Chapter Two — The Strike That Should Not Have Happened
The morning in Vaeltharion's inner palace yard was gentle, like a breath the world had not yet released. Sunlight filtered through carved stone arches and rows of pale-leafed trees that lined the training grounds reserved for royal princes and hand-picked guards. The stones were swept clean, the air soft with birdsong, and most of the palace was still busy with preparation for meetings, court sessions, and hushed noble conversations.
Yet at the far corner of the training yard stood someone who did not belong there.
Elowyn Kaeryth tightened her grip on the wooden practice sword until her fingers ached. She stood with her feet planted the way she remembered seeing soldiers stand, trying to imitate the confidence they carried effortlessly. She inhaled, raised the sword, and let it fall through the air, clumsy but determined.
She was breathing harder than the exercise deserved, but that wasn't from the training.
It was from everything her father had said that morning.
He had been kind in his tone but firm in his words, and that had made it worse.
"Elowyn," he had begun, fastening his robe before attending the court meeting, "you are my daughter. You will have a different road than the sons of warriors."
She remembered staring at the floor. "But I want to be one."
Her father had sighed, not mocking, not cruel — only tired.
"A sword is not a decoration for girls to try on. It wounds. It kills. The world is unsafe enough already for you without you walking straight into danger."
"But the crown prince supports—"
He had cut her off gently, placing his hand on her hair.
"Stories about princes are one thing. Real life is another. Listen to me — I would rather see you safe than brave."
He had left then, carrying duty on his shoulders.
Elowyn had carried disappointment instead.
That was why she stood here now, alone in the royal yard with a wooden sword, practicing where she was not supposed to be. Her heart beat with stubbornness. She didn't want to be protected by the world. She wanted to be strong enough to protect others.
She raised the sword again, remembering the crown prince she had heard about — the prince who supported women learning to read, who allowed girls to watch public training, who had once said talent did not belong to only one gender.
She did not know his face. She only knew his reputation.
And she had promised herself she would meet him.
A distant sound caught Elowyn's attention — wheels rolling over stone.
She froze.
From the archway at the opposite end of the yard appeared a small procession: maids walking in neat lines, then a low carriage draped with silk curtains. Sunlight gleamed on polished gold trim. The woman inside was seated upright, wearing pale, layered robes that shimmered softly as she moved.
The king's favored consort.
Everyone knew of her.
She was famed for her beauty, her intelligence, and the king's deep affection for her. She was also heavily pregnant now, her hand resting over her abdomen with a protectiveness that softened her expression whenever she glanced down.
But when she looked up, her gaze was sharp.
Elowyn swallowed and stepped aside, wanting to be unnoticed. She lifted the wooden sword again, meaning to practice one last stroke before fleeing quickly so no guards could question her presence.
The blade slipped.
Her hands were sweaty. She had swung too hard.
The wooden sword struck the side of the passing carriage with an audible thud.
Everything stopped.
The birds. The footsteps. Even the faint breeze.
The nearest maid gasped. Another covered her mouth. The wheels halted. The silk curtains shifted, and the consort slowly turned her head.
Her expression was not loud anger.
It was cooler — controlled, assessing.
Her eyes settled on Elowyn like a weight.
Elowyn's stomach dropped. She immediately let the sword fall and dropped to her knees on the stone courtyard.
"I–I am so sorry, Your Grace!" she stammered, bowing low. "It slipped. I did not mean— I beg your forgiveness."
A guard took a step forward as if awaiting orders.
The consort lifted her hand slightly.
No one moved.
She let the silence linger before speaking, her voice calm and elegant.
"You are a guest in the royal palace," she said. "And yet you swing weapons you do not know how to use."
Elowyn pressed her forehead to the stone. "It was my fault completely. Please… please forgive my carelessness."
The consort studied the wooden sword lying beside the girl.
"You are very young," she said quietly. "Too young to understand what swords truly bring."
Elowyn trembled. "I only wish to learn. I want to become strong enough to protect people."
The consort's gaze sharpened, not loud but firm.
"Girls do not become warriors."
There was no cruelty in the tone — only certainty, like something long proven in her mind.
"It is not your burden to carry blades," she continued. "Your hands are meant to hold children, to tend homes, to keep your family whole. War takes, and takes, and takes — and it does not care that you are brave."
