cleared his throat forcefully. Biting cold air had dried it out, and the mucus was building up right where it stung the worst. “...Glad to hear it.”

  Nicolas, meanwhile, had barely broken a sweat. Ailn was certain he wasn’t being sarcastic, but that almost made it worse.

  Of all his sparring partners, Nicolas was the most reluctant to use his holy aura. If Ailn had to guess, the main reason he agreed to it was genuine concern. Simply put, Nicolas didn’t want his cousin to die in the duel, so he did his part to help Ailn prepare.

  He was a good guy.

  “I’m grateful you sparred with me today, Your Grace,” Nicolas said, as if Ailn was the one doing him a favor. “Unfortunately, it is about time for dinner to be served in the mess hall.”

  “It’s already that late, huh?” Ailn looked at the sky. Time was passing faster than he liked, but that was just how it worked when you’re on a deadline. “Why not stay here and eat dinner with me? I traded a couple of rabbits for a slab of bacon.”

  Standing there for almost a full minute, staring expressionlessly, Nicolas finally shook his head.

  “I do not believe that befits my station,” Nicolas said. But even he gave off a tell, glancing a little too long at the cottage where said bacon was. “I’m overwhelmed with gratitude, on account of your invitation.”

  “Well, save the gratitude for when you actually eat the bacon,” Ailn said. “I appreciate it as always, Nicolas.”

  Waving Nicolas off, Ailn entered his cottage and started preparing dinner. He could only estimate Sigurd’s strength by hearsay, but instinctively he felt that he was close to the pace of improvement he needed.

  The operative word was close.

  When he went over to his chest to grab a couple of turnips he’d used for dinner, his hand brushed against the small wooden box that kept all his tobacco. He gave it a long glance, and came to a decision.

  “Just for now…” he muttered.

  Picking up his clay pipe from a spot near the fire—after a long day, he still liked to smoke—Ailn let it drop to the ground and crack. Then, for good measure, he crushed it underfoot.

  The physical benefits of his decision were nothing to sneeze at, but the psychological effect was even greater.

  Ailn was locked in.

  Fighting past that first week of withdrawal symptoms was galvanizing, and after that, the lack of substance reliance brought with it a specific kind of lucidity. He couldn’t dive quite as deep into his thoughts without a little bit of help, to be quite honest, but that wasn’t a pertinent skill at the moment anyway.

  He was a step faster, and his eyes were catching shorter windows of opportunity.

  Against Nicolas, he finally understood how even a seemingly unassailable movement—economical, yet sweeping—was a form of overcommitment. Reading the flow of his movements meant understanding where his sword was going to be. And while it didn’t always give him a chance to press the attack, it did mean he could consistently earn space and position.

  Even with his holy aura to cover for him, Nicolas was as vulnerable as any swordsman to being flanked. Ailn was starting to consistently win.

  He was a bit surprised to realize that Nicolas had been far easier to decode than Camille.

  When Ailn was still losing, Nicolas’s victories had seemed far more dominating. Ailn had been so thoroughly thwarted in his efforts each round, it felt as if he had no reply.

  Duels with Camille had always felt close. It was as if every single time it could have gone either way, even if it only ever went in one direction.

  The closeness of these duels wasn’t exactly illusory, nor was she ‘playing with her food,’ so to speak. It took Ailn a while to understand that, because of her highly intuitive style, Camille had the unfortunate tendency of dropping to the level of her competition.

  It was almost like she couldn’t help but mirror her opponent, even when they were making mistakes. Hence, she was sharpest when she felt pressed, and surest in critical moments.

  For a while, her breathless victories led to slight lapses in the congenial attitude she was always forcing. Like subtle ripples disturbing a still pond, her tepid serenity began to resemble a wavy smile. The girl really did seem to love dueling.

  At a certain point, though, Ailn realized he was legitimately getting close. He wasn’t just pushing her to be better, now—he was starting to corner her.

  Her sword was straightforward, unlike her smile. And their matches boiled down to who got the last lick in.

  Now, as they neared the end of another round of dueling, that was exactly what they were competing for. A holy kick, much like the one that had brought Ailn down a week prior, was evaded with a small twist.

  A quick counterthrust was batted away with the kind of circular parry her brother liked to use. And she readily blocked the downward slash Ailn knew she liked to use.

  But Ailn readied his sword to double the slash faster than she’d expected. With force and accuracy she didn’t even realize he was capable of, Ailn aimed for the foible of her sword—the far edge, where her leverage was weakest, and knocked her sword out from her hands to her side.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  When she realized she’d lost, her smile was as friendly as ever. But the pond was still again.

  “I can hardly believe how you’ve improved, Your Grace,” Camille said. She had a knack for sounding perfectly chipper. But her speech was a tad slower. “It’s been an honor watching your growth.”

