5th day of Zun’s Rest, twelfth month of the year, 983

  Soral checked herself in the mirror of her door. Her muscles were on their way to a good definition, causing her to nod to herself. The training was bearing fruits. And her work was too. She eyed the new contracts with independent merchants and the association which would come into effect once she ascended to the throne. Feeling confident and somewhat secured, she finished her preparations and walked to the window to waze at her future…no, at her city.

  Her indifferent gaze traced the now proudly standing slums, if they could even be called that. An habited forest now surrounded the city. Her brother had managed to completely reform the outer ring before winter. Surprising. She had not bothered to interfere and, frowning a bit, she was starting to think that she should have. Nonetheless, all of the responsibility had been laid on her, so maybe she should go congratulate the carpenters that had worked on it. Give some lip service. ‘I will have to send some extra guards to the slums now. I need to gauge their reactions, to see if they truly believe it was me who changed their situation.’

  Breathing in, she turned to the table and finally opened the letter that had been sent to her. The unsealed wax carried the coat of arms of her rightful liege, if now its form was deformed. A missive from countess Simil of the Rosekeepers, the household that ruled over the county of Astar, which encompassed her barony and over another twenty. It served, together with four countesses, the duchess of the North, administering this cold Imperial province. Her contacts had notified her of the importance of this letter.

  “My loyal vassal, regent Noct of the Ashen, representative of the soon to be baroness of the Alpin barony, we hope this letter finds your presence in high spirits.

  As our loyal vassal, your household has been invited to the coming of age of your future countess and my heiress, Maliz of the Rosekeepers. This celebration shall have its place on the second week of the Welcoming of the Sun, a month from the start of winter and a month after you read these words, we hope.

  We apologise for the brevity of our invitation for there’s too much to be done on our domain to spend time writing platitudes.

  May you find prosperity. -High commander Kraus, loyal vassal of her Elevated Authority, countess Simil.”

  Soral scowled, having the presence of mind to not tear that missive asunder. It was what she expected yet it stung the same. Rereading it another three times also didn’t help her manage her ire, wanting nothing more but to beat up that arrogant witch with airs of importance. She had not written the invitation to a de jure vassal by her own hands nor had she mentioned her name, the name of the countess’ vassal, anywhere. This disrespect could have been taken to court and damaged her legitimacy if the Ashen weren’t a fallen household. Soral could do nothing but bite her lip and that’s what she did, drawing just a drop of blood.

  Still, her eyes betrayed her, as they fell on their hands. She had never learned how to sew nor dance, and it was custom to dance with a self made dress. Shaking her head, she raised her gaze from the calluses in her hand, something common for tailors and fighters alike. At least she could pass by one, not that she needed to. Her brother would draw all attention on himself, seeing as how he was treated as the ruler, not the regent.

  She unclenched her mandible and rose from the chair. This was something that they should talk about now. Leaving the room, she crossed paths with Mulia, who was just passing by.

  “Where’s the regent?” Her cold and curt tone stopped Mulia in her tracks.

  “...I believe he is in his study? At least he….” Mulia didn’t finish her sentence, instead watching Soral dart away.

  Bussy already with planning the trip, the necessities and the things she would need to buy, she had paid no energy for common courtesy. The route they should take was of no consequence, yet the guards and escort was a tricky subject to start on. She needed her paladin of Elenia to show that she was someone, not just a puppet, and it would not be a problem if she wasn’t already smelling the blood they would spill killing themselves along the way.

  Not bothering to knock, she pried open the door of Noct’s study and, not caring for his work, slammed her hands on the desk he had been writing on together with the missive. The ink flew but didn’t fall, having been catched by shadows.

  “I told you to kn…”

  “Spare me your nagging, brother.” She hissed. “You are going to prepare a couple of things. Now.”

  His eyes trailed the newly revealed letter. He flinched a bit, failing to hide a small frown born out of anger. Recovering his bored stance of before, he asked in a calm tone, “The invitation was due in this time period, wasn’t it?”

  “And I am going.” Soral’s eyes fell on the signature of the missive. “For the duchess is going too.”

  That caused Noct to rest his quill on the table. His gaze prompted Soral to elaborate further.

  Soral sighed, irritated. “She wouldn’t have invited you if she didn’t need to. This is about her reputation and the reputation of her heiress. We are only needed if she needs to present an united front and flaunt all of her presence. The celebration is an excuse for the meeting.” She frowned. “Me not going would be the same as admitting that I am nothing. I would expect all baronies to come.”

