The training grounds rang with anticipation long before the first spear was lifted.
Banners from the neighboring kingdom of Valenor fluttered alongside Avalor's, their colors bright against the clear sky. Nobles filled the stands, their conversations sharp with pride and rivalry. This was not war—but it was close enough to taste. Duels like these were measured displays of strength, diplomacy masked in sport.
Rosa Fierro leaned forward in her seat, fingers curled tightly around the stone railing.
"There," she said, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. "That's him."
Álvaro Espada stepped into the ring with practiced calm, spear resting easily against his shoulder. He looked every bit the heir of House Espada—focused, controlled, dangerous. Rosa felt a familiar swell of pride rise in her chest, unburdened by politics or bloodlines. To her, he was simply Álvaro.
The signal horn sounded.
The duel was fast, brutal in its elegance. Spears struck, deflected, cut the air with sharp whistles. Álvaro moved with instinct and precision, reading his opponent's intent before it fully formed. Rosa watched every step, every shift of weight, her breath hitching with each near miss.
They faced each other beneath a pale sky, boots set on worn stone, rapiers lifted in mirrored guards. The opposition_ Ser Alaric_ swallowed and tightened his grip. He was skilled_any onlooker could see that_ but his stance carried a faint tension, a readiness that bordered on haste. His blade trembled just enough to betray him. He was Alaric, the great swordman but now he was facing a young legend.
Alaric struck first.
He lunged cleanly, a fast, well-measured thrust aimed at Alvaro's shoulder. Alvaro turned his wrist and displaced the blade with a soft parry, steel kissing steel. In the same motion, he riposted_sharp, direct_ forcing Alaric to leap back, heart racing as the tip of Alvaro's rapier brushed his sleeve, drawing a little blood. Alvaro was known for never winning a battle without drawing the opponents blood, without leaving a forever scar.
Alaric recovered quickly and circled left, boots scraping. He was Alaric the greatest swordsman, the least he could do was leave his own mark on Alvaro to remember. He launched a flurry of feints, probing for weakness: a false thrust to the chest, a sudden cut to the wrist. Alvaro met each attack like it was second nature, effortlessly. He watched Alaric's shoulders, his hip, the rhythm of his breathing.
There, he thought. Too eager.
Alaric committed another lunge, longer this time, extending just a fraction too far. Alvaro slipped aside, cloak twisting with the movement, and countered with a swift thrust that would have ended the bout if not for Alaric's desperate parry.
Then it happened.
A misjudged angle. A split second too slow.
The Valenorian spear clipped Álvaro's side, tearing through fabric and skin. A gasp rippled through the crowd.
"Álvaro—" Rosa whispered.
Blood darkened his tunic, but he didn't fall. He didn't even pause. His jaw tightened, eyes sharpening, and he pressed forward with renewed ferocity. Pain became fuel. He changed tactics. Instead of defending, he advanced, stealing the space inch by inch. His blade flicked out in short efficient movements, testing Alaric's defenses, forcing him to respond again and again.
Alaric parried, but his reactions slowed, his breaths coming harder.
Then Alvaro sprang the trap.
Within moments, his spear struck true, disarming his opponent and sending him to the ground.
"Yield," Alvaro said quietly.
Alaric froze, chest heaving, eyes wide. For a heartbeat, pride warred sense but it would be beyond foolish to try to attack. Alvaro was known for his ruthlessness in battle. He always struck straight to the heart. He let out a breath and nodded.
"I yield."
Victory.
The crowd erupted.
Rosa was on her feet, smiling so wide it almost hurt, relief and triumph tangling in her chest. He had won. Foolishly, recklessly—but undeniably.
She didn't wait for ceremony.
Backstage was chaos—healers rushing, attendants speaking over one another. Rosa slipped past them easily; no one ever stopped a Fierro. She found Álvaro seated on a bench, shirt half-open as a healer worked carefully at the wound.
"Are you completely out of your mind?" she demanded, hands on her hips.
He looked up at her and grinned. "You enjoyed it."
"I nearly leapt into the ring," she snapped, then softened despite herself. "You were bleeding."
"But I won," he said simply.
She rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her. "You always do. That doesn't mean you should."
The healer glanced between them, clearly amused. Rosa leaned closer, lowering her voice. "You frightened me."
Álvaro's expression shifted—just slightly. "I'm fine," he said gently. "See? Still standing."
She shook her head, then laughed, unable to help herself. "Idiot."
He smiled back, warm and familiar, as though victory meant little compared to this moment.
