In Elias's absence, Velwynd Keep seemed emptier. The archduke had left near dawn, and though the day had only just begun, she felt each hour like a pebble dropped into a still pond—small, but rippling through everything she touched.
The morning hours filled swiftly with the rhythm of administration and the hum of responsibility. The keep needed managing—provision ledgers for the winter, patrol schedules in the outer villages, and appeals from lesser bannermen for resources or recognition. Ilya met each with composure, her voice measured, her posture exact.
But beneath her outward control, something churned.
She needed to be stronger.
When Madam Therin arrived with the day's correspondence, Ilya set aside the stack of ledgers and looked up.
"Madam Therin, I have a request."
The headmistress paused. "Of course, my lady."
"I want the best swordsman in Velwynd Keep. Someone discreet, loyal, and unmatched in skill. Not Elias."
Therin raised a brow, clearly taken aback. "May I ask why, my lady?"
Ilya's gaze didn't waver. "I intend to learn."
The older woman considered her quietly, then inclined her head. "Then I will summon Sir Rylan Caeden. He served under Lord Elias in the monster crusades—he's honorable, discreet, and without peer save for our lord."
"Thank you," Ilya said, already moving to rise. "Have him meet me in the lower gardens before dusk."
With that, she made her way to the library.
The journal still sat on the shelf where she'd hidden it—Alura's voice waiting like an echo. She opened it to the middle entries this time, seeking knowledge not just of Elias, but of the world Alura had known. The northern keep had not always been what it was now and the woman who had lived here before her had seen things that might help shape what came next.
Entry 191: The western provinces stir again. Grain shortages have turned once peaceful men into marauders. Elias rides out with the knights, but he is weary of fighting his own people. He says war is simpler against monsters—I don't know what it means but I am glad he takes no pleasure in killing.
Entry 192: The court sent a delegation today, honeyed words dripping from every mouth. They praise the rebuilding but question our solitude, wonder aloud at our refusal to share more wealth. Lady Maribelle whispered false kindness, urging me to convince Elias to loan money freely to failing southern lords. But her smile hid daggers. When I spoke plainly, she smiled cruelly and called me naive.
Entry 196:Word from the capital—an uprising quelled, but many dead. Elias refuses to celebrate, knowing well the cost of peace. I overheard whispers that some in court had hoped he'd lead the charge and never return. They resent his strength as much as they rely upon it. I saw him training alone in the courtyard when he returned, fighting shadows with such fury. It broke my heart. He carries too many burdens, and yet he smiles when he sees me, even if it hurts. I fear the war never ended—it only changed form.
Ilya closed the journal slowly, resting her fingertips on the worn leather cover.
There had always been danger in this life, even before her time. And Alura had seen it. Felt it. Fought it with poise and dignity.
Alura clearly loved Elias, and relied on his strength and mythic fortitude to win the day while she leaned into working with the diplomats and seeing to the politics.
But Ilya was not Alura.
She could not rely on diplomacy alone. Not anymore. Toby had reminded her of her own weakness. Growing up in that place, she had been struck by her father, by servants. Mocked by nobles- all because she was now without the power of her house and they knew it. The nobility in this Kingdom was like poison.
That evening, before sunset, Ilya walked to the lower gardens. Fog clung to the hedges, the sky above pale and washed with twilight. By the old fountain, Sir Caeden waited.
He was tall and sparely built, hair streaked with silver, his expression calm and weathered by battle. A longsword rested at his hip, and when he turned to greet her, he bowed with soldierly precision.
"Lady Ilya."
"Sir Caeden," she said, standing before him with her arms at her sides. "I wish to learn to fight. Not…as a game or for curiosity." She glanced away, clasping her hands in front of her. She was wearing leather breeches and a simple shirt with lacing near the top- easy to move. "I…am sure you heard what happened today."
The man scratched his head and nodded.
"I did. I also heard what Lord Wylt did in response, though I am surprised he did not kill the man."
Ilya nodded.
"I am sure he would have, if I had not stopped him. I do not wish for something like that to happen a second time. I… I want to be able to protect myself. And others. Will you… teach me?"
He looked at her for a long moment.
"Does…Lord Wylt know about this?"
She shook her head slightly.
"I see….If Lord Wylt thinks this is a tryst, I may be in trouble. It would be better to receive his go ahead."
Ilya let out a slow breath, wondering at her failure. Sir Caeden cleared his throat.
"For the future, however….there are very simple ways to hurt someone, even if they exceed you in strength or speed."
He glanced away.
"I must warn you… my methods are not suited to honorable duels. I fight in war, not ceremony. On the battlefield, anything that kills is permitted. And much of it is… not for a lady's ears. Do you understand what I mean?"
Her brow twitched, but she nodded.
"Very well. I know what it is to feel helpless," he said, his voice quieter. "So I'll show you what I can. Just know—these vulgarities belong to the mud and filth, not the courts."
She raised her chin in quiet defiance.
He sighed, then stepped closer.
"From what I understand… that man grabbed you like this."
He took her hand and placed it on his own forearm, intent for her to grab him in a similar way.
"Men who beat on those smaller than themselves rely on power and fear to rule- they do not expect to be bitten by the fox when they are holding its tail. When someone grabs you…aim for sensitive parts. Like…forgive me, my lady…like this."
He demonstrated cocking back his right leg and slowly pretending to kick her swiftly between her own, making it obvious he was aiming for her crotch without touching it. She blushed furiously, eyes wide. Sir Caeden continued without missing a beat, however.
"In their pain, they will certainly fold in half a little but their anger or adrenaline may mask it enough for them to bounce back quickly. So…spit into their gaze to remove their vision. Grip an ear in your fist and yank with all your might or, if possible, jam thumbs or fingers into his eyes. During the process, if there are objects to grab- knives, staves, swords- take them and stab anywhere you can reach-"
He went on like that for a while- he talked about using objects to hit, teeth to bite, fingernails to scratch. He told her of ways to trick a man who wished to take her innocence by pretending to go along with it, but once his manly bits were exposed, to grip and twist, pull harder than ever. Bite. Stab. Scream.
His methods were…disgusting. Horrifying even. Yet….Ilya listened with rapt attention, memorizing everything she could be told. Never in her life had she thought, even for a moment, that she would be learning these wicked things. Yet…she knew in many situations it would be her only option.
"That should be enough…for a simple conversation, my lady. If you can, run away once they are injured enough. Find help. If Lord Wylt gives you leave to study the blade I would be more than happy to return as a tutor in an official capacity."
He gave a smart bow.
"Good luck, Lady Wylt."