  “And you know because…?”

  “Merchants have big ears and bigger mouths. Your answer?”

  “I see. What do you require?” Noct’s fingers hammered the desk near the quill. It was going to be a long day if what he thought would happen.

  “Full rights for choosing the escort. I believe eight guards will be necessary, not counting Sorak whom I will invite. You…” Soral glared at him, extremely displeased. “will also be coming. Add a few dresses, accessories and a carriage. Ah, and a gift. Costly but too gaudy, I want it to be disrespectful. Maybe your puppet old wizard has some nasty hat I could use.”

  There it was. Sorak. Again. Nonetheless, he let that matter go by. “...if you are asking things from me you should keep in mind to try and treat my vassals with the required respect while you do so.”

  Soral scoffed, “Yeah, right. As if you cared about that. I never thought you would crack and joke but here we are.” She finally sat on the chair in front of the desk, intentionally knocking some papers to the ground. “You should get on doing the things I asked. If you want my claim to be taken seriously. Would be a horrible occasion if I showed up dressed as a peasant, looking as if I am your tool for legitimacy.”

  Noct rolled his eyes at the infantile tries to get him angry. “So be it.” Rising from his chair, Soral lost a bit of her rashness, for the imposing figure of Noct, even without armour, was made present with the contrast of her sitting position.

  Swallowing her fear, she added, “...that’s it? Just, alright? What happened for you to be in such high spirits?” She was certainly surprised.

  Noct glared at her from above. “What did you want to hear, then? A no? That would make things easier for me.”

  “I was expecting you to be, well, you. A bastard of a cruel man.” Soral hissed. His glare turned cold. His only response was covering both of them with shadows and phasing both of them out of the castle. Teleporting on a seemingly random road of their city, Soral advanced a few shaky steps and, doubling down, puked her guts out. The dizziness of spatial magic striking her in full, she struggled to feel like she was not moving.

  “For a future baroness you act not the part.” Mumbled Noct. “Whenever you are feeling ready, join me in the alchemy store.” Not looking at her he entered the store.

  Soral, looking up, wanted to spit some sort of retort. Her movement worsened her stomach, causing her words to not come out as she doubled again. And here it was, the cruelty. Damned be the Gods.

  ……….

  “To what do I owe your presence, regent?” Welcomed the owner, a reptilian, cold blooded species. Humanoid, they followed the structure of lizards with long tails, scales and lack of hair.

  “The same as always. For two.” The warmth contrasting with the snowing outside, Noct dusted his coat.

  Turning around, the owner started to grab several potions from the shelves. “Something big coming up? You only used to buy an extra dose of normal anti-poisons, not anti magic ones.”

  Reaching to the counter and resting his arms on it, Noct asked in a calm tone. “Do you want an answer, Silvius?”

  “No, my regent. I don’t think I want one, no.”

  Noct smirked as Silvius turned to him as he started to mix the potions. “Smart. That’s why I come here.”

  Rolling his eyes, he started his practised sales pitch, returning to the matter at hand. “Well, here you have it. Sixteen different anti-poisons and eight at-magic poison varieties all mixed in one easy to drink potion. Two of each. Do remember the five weeks of effectiveness or you will risk your…” Soral, pale as a ghost, interrupted him as she entered the store. “...your skin. Anything more?”

  Noct backed a few steps, giving a small nod of reference to the soon to be baroness. Silvius caught on quickly and made a reverence.

  “My Lady, welcome to my humble store.”

  Soral raised a hand. “No need for such formalities. A pleasure to be made your acquaintance, alchemist, I am Soral of the Ashen.” Not willing to risk it, she greeted him with a nod, forgoing her usual curtsy.

  Scratching the back of his hand, Silvius focused on her. “As I was informing your brother of, these potions will start to lose effectiveness after thirty days. Important to keep in mind for slow acting poisons. Do try to not leave gaps in the protection, my lady.”

  “I see.” She eyed Noct, who was waiting for her to move first. Cursing mentally, she grabbed one of the potions and started to drink it. Appallingly bitter, it had a familiar taste that was able to settle down her stomach together with the enchantments in the liquid that prevented internal damage. Resting the now empty potion on the counter, the second one had banished, grabbed by shadows. In its place, two gold coins stood.

  Turning around, she glared at Noct, who answered her with a head gesture for her to leave the store. Opening her mouth to counter, the dangerous glint in his eyes stopped her words. Huffing, she left the store.

