Week 5 of Observation Training
It began with a familiar question, one she had asked nearly every week since we started:
"Why do you always know when someone's lying?"
I didn't answer with a trick this time. No test. No riddles.
Just: "Because I don't want to be surprised."
Seraphina nodded slowly, as if letting that settle into her bones.
Then she pulled the chair closer.
"I'm ready," she said. "Test me again."
---
We sat as we always did — in the east study, far from the ears of the court, where no tutors walked and no steward pretended to check on her progress.
The paper on the desk was blank. Always was. A symbol. A pause. A space to measure silence before answers.
I spoke three sentences again.
"I detest the flute. I once stole a knife. I can speak six languages."
She tilted her head, studying me.
"Flute," she said finally. "That one's the lie."
"No," I said.
Her brow furrowed. "Then the knife—"
"True."
She stared.
"You speak six languages?"
I didn't confirm.
Just waited.
Her frustration flickered but didn't burn like it used to. She was learning control.
"Fine," she muttered. "I got it wrong again."
"You guessed," I said. "You didn't read."
---
At first, she'd thought this would come fast.
Seraphina was clever, yes — faster than most, sharp in her own right.
But this was different.
She could memorize facts, recite names, hold her chin just so during court dinners.
But people were not scrolls. They shifted. Masked. Lied with smiles.
And she, like all children of noble blood, had been taught to believe words first — tone second — and body language… never.
---
Week 8, she learned to notice when someone's voice didn't match their face.
Week 12, she caught a maid's lie about who broke a tea cup. It shocked her. She didn't smile — just stared at the girl, then let her go.
That night, she asked me, "Should I have said something?"
I only said: "No one noticed that you noticed. That's power."
She didn't speak after that for a long time.
---
Now, it had been nearly five months since that first "lesson."
And today, I was giving her something new.
Three scenes.
Not words — actions.
"You'll observe. Then tell me what they meant."
---
Scene One:
A guard opened the hallway door too fast. Nearly hit the passing steward. The steward apologized.
"I think the steward was lying," she said afterward. "The guard looked startled — not the steward. So maybe the guard was at fault."
"Correct."
Her lips curled — not quite a smile. A small flicker of confidence.
Scene Two:
Two kitchen workers whispered as she passed by. One laughed. The other hid something in her apron.
"I don't think it was about me," she said. "They didn't stiffen when I looked at them. Just… closed ranks."
"Correct."
She looked at me quickly. "You thought I'd miss that."
"I hoped you wouldn't."
Scene Three:
Lady Alenne complimented her dress in front of the visiting noble council.
Seraphina hesitated.
"She meant the opposite," she said slowly. "Her eyes dropped to my sleeves too fast. And her smile stopped at the corners."
I waited.
"And?" I prompted.
"…She was mocking me. But politely."
"Yes."
Seraphina leaned back.
"Three for three."
"You're improving."
She looked proud.
But then I added: "You missed something."
"What?"
"You flinched when she complimented you."
She blinked.
"No I didn't."
"You did."
"Barely."
"But you did. And she saw."
The pride dimmed in her face.
"But she smiled…"
"Yes. Because she knew she got to you."
---
Seraphina stood then, pacing.
She hated failure. Not because of vanity — but because it reminded her of the parts of herself she couldn't control.
But this time, she didn't shut down.
She turned.
"I want to try again."
---
I gave her no words this time.
Just silence.
I stood. Approached. Let the room fall quiet between us.
Then I stepped slightly too close — just enough to shift the air.
Her eyes narrowed.
"You're trying to make me uncomfortable," she said.
I didn't speak.
"You want to see how I respond. But not to danger — to pressure."
Still no answer.
So she stepped back.
Then forward again.
"One of your hands twitched slightly — left side. You're not planning to strike. You're watching how I react."
Then, with a tilt of her head:
"And you're not angry. You're calm."
Finally, I nodded.
"That's your best reading yet."
She exhaled.
Not dramatically.
Just long. Controlled.
And for the first time, I saw what she would become.
Not just a girl learning.
But a mind that would grow to rival kings.
---
That night, she walked beside me on the garden path again — the same route we'd taken months ago, barefoot under the roses.
But this time she wore her full uniform.
Hair braided tight.
Eyes focused.
"I got better," she said.
"Yes."
"How long until I'm like you?"
I paused.
Then said:
"I started watching when I was sold."
She looked at me.
"…How old were you?"
"Ten."
She was quiet a long time.
Then:
"I'm twelve now."
"I know."
"That means I'm behind."
"No," I said. "It means you were allowed to be a child longer than I was."
She didn't argue.
Didn't look away.
Only said:
"I'll catch up."
I didn't doubt it.
Not anymore.
End of chapter