  She didn’t even realize her shoulders were still rolled forward from when the sword flew from her hands, or that her eyes were glued to it.

  “It’s thanks to your tutelage,” Ailn said cordially.

  “Yes, it’s… I’m glad to have been of help,” Camille said.

  Ailn was going to leave it at that, but…

  Just a little thinner. That’s how much her smile had sagged. It looked like nothing, but Ailn had spent enough time dueling her to know it was a lot. And realizing just how dejected she was, he gave a sigh and invited her to dinner just like he had Nicolas.

  It wasn’t an arbitrary courtesy he was extending—he was genuinely eating better meals than they were.

  He caught a ton of fresh meat every day, and his work in the fields brought in an abundance of starchy vegetables. Add in the fruit Kylian brought, and Ailn had all his nutrients covered. In fact, over the course of the month, he’d managed to put on nearly ten pounds.

  By contrast, the knights’ winter fare was bleak. Come spring, when fish were easy to catch and lambs were slaughtered, they’d get to eat meat. But at the moment, their daily protein came from a concoction they dispiritedly called ‘candied meat.’

  Essentially pemmican—dried meat ground into powder, mixed with fruit in rendered fat—the biggest difference was that it used a fruit local to the ark-Chelon duchy. One half of the so-called ‘paladin’s dessert,’ it was detested by every knight who’d ever been to the northern wall.

  That included Camille.

  At first she made to politely decline Ailn’s invitation for a nicer dinner, but she stopped herself. Acute disappointment or hunger alone may not have done the job, but together they were enough for her to set aside her usual decorum.

  “...Certainly, Your Grace. I’ll accept this rare honor,” Camille said.

  As soon as they were in his cottage, and Ailn began preparing the meal, Camille started making light conversation.

  “What a remarkable place, Your Grace,” Camille said, compulsively extending pleasantries as usual. “It’s a testament to your resilience.”

  And as usual, Ailn did his best to wave it off.

  “Uhuh. Hope you like rabbit stew.” He handed Camille a wooden bowl, and tasted the meat in the pot to make sure it was tender enough. Then he ladled some stew into her bowl. “There’s fruit in the chest, by the way.”

  “...It seems you think I’m being insincere,” Camille said. Just a hint of sheepishness could be seen in the scrunch of her eyebrows, while she savored the broth. Oddly, it was more emotion than she’d let display than after the duel. “This stew is… actually very good.”

  “Well, it takes five hours out of my day to get the ingredients, so I’d hope so.”

  “That’s what I admire, Your Grace. With your own hands, you catch and cook your meals. You raise up your sword. You find your place in the world rather than… expecting it to be given to you.”

  “I assume… you’re referring to Ennieux?”

  “... Why yes, I am,” Camille said. She’d clearly pondered how to deflect for a moment, not expecting Ailn to be so forward. But eventually, with a wistful smile and a bit of shame in her voice she simply affirmed.

  “Your mother has some ways she acts entitled, yes,” Ailn just tried to nod along. It wasn’t a conversation he particularly wanted to have, and he could get by it with noncommittal agreement. “She’s a… work-in-progress, like many people, to be sure.”

  Actually, Ailn and Ennieux had been getting along pretty well before he got kicked out—mostly they both complained about Sophie. So, he couldn’t help but throw a single word in for her.

  “It’s tough…” Ailn said, regretting saying anything even as he said it,”... when everyone acts like they’re embarrassed of you. Including your children.”

  Camille’s wooden spoon stopped moving for a moment. The only sound in the cottage was the rustling fire.

  “...Yes, that’s true,” Camille said. The warmth had quickly retreated from her voice. She’d apparently sensed his implicit rejection. It was an inappropriate topic that she’d brought up, of course.

  Yet, for a knight who was always so proper, her willingness to discuss it signaled the sincerity with which she’d reached out.

  Rebuffed, her smile grew ever more tranquil.

  It bothered Ailn. It did. But he really did not need to get caught up in this right now.

  They finished the rest of their meal, while Camille returned to proactively bringing up topics she clearly didn’t care about. And the two having grown a little more distant as a result, Camille prepared to leave.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said. “I—”

  “Ailn! Ailn eum-Creid! Are you in there?!”

  Camille’s smile completely disappeared, because she could hear her mother outside.

  Ailn popped out to greet Ennieux. There was still a bit of light left in the day, but she carried a lantern. It made sense, given how close it was to sunset, and yet there was something off about the sight of her that Ailn couldn’t put to words.

  Camille and Ennieux had apparently not spoken since the inquisition, and with a look, Camille silently pleaded with Ailn not to reveal her presence.

  Hopefully Ennieux would be too repulsed by the cottage to want to go inside.