  Sighing, now alone, Silvius let his posture fall. “It is two silver coins, as I remind you every time.”

  “How is the city doing, Silvius? I believe you should not be having problems with the guard. Am I right?” Noct ignored his statement.

  Collecting the coins he gave up on the issue. “I have not met more problems after the one you were involved in. Either the guard is still scared or the free classes in the library helped with the citizens calling us monsters. Some misconceptions still exist, but that is true for everybody I guess.” The memory being somewhat entertaining, he let himself rest on the counter. “The whole ‘insult a sapient member born of different race and I will cut your tongue for you to ingest’ was certainly a warning they took to heart. But…you should let the matter drop from your mind. Being slightly discriminated against is far better than getting hunted for your scales.”

  “I do not care for your opinion.” Noct glared, even if the gaze was somewhat soft. “Yet I find myself content knowing you are more comfortable.”

  “Me and my family too, my regent. The north being lax, I never expected to see a city filled with different species with so little conflict. Nethers, I would have laughed at the idea six years ago.” His gaze going to the regent, he continued, his voice warm, “Do come again. It is always a pleasure to do business with you.” A slight pause that was followed by a slightly conspiratorial tone. “And we do thank you for the new slums. Feels nice to see that everyone has a house to call home.”

  “Was the work of the baroness to be. Not mine.” Having said that, Noct turned and left the store.

  ……………….

  Rubbing her hands, she quickly talked to the leaving Noct. “So now are w…”

  “To the craftsmen Guild, yes. You wanted accessories, right? Those are there.”

  ‘Finally’. Remembering the street they were on for future use, she followed him as they travelled through the made white road. Her gaze always looking around, she savoured every minute of rich silence under this kind snowy weather. Being able to explore the city without fear was exhilarating. She felt free. And she was.

  She loved winter. The thousands of chimneys blackening the dark sky with their grey smoke, helped her feeling of civilization and closeness. A sight that represented the name of the city, Bonfire. Its humble origins were rooted in a joke name given by the first settlements that had stuck. Now, it looked like a city they could have been proud of. She nodded at a nearby, relaxed guard that nodded back at her while resting on the wall of a nearby house. The house behind the man, and the houses around, were short and chunky, giving them a non-threatening vibe that betrayed the warmth they protected inside.

  The ample road they were on, slowly cleaning itself of snow, was trampled on by hundreds of sapients of different ethnicities and species, all of them living their lives protected by her household. By her. The small changes she had managed to carry out has dissipated for the most part the vigilance most people had had. The streetlights reflected peaceful light on the snow, as if the magic light was dancing from the snow to the windows and colours of the buildings. She smiled on the lightly illuminated roads. She did not know where the funds for these had come from but she was too charmed to care. She had never liked darkness.

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  Yet she still had to maintain some attention on her brother, as he was the one leading their march. She eyed his back, devoid of the armour she had grown used to seeing on him. A simple black winter cloak that should not be enough to protect from the cold and cheap working clothes, he appeared a different man. So much that no one was noticing him, letting the both of them enjoy a calm, normal walk. Her hand toyed with the dagger hidden inside the pocket of her coat.

  “So, what are we going to buy?” She heard herself ask. Noct stopped and turned towards her, looking deep in thought.

  He hadn’t planned that far. Examining her for a long while, he looked at the baroness to be for what seemed the first time in a decade. Exuberant and glossy black hair with a dark blue hue. Bright green eyes that shone pure, unlike his. Toner arms and legs, fruit of her own labour and determination. The sixteen year old daughter of his mother.

  Nostalgia slowed his mind. ‘Maybe a light green necklace. A headband of onyx with a few dark blue sapphires. Long bracelets of dark silver could work. A simple but embroidered dark purple dress made from metal. Long boots…Bringing back with her the old fashion of the Ashen would not be a bad move.’

  “...hello?”

  ‘A sword and an offhand weapon?...A rapier and a parrying dagger would suit her combat style…Not that difficult to forge yet to get them ready before we leave…I got work to do. What would the best metals be?’ Before he could start sinking in his craft a waving hand in front of his face woke him up.

  A fairly angry Soral was scoffing at him. “You forgot how to speak or are you just making fun of me? If you are not going to answer then move!” Anger getting the best of her, she pushed him to get him moving.

  “I answered not because I would rather not but because I am working on it. You are free to choose whatever you want if it catches your eye nevertheless.” Finally said Noct, recovering his fast marching speed.

  Soral nodded happily. She would be doomed if Noct happened to be her dresser.