Her fingers curled slightly over her rounded stomach.
"I have seen what battles leave behind," she said softly. "Do not run toward wounds thinking they are crowns."
Elowyn lifted her head a little, tears pricking her eyes though she tried to hide them.
"But if I am never allowed to learn, how will I ever be anything else?" she whispered.
The consort's expression did not change.
"You will be safe," she replied.
One of the maids leaned toward her and murmured, "Your Grace, shall we—"
The consort's gaze flicked to the wooden sword dent on her carriage. Only then did something colder slip into her voice.
"You struck the king's favored consort's carriage within the palace," she said. "There should be discipline."
Elowyn's heart hammered painfully. "Your Grace, please— it was not intentional— I will accept any work, any apology—"
Before the consort could reply, measured footsteps entered the yard.
The guards straightened without order.
Crown Prince Rhaever Noctyrr stepped through the archway.
He wasn't accompanied by trumpets or grand announcement. He wore simple training clothes, his hair caught loosely at the nape, expression bothered by nothing and attentive to everything. His presence did not shout authority — it rested with it.
His gaze swept the yard quickly.
Elowyn kneeling. The wooden sword. The stopped carriage.
He approached with calm courtesy and bowed his head slightly.
"Your Grace," he greeted. "Has something happened?"
The consort's expression shifted — not softer, but heavier. A flicker of something unreadable crossed her eyes before she spoke.
"This child," she said, nodding toward Elowyn, "has struck my carriage with a weapon."
Rhaever's brows knit slightly. He turned to Elowyn.
"Did you mean to?" he asked gently.
She shook her head at once. "No, Your Highness. I was practicing alone. It slipped. I—I apologize deeply to Her Grace."
The consort looked at Rhaever, her voice even.
"You see? Carelessness with weapons is never small. Even accidents can become disasters."
She paused, then added with cool precision:
"And girls playing at warriors is how accidents begin."
Elowyn lowered her gaze again.
Rhaever was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his tone remained respectful.
"She is very young," he said. "And your carriage is unharmed. Might mercy be enough lesson for today?"
The consort's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"You always say that," she replied quietly. "Mercy, mercy, mercy. One day you will learn that kindness has limits."
Their eyes met.
There was distance in it — something strained and long-standing.
"And one day," Rhaever answered just as calmly, "you may learn that it doesn't."
A few of the maids exchanged uneasy glances.
The consort looked at Elowyn once more.
"Go," she said at last. "And put down the sword. It is not meant for you."
Elowyn bowed until her forehead touched the stone. "Thank you, Your Grace. I will remember your words."
The consort gestured forward, and the carriage began to move again. As it rolled past, she rested her hand protectively over her child once more and did not look back.
Silence returned, this time thinner than before.
Rhaever waited until the carriage disappeared from sight, then bent slightly toward Elowyn.
"Are you hurt?"
She shook her head. "No, Your Highness. I'm just… embarrassed."
His gaze flicked to the fallen wooden sword. "You shouldn't be here practicing alone. Someone could misunderstand."
"They already did," she said quietly.
He almost smiled. "True."
She hesitated, then asked softly, "Do you… also think girls should never learn to fight?"
Rhaever looked at her for a long moment.
"I think," he said at last, "that anyone who wishes to protect something will look for strength, one way or another."
Elowyn's eyes widened a little.
He continued gently, "But strength is not only swords. It's also endurance. Patience. Learning when not to strike."
"I still want to learn the sword," she whispered.
"I know," he said.
He glanced toward the palace buildings, toward the wing where the consort had disappeared, then back at the small girl kneeling stubbornly beside a training weapon that everyone had just told her she should never touch.
A faint wind crossed the stone yard, rustling leaves and tugging at loose strands of her hair.
"Be careful," Rhaever said quietly. "In this palace… choices echo."
She didn't understand what he meant yet.
But later, she would.
Elowyn rose slowly, picked up her wooden sword, and clasped it to her chest as if it might slip away if she didn't hold it tight enough. She bowed to him, then hurried from the yard, footsteps light and determined.
Rhaever watched her go.
Not with fear.
Not with certainty.
Only with the strange awareness that some meetings linger longer than others.
And the day moved on as if nothing had changed.
Even though something had.