Chapter 12: A Fateful Encounter

Vulfen, Vesmere 17th, AE 1928, Dawngriffin, Kingdom of Arindor

The castle's courtyard was a flurry of movement and noise as servants scurried about, carrying supplies and decorations for the upcoming festival. Princess Lyra stood at her window, watching it all with the continuous longing in her heart. She heard a knock on her door and turned to see her handmaiden, Janelle, quietly entering the room with a Guardsman's uniform that she had managed to procure.

“You were able to get one?” Lyra quietly asked, excitement in her tone as she began examining the armor, which is slightly too big for her but otherwise fits well enough to serve its purpose.

Janelle smiled and replied. “Yes, helmet and all. I don’t think your own father will recognize you in this disguise.”

With determination in her eyes, Lyra began to don the disguise— piece by piece, until she was unrecognizable as the princess. It was time for her daring escape.

Worriedly, Janelle asked, “Are you sure about this, Your Highness? The armor… it looks like it’s a little big for you.”

Smirking, Lyra replied, “Don’t worry so much Janelle. It’s just for a little while— I’ll be back before they even realize I’m gone.”

Lyra pulled the helmet over her head, the visor covering all of her face except for her eyes. Giving Janelle a reassuring nod, she began heading toward the door.

“Wait.” Janelle cut her off, “I’ll let you know if the coast is clear, Your Highness.”

“Thank you.” Lyra replied. A moment later, she slipped out of her chambers, heading toward the castle gates with her heart racing in excitement. She moved confidently, mimicking the stride of the guards she had observed in the past few days to prepare for this daring escape, reaching the gate without incident.

Wandering down the corridor,

Just as she thought she made it, a gruff voice stopped her in her tracks, “Oi, you there! Initiate! Where do you think you’re going?” A veteran guard asked.

Lyra froze, keeping her face hidden beneath the helmet, her voice muffled as she tried to sound deeper than usual. “I… I was just— heading to the gate, sir.”

Chuckling, the veteran guard replied, “Gate? Not before training, you’re not! All initiates must report to morning training first. Now move it, or you’ll be doing laps until sundown!”

Caught off guard, Lyra nodded quickly, realizing she can’t blow her cover now, not when she was this close. She followed the veteran as he gestured her toward the training ground, her mind racing.

Arriving at the training yard, a wide-open space with several groups of guards in various stages of practice, she quickly found a group to lay low with. All four of them were dressed in similar armor as her. As she approached, one of them began sizing her up.

Eadric, Janelle’s younger brother, wore a cheerful grin, “Hey, you’re new, aren’t you?” Haven’t seen you around, Name’s Eadric. What’s yours?”

Unsure how to react at first, Lyra clenched her fists to her side and quietly responded, “I’m Ly…” stopping herself before using her real name.

“Ly? Your name is Ly?” Eadric asked.

“Yup!” She awkwardly answered. “That’s my name. My name is Ly.”

Eadric laughed, bringing his hand down on her shoulder. “Well God have mercy on your soul if they sent you to train with the Master.”

“The Master?” Lyra asked, confused by this statement.

Another one of the initiates approached, with a confident smirk he stuck out his hand toward her. “I’m Roland. Don’t worry, we’ll cover for you… as long as you don’t make us look too bad, that is.” Taking his hand, Lyra shook it, bowing her head to ensure that no one could recognize her.

Constance, a no-nonsense woman with a steely gaze, glared from behind Roland, “Stay out of our way, and we’ll be fine. We’ll get the Master today. There’s no way he’ll get us this time even with this rookie slowing us down.”

The largest of the initiates approached with a quiet demeanor, “Leave her be Constance, I’m sure they would not have sent her here if she couldn’t handle him or his training methods.” Turning his attention fully toward Lyra, he introduced himself. “Wolfram, it is a pleasure to meet you Ly. Just keep your head down, today and you just might survive this.”

Beginning to become rattled by what they are saying, Lyra began to think about this formidable master they were speaking of. These initiates looked tough and if they were afraid of his training then how bad could it be really.

Keeping to herself mostly, the others began strategizing, whispering among each other about the best way to approach their duel with the Master, clearly intent on besting him today.

Constance smiled after they came up with a plan. “This just might work.” Pointing toward Lyra, she continued, “Just don’t get in our way, rookie. This is serious business. We’ve been training to beat our master for weeks. And today will be the day we finally succeed.”

Excitedly, Eadric cut her off, saying, “Yeah, we’ve almost got him figured out. Maybe this extra hand will help us finally beat him.”

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Roland then interjected, “Do you ever wonder what business the Master had with Sir Gerard, last week?”

Quietly, Wolfram responded, “I didn’t even know he knew him. I mean it would make sense since the Master is the best swordsman in the whole corp and Sir Gerard is the most decorated hero in the whole kingdom.”

Constance approached Wolfram and quietly said, “That reminds me, I think I overheard a piece of their conversation. Gerard mentioned that he was the Master’s master back in the day and also something about going off to see the King last week.”

Lyra’s eyes lit up as she heard mention of this. ‘A visit with the King.’ She thinks, ‘The only Guardsman to visit him in the last few days was that Drakorian.’ Ever since their eyes met, Lyra hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind. She would think of other things here and there, but if she allowed her mind to be idle her thoughts would immediately drift to him.