  “There you are!” Ennieux crossed her arms. Her discomfort was evident, as she gave the cottage a once-over, made a face, and then shivered. “W-well! What a quaint cabin! Simplicity truly is wealth!”

  She made to walk in, despite her obvious apprehension.

  “Er, I’ve just gutted a lot of rabbits in there, Ennieux, and it’s going to smell like intestines for a while,” Ailn said, to her horror. She trembled and took a step back. “Why don’t we just talk out here? Is there something you need?”

  “Yes, well,” Ennieux sounded relieved. Freezing out here seemed genuinely preferable to her than what he’d just described. “Ailn eum-Creid, your sister is beside herself with worry! I’ve been telling her for weeks it was merely one of you pranks, and that you’d withdraw at any moment. But I fear you really may be as dull as you pretend to be.”

  She glared at Ailn. Her arms were crossed, but she actually looked like she was just cold.

  “And Sophie?” Ailn asked. That was the more pertinent question to him.

  “Still, you continue your odd obsession with her,” Ennieux said, looking mystified. “What about her?”

  “... Her headship rights, Ennieux. What’s she intending to do?” Ailn asked.

  The day of the wolf festival now had three major events scheduled: Sophie’s adoption, Renea’s disowning, and Ailn and Sigurd’s duel for headship. Ailn wanted to know if she planned to do something stupid at the wolf festival.

  “Sophie continues to suggest she’ll oppose the imperial family herself, should they dare to approach,” Ennieux said, her voice tinged with anxiety. “Renea has been quite occupied trying to manage her.” Then, leaning in to scold Ailn: “Put yourself in your sister’s shoes, you buffoon! One sibling says they’ll fight the emperor’s armies, while her other sibling makes jests as he marches to his death!”

  Ennieux’s glare softened. Still leaning in, her expression took on a genuinely scrutinizing note, as she then pulled the lantern close to both of their faces.

  “...Can you win, Ailn eum-Creid? Or… do you truly believe you can, if nothing else?” Ennieux asked.

  “I will win, Ennieux,” Ailn said. His tone was calm, and matter-of-fact.

  “Your vanity only fills me with doubt,” she said, with mild scorn.

  “Even if you don’t think I can win, Ennieux,” Ailn sighed, “I can assure you, I definitely won’t die.”

  She pulled back, surprisingly acquiescent. “If—you truly are not simply chasing death, then…” Her voice turned quiet. “Please, protect your sister, Ailn. I love her dearly.”

  Ailn winced a bit, thinking about Camille. She could hear the entire conversation from his cottage. He wasn’t sure exactly how she felt vis-a-vis Renea and her mother, but after the inquisition her feelings had surely grown more complicated.

  “And—” Ennieux flushed a bit,“I-I hear you have been training with my children… Are they doing well?”

  “As far as I can tell,” Ailn said, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say.

  “I know they’re fine knights,” Ennieux said softly, “but please be careful. Nicolas, I’m certain, is overconfident in battle. And Camille… I fear under stress she may shrink from combat. T-take care of her if she breaks down.”

  From what Ailn had observed, Ennieux’s characterizations of her children were precisely reversed from the truth.

  “Your children are strong knights, Ennieux. If anything, you should be worried about me,” Ailn said.

  “Then how in blazes do you intend to defeat Sigurd?” Ennieux scowled. “Nevermind that! Caution them for me! If I told them to take care of themselves, they’d run straight for the point of a sword,” she finished with a huff. “I know how little they think of me. Goodness.”

  She played it off contemptuously, at least. Then, she sighed.

  “I will watch you tomorrow with earnest wishes then, Ailn,” Ennieux shivered. “Be sure not to hurt your sister.” Making sure her lantern had enough fuel, she intended to leave that as her parting note.

  It was then that Ailn realized what had struck him as so incongruous.

  She wasn’t accompanied by any knights. Ennieux never was, really. The walk to Ailn’s cottage wasn’t exactly a trek, but it was by no means trivial.

  For someone so timid in the face of physical danger, a forest could be pretty frightening, especially as night came. But she still preferred to go it alone, rather than ask a knight for escort.

  Ennieux stopped in her tracks and stood there, saying nothing.

  “...Do you want me to escort you back to the castle?” Ailn asked.

  “I w-would be most obliged,” Ennieux said, her voice wavering as she shrank from the growing shadows of the trees.

  Camille listened as her mother and cousin departed. Once certain they were gone, she stepped out of Ailn’s cottage, tracing the tree line along the path she knew they were taking.

  She’d grasped most of the same things Ailn had. Glancing around at the forest shadows which, even to her, could feel quite sinister, she could only imagine how much more they must have unnerved her mother.

  Ennieux had never stopped inviting them to dinner, her and her brother. But Camille realized her mom was less scared of the shadows than she was to ask her children for help.