  …………….

  Having requested three different styles of dresses with accessories, Soral was waiting near the door, her feet tapping on the ground rhythmically.

  “So you don’t believe any of our dresses are up to your standard?” She heard the seller say. Soral cursed. They had been here for two hours and her feet were killing her. “What are your qualifications for that insult?”

  “Seeing your catalogue, I need no qualifications to do better. A mere spider would leave you out of your job. I will rather buy the base materials and make it myself. Does your Guild have, at least, useful cloth, fur or cotton I can use? Because I have seen your silk and I would denounce you for false advertising and plain defective products.”

  The seller got heated too and hit the counter, “Oh, yeah? I would love to see those skills you are so arrogantly talking about, sir.”

  “For you to speak of arrogance. Have you seen your dyes? You are running a criminal enterprise at this point.” Not one to back down, Noct pointed at the open containers of dyes. “I could make a better brown from the dirt your building is placed on. I have nothing to prove to you. I can only pray for Dice, Goddess of Luck, for all of your merchandise to not be doomed.”

  Done with Noct, the seller grabbed the goods another worker had gone to pick and almost threw them to him. “Well, don’t let my useless barony approved store stop you from being so much better! Three silver coins, esteemed client!”

  Noct grumbled as he grabbed the coins from his shadow space. “I would be better off buying a damn sheep and some cotton seeds. Thanked be the Gods for my stockpile of silk.”

  The seller almost popped a vein. Still, their veterany on customer service had granted them the ability to deal with customers, so they managed to restrain themselves. “You do that. I pray for it to succeed too.”

  Noct shook his head, half ready to continue their discussion. He decided to pay and just prove them wrong.

  Soral sighed, relief evident in that breath.

  …………

  Back at the castle, Soral continued to follow Noct, waiting for him to give her what he had planned. Yet, when they arrived at his study, he entered it and closed the door just before him, almost hitting Soral. Flabbergasted, she stood in front of the door, locked out, for a few seconds.

  She started to knock but, after a few minutes of trying, she realised she would not be responded to. Done with today, she turned around and headed to her room, ready for some midnight training.

  Under the snowing sky of the castle grounds, she grabbed a random practice sword and went over the basics, trying to keep her head straight while remembering her training lessons. She warmed up with some swings, reciting out loud some of the things she had learnt. She would have been alone if not for the daughter of Andras, who was being tutored by Sorak on straightforward manoeuvres.

  More centred on their session than hers, her training of now just an excuse to vent, she listened to them.

  “Focus on the spacing and always have in mind where your equipment is at all times. Fighting with a shield could turn into a death trap if you do not take it into account, for tripping it on an obstacle or something you did not see because you lowered it too much will destroy your stance.” Said Sorak while peltering Samil with strike upon strike.

  “Hold it steady but do not block your vision with it. Watch your steps so that you use it to protect your torso, arms and head without leaving a gap to your legs.” Upon saying this, a high stab came flying that Samil blocked just in time, not managing to push it up. “That’s right! If you had had the strength you would have pushed my sword up, leaving me wide open to a counterstrike!”

  Samil was way too exhausted to answer and quietly asked for a time out. Having been stalking them, Soral walked towards them, having found an easy punching bag to soothe her anger.

  “Good work, Samil.”

  As Samil could only nod, Sorak answered their liege. “It is a pleasure to see you, my Lady. Yet I worry for your health. Training at this hour?”

  Soral scoffed. “I could ask you the same. But yes and, if I may ask, could I join you?”

  “Gladly!!” Enthusiastically answered Sorak. The now exhausted Samil looked to Soral, as if begging her not to. “Andras has been complimenting you non stop, so I am expecting a good performance, my Lady. Are you up for the task, Samil?”

  She sighed, knowing it would be useless. And she did want to duel someone of her level. “Yes, I think…I am.” She lifted her wood shield, one of the same kind that Sorak used and readied her wooden short sword.

  Soral was already twirling her practice sword and examining the lashing of the buckler she had grabbed just before stalking to them. She was left handed, so that shield would be a bit more of a problem, as Samil was right handed.

  “Begin!”

  Soral quickly rushed forward and feinted a stab towards the face of Samil, forcing her to raise her shield. That left her legs unprotected, as she had not remembered them, and Soral stabbed her in the knee only to quickly back away. Having gotten first hit, she circled around Samil, using her tiredness against her, pressuring for an attrition battle. She pestered her with small but safe strikes, a slash on the hand carrying the short sword, and stab on the wrist, a glancing blow on the face and lots of ineffective, evaded or blocked, strikes.

