The carriage door opened, and Daphne stepped out, the crisp air a refreshing change from the stuffy interior.
Lady Isabella, Daphne's grandmother, rushed forward, her face warm and welcoming. "Daphne, dear child! It's so wonderful to see you!" she exclaimed, pulling Daphne into a tight hug.
She held her at arm's length, her eyes searching for any sign of the girl she remembered. "You've grown so much. You're a young lady now."
"Thank you, Grandmother. It's good to be here," Daphne replied, her voice filled with genuine relief.
Lord Illawarra, Daphne's grandfather, stood behind his wife, his arms crossed, his imposing presence a stark contrast to her warmth. His eyes were like steel as he studied his granddaughter.
"So," he began, "your father's letter said you were coming to learn martial arts." He snorted. "You look like you'd break in half with a stiff breeze. I doubt you'll last a week."
Elara gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
Daphne ignored her handmaiden's outburst, meeting her grandfather's gaze without flinching. "My father also said I have his permission. I'm determined to learn, Grandfather. I won't disappoint you."
"Determination is one thing. Discipline is another. Martial arts require strength, focus, and a will of iron. Are you prepared to face that, child?"
"I am, Grandfather," Daphne said, her voice steady. "I promise to give it my all. I will not be a fragile thing."
Lady Isabella stepped in, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Lawar, do stop. Daphne has come a long way. Let's not be too hard on her. I'm sure she'll surprise us."
He grunted, but a small smile touched his lips. He then turned his gaze to the man standing a few paces behind her. "And who is this?"
"His name is Kael, Grandfather," Daphne answered. "Father arranged for him to escort me here."
Lord Illawarra's brow furrowed. "A guard? We have plenty of guards. Why bring your own?"
"It's a precaution," Daphne said, her gaze unwavering. "I am sure Kael will prove useful."
Lady Isabella gave Daphne a reassuring smile. "Come, my dear. You must be exhausted. Let's get you settled."
"Shall I see to the luggage, my lady?" Elara asked, relieved to have a task she understood.
"Yes, please, Elara," Daphne said gently. "Thank you."
Daphne followed her grandmother into the manor, feeling the weight of her past lift with each step.
She was no longer a concubine, but a granddaughter. Here, she could be strong, not for an emperor, but for herself. The journey had begun.
....
The following morning, Daphne stood before her grandfather, who was clad in a simple robe.
He gestured to the long rows of wooden poles and the assortment of weapons mounted on a nearby rack.
"This is where you'll spend your days, child," his voice as sharp as a stone.
"Forget the delicate dances you learned. Here, we build a different kind of strength."
He picked up a plain wooden staff, its worn surface smooth with years of use. "Our first lesson is simple: you will hold this staff. From sunrise to sunset. You will not rest, you will not lean, and you will not drop it. Your arms will ache, your legs will tremble, and every muscle will scream at you to stop. But you will not."
Daphne nodded, her eyes fixed on the staff. "I understand, Grandfather."
He handed it to her. The moment she took it, its weight felt like an anchor. It was heavier than it looked, and her muscles, accustomed to holding embroidery needles, immediately protested.
"Don't just stand there," he commanded. "Hold it straight. Shoulders back. Chin up. Like you mean it."
Hours stretched into an eternity and her arms began to burn with a fiery, unbearable ache.
The staff felt as if it were made of lead, and she had to clench her teeth to stop a whimper from escaping her lips.
Lord Illawarra watched her silently. He offered no words of encouragement, no sympathy.
When her arms trembled so violently that the staff nearly slipped from her grasp, he simply said, "Focus. Your mind must be stronger than your body."
Daphne's vision blurred with the effort. This is nothing, a voice echoed in her mind. This is nothing compared to the slow poison, the betrayal, the fear of losing them all.
She found strength not in her muscles, but in her memories. She saw her parents' worried faces, her brothers' laughter, and the hateful glint in the Empress's eyes. She saw General Alaric's anguished face as she died in his arms.
So she held on.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Lord Illawarra finally spoke. "It's enough for today."
Daphne's arms collapsed to her sides, the staff thudding to the ground. She gasped for air, her body screaming in protest.
He knelt beside her, picking up the staff and rubbing the sweat from the grip.
"You held it," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Most don't last an hour. You have the will. Now we will forge the strength to match it."
He looked at her, and for the first time, she saw not just a stern master, but a glimpse of pride in his eyes. He stood and offered her his hand. "Tomorrow, we start again."
....
Somewhere in Eldoria
Alaric stood a hundred feet up on the highest tower of the royal barracks, a place he often came to be alone.
"It's strange without her," Aidan, who was beside him said, his voice quiet, lacking its usual teasing edge. "The house feels too quiet. I didn't realize how much I would miss her fussing over us."
At the mention of her name, Alaric's jaw tightened. A flicker of something passed through his eyes, disappearing as quickly as it came.
Whatever he felt, he dismissed immediately, she was only fourteen, too young. He turned his head slowly, his expression, a mask of professional distance.
"Your sister's departure is a recent affair. You, a man of duties should have no time for such sentiments" he said.
"It's just... she's been a different person lately. Out of the blue, she decided to go live with my grandparents. Said she's going to learn to fight from my grandfather," Aidan continued, oblivious to the General's internal reaction.
Alaric's interest was immediately piqued. He knew of Lord Illawarra, "Learn what?" he asked, his tone still guarded.
"Martial arts, of all things," Aidan scoffed, running a hand through his hair.
"It's all quite absurd. One day she's bedridden with a fever, and the next she's insisting she wants to be a warrior. She said something about not wanting to be a 'fragile thing' and wanting to protect us."
The words struck Alaric. The image of her suddenly training as a warrior was completely at odds with his perception. It felt… strange.
"A fever, you say?" Alaric asked, his voice low.
"Yes. A bad one, too. But she recovered so fast it was like magic," Aidan said, completely unaware of the irony.
"Honestly, she's been a different person since she woke up." Aidan laughed at his own joke, but the words hung in the cold air between them.
Alaric didn't laugh. He simply stared at the city below, the bustling life of Eldoria spread out like a map.
Her words, that she didn't want to be a "fragile thing" resonated with him.
Why would a noble lady feel such a desperate need for strength?
"It sounds like she has found her strength," Alaric said, his eyes now fixed on a distant road leading out of the city gates. The road to Edistone, the kingdom where she was. "And that is a journey worth taking."
Aidan looked at his friend with a puzzled expression, a sense of gravity he hadn't intended hanging in the air. "You're taking this very seriously, General."
"Every journey is serious, Aidan. Some more than others." He turned and walked away, his mind already racing with thoughts of a small carriage, a strong-willed girl, and a future he swore he would protect, no matter the cost.