Before Lyra could inquire about the Master’s identity, a commanding voice boomed across the training grounds. “Alright my pupils, what have you got for me today?” Eamon, the Drakorian sword master, strided into the yard, his presence immediately commanding attention. Lyra’s heart skipped a beat— it is the same man she saw briefly in the castle.

Lyra lowered her head, averting eye contact with him. With a raised eyebrow, Eamon examined her before stating, “Ah, I see you’ve decided to add a fifth today. Interesting. I hope you’re ready, because it won’t make it any easier for the lot of you. In fact… it might just make it harder in the end.” As the word left his lips a sinister grin spread across his face. “What’s your name, Initiate?”

Keeping her gaze focused on the ground in front of her, Lyra lied, “My name? Um… it’s Ly.”

“Ly?” He paused, “Hmmm. I don’t recognize that. Are you ready to duel with the likes of me?”

“I don’t know—Master.” Lyra responded.

“Well, there is only one way to find out.” Eamon said.

Without any warning, the duel began. Eamon moved with lightning speed, his strikes precise and powerful. The initiates scramble to defend themselves, their carefully prepared strategy discarded before they had a chance to implement it. One by one, they are disarmed or knocked down, struggling to keep up with his relentless assault.

Each time he landed a hit, he would instruct them, saying things like, “Panic makes you sloppy; calm makes you deadly!” or “You’re overthinking it! Trust your instincts!”

Lyra did her best to avoid his attacks and stay out of the way, but Eamon’s movements were too quick for her. After dispatching the last of the others, he turned to her, giving her no choice but to engage. Her heart pounded as she attempted a clumsy parry she had learned when she was twelve.

Eamon easily deflected it, laughing, “Come now, don’t just stand there! At least try to hit me!”

Sweeping her legs out from under her, Lyra hit the ground with a thud. The others lay next to her, having fared no better— just like always, Eamon had broken their formation with a swift and decisive action, leaving them beaten and bruised.

“We have to make up for what we missed last week. We duel again. This time I’ll even let you use whatever strategy you cooked up to use against me.” He instructed, getting into a ready position again, looking like he hadn’t even broken a sweat in their last duel.

For the next few hours, Lyra did her best to stay out of the others’ way as they attempted to coordinate their attacks. Every time they did, Eamon would continuously break their formation.

Eamon showed no mercy for his initiates or the newcomer that had found herself in this mess. Winded and a little bruised, Lyra pulled herself up and charged again, trying her best to mimic the others’ attacks. But Eamon remained relentless; he deflected her easily, then struck her shoulder with the flat of his blade.

Teasingly, Eamon instructed, “Eyes up, Initiate! Your enemy’s not on the ground!”

As the Initiates began regathering themselves, a Royal Guard arrived at the training yard, calling out loudly, “Princess Lyra! Princess Lyra, where are you?”

Eamon halted, sword poised mid-strike. He frowned, his mind beginning to race. ‘Princess Lyra?’ His eyes darted to Lyra, who stared up at him. ‘Lyra…Ly…wait, those eyes.’ Recognition dawned upon him.

Slowly lowering his sword, Eamon stepped back and looked closely at the newest Initiate. Her helmet might have been slightly askew, but through the visor he could see her unmistakable eyes— the same eyes that he saw in the palace last week. The eyes of the Princess.

Realizing what he had just done, “Oh no… you’re… you’re the princess. Aren’t you?”

Lyra froze, realizing she’d been discovered. The other Initiates stared in shock, not fully grasping what was happening.

Eamon’s face paled, and he quickly bowed deeply, surprising everyone around him. Earnestly, he groveled, “Your Highness, forgive me— I didn’t know… I… I had no idea, it was you.” He looked genuinely remorseful, still bowing low. “I apologize for my rough treatment of you.”

The other Initiates exchanged bewildered glances, realizing the “rookie” they’ve been berated alongside was the princess all along.

Lyra remained on the ground, attempting to catch her breath, her body aching from the duel. She lifted her visor, revealing flushed cheeks and strands of hair stuck to her forehead. Her voice was strained but steady, trying to keep her composure.

Through gritted teeth, forcing a polite smile, she said, “You… certainly don’t hold back, do you, Master Eamon?”

Still processing the realization that this battered initiate was actually the princess, Eamon takes a step forward, concern flickered in his eyes, he genuinely said, “I want our Guardsman to be prepared for anything, Your Highness. Again, I apologize, I had no idea—”

Cutting him off, a bit sharper than intended, Lyra said, “I know. It’s… fine.” Pulling herself up slowly, she winced slightly, but trying to stand tall despite the pain. “I’m only here due to a series of circumstances that were a result of my choices.”

Eamon nodded, sensing her frustration and perhaps a hint of embarrassment. He bowed again, his tone more respectful. “I respect your courage, Princess. Most would not have lasted as long as you did.”

Lyra exhaled slowly, trying to steady her breath and emotions, feeling the sting of his words despite their intended kindness.

Muttering under her breath, “I suppose I should take that as a compliment…” She glanced around at the other initiates, who were still stunned, and then back at Eamon, trying to regain some sense of dignity. “I—I should go. I’ve caused enough trouble for one day.” As she began moving away she turned to face Eamon and quietly said, “I’m grateful our Guardsmen receive such rigorous training.”

Eamon stepped back, giving her space to leave but his eyes lingered on her with an increasing curiosity. He was clearly impressed, but also intrigued by the princess who ended up in his training.

Lyra turned sharply away, attempting to maintain her composure, and walked toward the Royal Guard, her steps a bit unsteady but determined not to show any more weakness.