  Noticing time wasn’t on her side, Samil tried a hit with her shield, causing Soral to struggle and dodge to the side. A following stab was reflected and Samil, instead of recovering her crossed arms, shoulder bashed forward, colliding against Soral and knocking her backwards. Still, Samil needed some seconds to readjust both her sword and shield, leaving Soral to recover in time.

  Now wiser to Samil’s tricks, Soral always maintained a good distance, making the most of Samil’s fatigue with small and precise stabs, most being deflected or blocked. This stalking continued while Samil tried to take her by surprise by feigning openings or trying to rush in at unexpected times. Nevertheless, her exhaustion piled up, the duel being finished by an unblocked stab from Soral.

  “I…yield” She should not have accepted, as she was struggling to breath now.

  “Huh, good habits.” Sorak nodded a few times, relatively impressed. “And good reactions too. While being that cautious and playing to tire the opponent betrays the training intent of the duel, in this case it was very well executed. Yet, do mind to not overcorrect after your opponent gets the best of you.”

  Sorak turned to Samil. “And you, really? The first hit is on your knee? I expect the pain to remind you to remember the legs.” She sighed. “Yet you are finally getting that you can use your body to attack. That shoulder bash was a good catch, a shame you tied yourself up.”

  Sorak nodded to herself. “You both really took your training seriously.”

  “Thank you for your kind words. But, if I may?” Her excitement reduced by this therapeutic fight, she stared at Sorak. Noticing her, she sheathed her training sword and followed her a few steps. Samil sat on the ground, happy for a rest.

  “What did you require from me?”

  Soral stared at her for a few seconds more. “You are going to escort me to the White Rose palace in Astar’s capital and I need you to ignore my brother.” Before the paladin could complain Soral raised her hand. “I do not care how you do it, but I need you, alive, with me on the ceremony. Please.”

  Sorak looked to the side. “That does not depend on me, my lady.”

  “It does. I already have my brother’s permission. Just, try to not kill each other.” The uneasy nod from Sorak did little to dispel her doubts. Nevertheless, she returned to her duties, abandoning the rest of her training.

  ………………

  As Noct was nowhere she knew, she spent the following week doing the work she had been preparing for all of her life. Administrative work. Her new study had been loaded with work already so she had gotten to it. Accepting and judging permits, licences, managing the barony’s guilds and carefully supervising the implementation of the new farming techniques on the nearby villages. Monitoring the new upgrades to the sewers, thanks to the investigations on mushrooms conducted by the Druids Guild, that had raised their fertiliser output by an almost unusable amount. Happy but tired, her fingers wrote away. They could now expand the farms or export it to other baronies for a good profit. More work to do.

  How Noct was able to upgrade so quickly the end points of the sewers with the mushroom farms was something she didn’t know and she would ask about it when she could.

  She finished the last stack of documents and fell on the table of her private study. She had never felt so drained and it hadn’t even been ten days. She would really need to decentralise all the bureaucracy and hire some people to help or she wouldn’t be able to get out of this room. ‘Why the hell would he need to micromanage the economy by himself?’ So many needless regulations. Upper limits for the prices of basic commodities, a stratified taxation system proportional to the wealth of oneself, workcamps for unemployed on guilds that would get them a future job. Scholarships and apprenticeships, which all had to be directly ratified. And let’s not start with all of the guilds of the city being under his direct commands. Did he hate free time that much? This was madness to do alone.

  Turning to face the window, she realised why the city had not collapsed nor run away but prospered with baby steps despite the huge debt of the Ashen household. This enormous amount of work was the why. Hated by the rich and powerful, he had had to make it attractive for the common people and he had had to radically reform the barony’s economy by himself.

  All of these reforms and books around her, together with the numbers she had spent the last week seeing, hammered the simple effectiveness of his rule based around stable taxes collected from the common people. The more she looked, the more she had to give it to her brother. Lacking powerful people who brought stability, he had ruled as strongly as he had to control the situation. Rich and powerful merchants rallying against him, he had made his own guilds and industry to not be vulnerable to those vultures. Still, knowing this alone would not be sustainable, he had spent a sizable amount on innovation, discovering the new technologies that would make them rich and would pay their investment tenfold.