A servant appeared hesitantly at Rosa's side bowing slightly until Alvaro gave a slight nod, a permission to speak. "My lady… your home teacher has arrived. You are requested at House Fierro."
Rosa groaned. "Now?"
"I'm afraid so."
She sighed, folding her hands in defiance as she glanced back at Álvaro. "I'm not leaving."
He waved her off lightly. "Shu, go. You'll only glare at me and give me an entire lecture on all the safety tips if you don't. I'll come see you after I'm done here and..... maybe take you horse riding." He whispered the last line, his eyes slightly flicking to the servant as a warning. It was unlady like to race and unheard of for a Fierro woman to be anything unlady like.
The silent warning didn't go unnoticed by the servant, even his breath paused, too scared to be noticed. Alvaro's stares could do much more, only Rosa was immune to it.
"That's a promise," she said sighing, then hesitated before turning away.
"Rosa," he called softly.
She looked back.
"Thank you. For being here, even though you're just a pain in the ass."
Her smile was immediate, rolling her eyes. "Whatever Dumbass."
***
Behind heavy doors and guarded silence, Don Esteban Espada sat in the dim comfort of the Fierro's study.
Candles burned low. Maps lay spread across the table. Across from him sat Rodrigo Cruz, sharp-eyed and quiet, the Minister of Foreign affairs and Alejandro Fierro, the King's special advisor composed as ever, his face unreadable.
"The king grows weaker," Don Esteban said calmly. "And the court grows complacent."
Alejandro folded his hands. "Complacency breeds opportunity."
Rodrigo smiled thinly. "And opportunity favors the prepared."
Don Esteban's gaze flicked briefly to the door, then back to his guests. "Avalor will not fall in chaos," he said. "It will be reshaped. Quietly. If the King will stick to archaic mundane rule then the Kingdom needs someone who's intellectually astute and ready to attack if need be. The economy is slowly degenerating."
Their agreement required no toast. Power never celebrated too loudly.
***
Rosa stepped into House Fierro and immediately felt it.
The silence.
Servants moved carefully. Voices were hushed. Even the air felt restrained. She slowed, unease prickling at the back of her neck. She saw her brother sitting with a wine in hand, his expression looked far off.
"Héctor?" she called.
Her brother turned, expression stern. "You're late."
"What's going on?" she asked. "The house feels—"
"Enough," Héctor cut in. "Mind your business. Know your place." His eyes didn't even bother to meet hers, to actually acknowledge her presence.
Her mouth closed, words swallowed. His tone left no room for questions.
Rosa nodded stiffly and turned away, but her eyes lingered on the closed study door at the end of the hall. Something important had happened there. Something she was not meant to hear.
I'll tell Álvaro, she thought, the decision firming in her chest.
She continued on to her study room, the weight of iron and steel pressing in from every side, unaware that childhood was already slipping through her fingers.
***
After the classes the homeroom teacher seemed to be in a hurry to leave. It was already getting late but not late enough for such hurry. It caught Rosa's attention.
She started slyly, "With such hurry I'd think it was past midnight and we were in the middle of a war."
The teacher bowed low, "I'm sorry my lady.... There has been some recent unrest in the kingdom, incidents of assassination. I have kids and I'd like to get to them in one piece."
Rosa frowned slightly opening a book as she feigned disinterest "Is there some campaign on going or some intrusion of external attacks?"
The teacher shook her head, eager to leave, "Nothing I'm aware of but the economy is getting worse, foods are getting expensive and almost unaffordable. Maybe it's a form of revolt."
Rosa sighed as though bored as she waved it off, "I'm sure the King is doing something about it.''
The teacher answered respectfully still bowing but her eyes on the door, "I hope so too. There's been some court issues. Some people claim the Reyes are no longer fit to rule...." Her tone dropped to a whisper, "Our monarchy might seem like a democratic on but I believe it's just another strategy.... Our King is in truth a dictator and only uses monarchy to keep his lineage in rule..." Then she seemed to remember she was talking to a Fierro and bowed lower almost trembling, "Forgive me my lady, I'm only talking out of spite for the growing hunger. Do not kill me, I've got children." She was trembling.
Rosa rolled her eyes. She could never be the reason someone was killed and the teacher had given her the information she needed, "You may leave.." Then to maintain her status arrogance she said cockily, "You're nothing but a measly peasant, not worthy to stain my hand with your blood."
The teacher thanked profusely before scurrying away. Rosa immediately got rid of her facade as she mindlessly flipped through the book she was holding. Assassinations? Court sessions? She sighed. How could she know nothing about all this? She crossed her hands. Alvaro would know and he had alot of explaining to do as to why he hadn't told her.