Three years passed, like three seasons, each one molding Daphne into a new person.
The girl who had arrived at Illawarra Manor, pale and trembling, was gone.
In her place stood a young woman whose every movement was precise, whose posture was straight as an arrow.
Lord Illawarra's training had been merciless. He pushed her past exhaustion, past despair, and into pure discipline.
She learned to fight with a blade, her mind strictly focused as she performed. She learned to shoot with a bow, her arrow finding its target, never missing.
Her body, once so delicate, had become a finely tuned weapon.
But her grandmother, Lady Isabella, had been just as formidable in her own way. She hired a renowned etiquette tutor who taught Daphne the intricate dances of court life.
She became proficient in elegance like none other, mastering the subtle art of conversation and the graceful movements of a noble lady.
She also excelled at painting, her landscapes capturing the wild beauty of her new home, and at instruments, her music a bittersweet melody of a life lost and a life reclaimed.
She had become the image of a perfect noble lady, and devastatingly beautiful woman.
One afternoon, as she practiced alone in the training yard, an elegant form of combat flowed from her.
Her movements were a perfect blend of her old self, a beautiful, flowing motion, and the brutal efficiency her grandfather had taught her.
She was both the silk and the blade.
Her grandfather, who had been watching from the shadows of the training hall, stepped out. He did not applaud, he did not smile. He simply nodded, a gesture that held more weight than any praise.
"You are ready," he said, his voice softer than she had ever heard.
"The skills are forged. But remember, a weapon is only as good as the hand that wields it. Now, you must learn to survive in a different kind of fight."
A chill ran down Daphne's spine. She knew what he meant. The coming-of-age ceremony was in three weeks.
She had skipped it last year, knowing she wasn't ready to go back to Eldoria.
The emperor's ball was a mere week after that. She had a new strength, a new purpose. But the game, she knew, was just beginning.
The ball was to be a celebration of General Alaric's great victory in a just-ended war, a triumphant return that would draw the entire nobility of Eldoria to the capital.
It was to be a night of glory and celebration, but for Daphne, it was the start of the war for her life.
She would not be a pawn this time.
She would be the queen.
...
In the General's Tent
Alaric, now Prince Alaric of the Second Rank, sat at a makeshift desk, his broad shoulders hunched over a stack of battle reports of casualties and a tally of his victory.
Outside, his army, the formidable Skyblade Knights, were packing up their temporary camp.
The war had been brutal, but victorious.
The Emperor had been pleased, and his reward was this new title, one that solidified his place among the royal family.
His mind, however, kept drifting to a different kind of tally, the one he'd kept since a certain noble lady had left the capital.
He had gone to see her several times, discreetly, not just with his own eyes, the reports from his spies told him she was well, safe and to return soon.
A moment later, the voice of his head knight at the door broke the silence.
"The Gen," Sir Gideon called out, using the nickname that reflected the friendship he shared with his knights.
Alaric looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly as he marked his page with a brush. "Enter," he called out, his deep voice firm.
The tent flap opened, and Sir Gideon slipped inside. "A message from the imperial palace, Your Highness," he said, his voice low and respectful.
Alaric looked up, a sharp gaze meeting Gideon's. "I thought we agreed, Gideon," he said.
"Titles belong in the capital, not here. You have all earned the right to call me by the name we've shared for years. It's The Gen."
Gideon's expression softened with respect. "My apologies, The Gen. It's an imperial edict, delivered by a royal courier."
"Well? Read it."
"The Emperor sends his congratulations on our victory," Gideon began, scanning the scroll.
"He wishes to honor our service with a great victory ball. All the nobility of Eldoria are commanded to attend to pay their respects to their newly-minted prince."
"Very well. You may return to your post," Alaric said, his voice clipped.
Gideon saluted and left.
Shortly after, Alaric's aide, Lieutenant Marcus, a man of boundless energy and unmatched skill with a bow, entered the tent.
"Sir, what's the news?" Marcus asked, his bubbly personality a stark contrast to Alaric's somber mood.
"The Emperor has summoned us back to the capital," Alaric replied, his expression thoughtful. "There is to be a victory ball to celebrate."
Marcus's face broke into a wide smile. "The men will be thrilled! And congratulations sir, on your new title. We heard."
Alaric nodded. "Let's begin preparations for our return. Get Gideon and the others. I'll address the men."
.....
Back in her room, a soft smile played on Daphne's lips as she carefully placed a painted fan into her trunk.
Excitement fluttered within her at the thought of seeing her family again.
She had missed them so much over the past three years, and she couldn't wait to hug her mother and father tightly, to laugh with her brothers, and to meet her new sister-in-law, Emma, and her little nephew, Ben.
"I'm so excited to see everyone," Daphne said, her voice barely containing her enthusiasm. "It's been far too long."
Elara, her handmaiden, smiled warmly. "I'm sure they'll be thrilled to see you, my lady. You've grown into a very beautiful young woman."
Just then, Kael, her guard, turned friend, knocked on the door and entered the room.
"My lady, I've come to discuss our departure," he said, his eyes serious.
Daphne's mind snapped into focus. "How long will the journey take?" she asked Kael.
"If we push hard, we can make it in two weeks," Kael replied.
"That would give you a week to prepare for the ceremony. It's doable, but we'll need to leave now."
Daphne nodded, her mind racing with the logistics. "Let's do it," she said, her voice firm. "I'm ready to go home."
Kael nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I'll make the necessary arrangements, my lady. We'll be ready to depart in no time."
....
"The men are ready," Marcus said.
Alaric rose from his seat. "Hmm."
Alaric and Marcus walked through the camp to the knights' quarters.
As he entered, the men stood in dead silence, reflecting the deep reverence his presence commanded.
"The Gen, Lieutenant Marcus, what news was delivered?" a platoon leader asked.
Alaric's figure towered over him, his eyes scanning the room. "Gentlemen, I have two messages for you. First, the Emperor sends his congratulations on our victory. Your bravery and skill have not gone unnoticed."
A cheer broke out as the knights congratulated one another.
Gideon spoke up, "Thank you, General. We're honored to serve the empire."
Alaric continued, "Second, we've received orders to return to the capital immediately. The journey will take approximately two weeks. We'll need to prepare our gear and ensure our horses are well-rested and ready for the march.
"
The knights exchanged glances, some nodding, others murmuring in agreement.
Gideon asked, "When do we depart, General?"
"Have the men ready to march at dawn," Alaric said, his voice now imbued with the authority of a general and the quiet power of a prince.
"Lieutenant Marcus will work with you to oversee the preparations. We return to Eldoria."
"Yes sir!" Marcus and Gideon replied in unison.
Alaric left the quarters, the sound of armor being polished and horses being saddled filling the air as the knights prepared for their journey back to the capital.