  The numbers did not lie, and her own investigations had revealed the same numbers. He had been able to better the lives of almost everywhere in the barony, if banishing the lives of big landowners and bigger players. She looked again at the graphs and sighed. He could have paid their debt if he had not kept on overinvesting in the common people of the barony. She still did not understand the necessity of locking prices, subsidizing free education or healing. The population growth had indeed increased, and there would be a lot more working people during her reign, but why? Why do this?

  Of course, she didn’t know that had been the idea of Lantraz, as it had hammered onto Noct the principles of equality and that everyone needed a living space worthy of them once they saw need for it, even if he did not always act on it. Neither that the idea of making his own Guilds had come from Eve, when he had spent a day cursing his ignorance on construction work and complaining about the slow process, ‘Just find people to do the work for you, and slave them to the gold you pay them.’, Eve had said. Lastly, the funding to innovations had come from his hopeless and forsaken aspirations of being a researcher, choosing to live that dream through others.

  Raising from the desk and reclining on the chair, which she bowed to switch for a high end couch as it was giving her back pain already, she watched as the shadows raised up in front of her, forming the silhouette of her brother and soon enough, letting colour come to his black armour as he exited his phasing. He was carrying on his arms some purple dress and boots. His face, on the other hand, looked surprisingly tired and sleep deprived, darkening the shine of the beautiful clothes he was carrying.

  She jumped from her chair. It was very unusual for her brother to show weakness. Nonetheless, she had no time to question as he dropped his shipment of clothes and returned to the shadows.

  “Nethers!” She cursed. Dropping back on the chair, she gazed at the clothes on the ground, seemingly immune to the grime and dust of the floor. She rolled her eyes. She had already chosen her garments and there would be no reason that would force her to dress these. She noticed herself sneaking gazes at the reflective dress, as if it was arrogantly displaying itself. Irritated, she scoffed and, leaving her chair, raised it to inspect it.

  The sight was a knee long dark purple dress, embroidered in metal with the style of the old mage hunters of the Ashen Household. Thin and light plates of dark silver protected some parts, adding a contrast with the real silver of the spider web like pattern. What’s more, all of the metal felt as smooth and soft as the dyed silk underneath it, looking like one interwoven layer instead of two. All in all, it looked like something very easy to move in, seeming imposing yet awe inspiring. Her eyes traced the millenia old phrases and enchantments, purposely made visible. Strangely, it looked more like a dress made for battle than one for balls.

  Shaking her head, a dark feeling swelled inside her. She grabbed the dagger she always carried on her. Was flaunting his abilities without any care for hers that much fun? She stabbed the dress, her dagger ending blunted and dented after losing the battle. The dress then seemed to ignite in black fire, the white silver turning black and the small threats of metal widening, turning it into a true armour. Her hands found themselves inside the fire that seemed to sip from the dress, yet it did not burn her. The same could not be said from the dagger, the blade being slowly consumed to dust in front of her eyes. The threat having been dealt with, the dress returned to normal.

  “...my damned dagger.” Soral whispered, leaving the dress on the desk. Somewhat regretful of having stabbed it in anger, she decided to humour the work put on it and check the rest. Next were the boots, also black. She sighed. These had not the grace of the dress, being high winter boots with fur to protect from the cold. The exterior was black hide from something she was not able to recognise. In the end, they looked relatively big and clunky.

  Rolling her eyes, and knowing the drill by now, she hit it with the leftover hilt of the dagger. Their exterior turned black metal, growing upwards, intending to cower the knee she thought, and growing spikes in the zone of the knees and the front of the boot. Seeing the serrated edge on those she cringed a bit. The engravings were now evident too, darkened by the shadows produced from the armour plates. In this form, they were but knight graves.

  Somewhat impressed by the enchantments, none of which she understood fully, her gaze turned towards the armlets of dark silver decorated with onyx. Next were the wristlets, manufactured in the same way. Once activated, they would cover her whole arms in clawed gauntlets. The last piece was a necklace of dark silver, decorated with a lone emerald.

  Her desk now littered with non-work related things, she sighed. Maybe there was a reason she could be forced to wear these. Her eyes traced one of the enchantments in the centre of the dress. A sentence from one of her favourite fairy tales, the tale of the first Knight, a noblewoman who had forsaken land and prestige to save their beloved. Was it an apt dress? Yes and now. She could be berated for wearing it, as glorifying knights was seen as barbaric and warmongering in the nobility circles, the thing that had always followed the Ashen Household. But her mother had never run away from it and she would not do otherwise.

  “Yes, this could work.” She uttered, grabbing the dress. Maybe she could still return the other dresses. More funds were always needed.

  ………………….