The pale light of dawn had only just begun to seep through the embroidered curtains when Yvonne stirred awake. Her body ached from the day before—her arms stiff, her back sore, the kind of soreness that whispered she had stolen hours meant for sleep and poured them instead into secret drills with a wooden sword. She winced, turning onto her side, clutching the blanket tighter. If only the world would grant her one morning of peace.
The door banged open.
"Up already, gloomy bat?" Celeste's singsong voice floated into the room like perfume turned sour.
Yvonne groaned, pressing a hand over her face. She should have known peace was too much to ask for. "Celeste, it's too early for your antics. Leave me."
But Celeste swept in regardless, her silk gown trailing across the floor, her hair already gleaming as though she had been kissed by the sun itself. She perched on the edge of Yvonne's bed with the confidence of a queen and tilted her head.
"Goodness, you look ghastly. What were you doing last night? Reading dusty scrolls again?" Her smile widened. "Or perhaps you've taken to brooding like some tragic widow in your sleep."
"I said leave me." Yvonne's voice was flat, but inside she battled the fire rising in her chest.
Celeste ignored her, inspecting her nails with feigned boredom. "You should come with me today. Lady Amélie is hosting a tea party. There will be music, pastries… and men." She winked. "Noble ones, with fortunes bigger than your sulks."
Yvonne sat up slowly, staring at her sister's smug grin. "I'm not interested."
"Oh, but you should be." Celeste leaned closer, her words sugar-coated but sharp. "You'll never find a man if you keep hiding away. Do you want to wither into spinsterhood before your twentieth summer?"
Yvonne clenched the blanket in her fists. "Out. Now."
For a heartbeat, Celeste looked almost satisfied, as though she had finally tugged hard enough at her sister's restraint. Then she sniffed, rose with a haughty hmph, and swayed toward the door.
"You'll thank me someday," she tossed over her shoulder, before vanishing in a sweep of silk.
Silence returned, thick and suffocating. Yvonne pressed her palms into her eyes, forcing herself to breathe. It was always the same: Celeste pricking at her like a needle, her parents indulging every word, and her brothers—well, each of them had their ways of twisting the knife.
The morning stretched on, and soon enough, the family gathered at the long dining table. Golden light from the high windows painted the polished wood and glittered off silver platters. Servants flitted in and out with trays, but Yvonne barely noticed the food; her appetite had been soured long before she sat down.
Celeste, of course, was in high spirits. She recounted, in loud detail, every frill of Lady Amélie's upcoming party. Then, with a glance sly as a fox, she added, "I did invite Yvonne, but she refused. Imagine! How does she ever hope to find a suitor if she skulks about like a crow in shadows?"
Their mother chuckled softly, hiding it behind her cup. A few others at the table smirked. Yvonne's jaw tensed as she stared at her plate. She felt the familiar sting of her sister's words, like a needle pricking at her skin. Her fingers tightened around her spoon, the metal digging into her palm.
Their mother chuckled softly, hiding it behind her cup. "Oh, Celeste, dear, don't tease your sister so. Perhaps she's just not interested in parties."
Yvonne's gaze flicked up to her mother, a fleeting glance of gratitude. But Celeste wasn't finished.
"Not interested? Mother, she's nearly twenty! If she doesn't find a husband soon, she'll be an old maid." Celeste's voice dripped with condescension, and Yvonne's face burned with suppressed anger.
Adrian, seated further down the table, set down his spoon with deliberate slowness. "Oh, Celeste, you underestimate our sister. She will find a man. The question is whether he'll be a grave-digger or a sparring partner."
Roland barked out a laugh, and Celeste smirked, triumphant. Even their father's lips twitched with reluctant amusement. Yvonne's eyes dropped to her plate, her face hot with embarrassment and anger.
Alexander, seated quietly across from Yvonne, caught her eye. His gaze was steady, a silent message of understanding and support. Yvonne's tension eased slightly, her grip on her spoon relaxing.
And then—
The heavy double doors creaked open, silencing the table. A messenger entered, his boots echoing against the marble floor as he bowed deeply before their father.
"My lord, my lady. By command of His Majesty, all nobles and commoners alike are summoned to the palace square at noon. The king bears an announcement of grave import."
A hush fell. Even Celeste quieted, her lips parted in surprise.
Their father nodded solemnly, sending the messenger away. "So it begins," he muttered.
- - -
The palace square churned with life by midday. Merchants abandoned their stalls, peasants crowded shoulder to shoulder, and noble houses gathered in their appointed places. The summer sun blazed above, casting heat over the restless assembly. Guards lined the perimeter, their spears glinting.
Yvonne stood among her family, a step behind her brothers and Celeste, who basked in the attention of neighboring nobles. Her gaze, however, fixed on the raised dais where the royal banner hung heavy in the still air.
The crowd fell into murmurs as King Aldric himself appeared, robed in deep crimson, his crown a weight of gold upon weary brows. He raised a hand, and silence swept through the masses.
"My people," his voice rang, carrying over the square. "The realm stands at the edge of shadow. Beyond our borders stir threats long thought distant, now drawing nearer with each passing season. We cannot remain idle."
A ripple coursed through the crowd. Yvonne's pulse quickened.
The king's eyes swept across them, stern yet resolute. "It is not enough for knights alone to bear arms, nor for lords alone to defend these lands. The strength of our kingdom lies in every son and daughter willing to rise. Thus, by decree, all youths of noble and common birth alike—of age to bear arms—shall be called to train."
Gasps erupted, voices clashing in shock and protest. Mothers clutched their children. Nobles muttered about dignity. Yet some, especially the younger men, straightened with pride.
Yvonne's breath caught. Train? The king himself had declared it. For the first time, her longing was not a solitary dream, but a possibility carved into law.
Beside her, Roland's chest puffed with smug confidence, Celeste whispered feverishly about suitors in uniform, and Adrian smirked as though he already foresaw chaos in court. Alexander, quiet as ever, let out the faintest exhale, as though silently rooting for her.
Yvonne clenched her hands, her heart pounding with something sharp and unstoppable. Hope.