We gathered to celebrate the sun’s descent within the confines of a diminutive chapel nestled inside the residence of Baron Faringoth, its space so constrained that it could scarcely accommodate five or six souls. The Baron himself showed little devotion to the rites, bowing his head in passive observance without joining us in song. It was Lady Orzwa who led the brief ceremony; no Priestess was present to preside. As we transitioned from the sacred hymn to what we knew would soon transpire, I harmonized with Princess, matching her tempo as best I could, striving to replicate her inflections despite the constraints of having no command over her form. When the change occurred, it was more seamless than before, yet Lady Orzwa, Lord Zajardo, and Lord Faringoth still reacted with a fleeting astonishment as Princess’s once-lilting voice flattened to a monotone before each returned to their own singing—or lack thereof.
“Not a bad start, but then it went all to crap. You’re a worse singer than me, girl, and that is saying something. Maybe we both ought to keep our traps shut during the prayer,” Lord Faringoth jested, attempting to get a rise out of Princess as soon as the religious observance ended. However, he was not dealing with her anymore.
“Warlio! Stop!” he was elbowed and chastised by his wife for the umpteenth time as we left the small chapel.
“A poor performance is never justification to cease striving, Your Lordship,” I countered with quiet defiance. “If a single failure were reason enough to abandon one’s pursuit, skilled people would not exist.”
“Ha! You got that right,” he agreed with unexpected enthusiasm, punctuating his approval with a hearty pat on our back, though it was entirely uncalled for. “A good performance is no reason to stop trying, either. You have to stay sharp. That’s why you shouldn’t let me get to you, lassie. Keep on that painting thing. Maybe you will make something of it someday.”
“Precisely.” I halted, turning to face him directly. He did not shy away from the slight challenge, and we locked eyes in a silent contest of wills. “Through years of toil and countless laughable attempts, through making a fool of myself, deprived of the proper tools for the task yet persisting all the same, I endured.” I broke the stare to glance at my hands—Princess’s delicate hands, so graceful in appearance. I clenched the left one into a fist, finding it strong, capable, and nimble—worthy. “You may doubt my abilities, Your Lordship; I once did as well. But now, I am certain of them. My worth extends beyond the number of my years.”
“That is quite alright, dear. He’s made his mind up,” Lady Orzwa intervened. “This man is always like this. Thirty-four years we’ve been together, and never once have I made him admit he’s wrong. Even when he knows he is, he’ll just puff his chest out and double down. Infuriating, really.”
With those words, she turned on her heel and left us. But Lord Faringoth remained, his gaze fixed upon Princess’s face with an intensity that revealed a mind far more perceptive than his crass demeanor suggested, his smirk deepening as he studied me.
“You have judged me without seeing my work, Your Lordship,” I remarked pointedly. “Do you believe yourself so discerning a judge of character and talent that, with a mere glance, you have already gauged my skill with the brush?”
“You are giving me a completely different impression right now, I’ll say,” he showed more of his teeth as he spoke; his smile grew. “I’m not so much a great judge of character as simply an old, tired dog who has seen all kinds over and over again. Do you know what you seem like to me, girl? It may be odd, you being a noble Lady and all.”
“I am on the edge of my seat with anticipation, Your Lordship.”
“A rookie. I don’t know what changed after the prayer, but you look just like a rookie to me now. A green farmhand, or a blacksmith’s son, or a young noble lad—any one of those eager fools who believe they know it all because they are young, strong, and have their entire lives ahead of them,” he pierced me with his gaze, and I knew that this man was not a simple arrogant lout. “I’ve seen them come by the hundreds to our lines, thinking the world is no match against them, willing to test their mettle for the first time. They either die because of their pointless bravado… or live long enough to become a little more like me. Every time.”
“But you do not dislike that,” I stated, certain. There was fondness in the Baron’s voice.
“Not at all, girl.” He shook his head. “I envy you, little fuckers,” by then, both his wife and guest had left our presence, so the only one who gasped at those words was Princess inside my mind. “You actually think you can wrestle the world under you, don’t you? You really believe it. Painting or fighting—what’s the difference?”
“Would you care to prove me wrong?” I raised my head, a defiant smile curling my lips. “I know you would relish the opportunity. How about a wager?”
He cackled without opening his mouth and without taking his eyes off me. “A daring girlie, this one!” he put his hands on his hips and flared his nose. “I think I’m starting to like you. What do you have in mind?”
“Allow me to do the work I was commissioned for; let me paint you, Your Lordship. All I require is this evening—one single session.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Princess and I had gone without sleep the previous night, yet neither of us felt the weight of exhaustion. Her body was astoundingly resilient, the vigor of youth coursing through her veins. We could push her limits a little further, skip a bit more rest.
The smile of the Baron diminished somewhat. “You nearly had me there. A wager is good and all, but you don’t have anything that interests me, and even if I win, it will feel like a loss if I have to stay standing, posing for you for the entire night until dawn or however long it will take you to finish.”
“How about only a fraction of that, Your Lordship?” I suggested, knowing that the time I requested would be too brief for most, but ample for me. He exhaled sharply in a gesture of admiration. “Give me two standard Imperial hours. If, by then, you are not satisfied with my work, we can stop, and I shall concede defeat.”
“And what do you hope to gain from this, lass?”
“Double the agreed-upon payment,” I dared to state. Though the man was only a Baron, his wealth appeared sufficient. Parting with sixteen royal seals would hardly be a strain upon his coffers. “In addition, of course, I ask that you speak favorably of my skills among your circles, dispelling any notion that I am merely a pretty face with idle compliments to my name. I would prefer not to have to battle every client just to secure a sitting.”
“And what does this old man get for having to change out of his comfortable clothes into armor and stand like an idiot for two hours?” he prompted me. “Like I said, you have nothing that interests me, and my time off is valuable.”
“Perhaps I do not possess anything that would entice you personally, Your Lordship, but can you say the same for your family? Forgive my bluntness, but you are a first-generation noble, are you not?”
First-generation, or ‘non-established’, nobles were those who had been born commoners but, through merit, purchase, or fortuitous deals, had acquired land, thus securing for themselves a name, a legacy, and the ability to pass on their titles. The lands of Tulicoth, under Lord Faringoth’s rule, lay to the west, where his kin still resided. My grandfather had granted the Baron his title over three decades ago. After such a long period of acclimation, even the other nobles had ceased to look down upon his origins, particularly since he had married into the ‘established’ Orzwa family.
“Your bluntness is very excused. Go on, speak plainly, girl. I don’t get offended easily,” he pressed me.
“You have no children to whom you can bequeath your lands or properties, and upon your death, any family living with you may find themselves forced to return to menial labor unless some benefactor takes pity upon them.” Nobles without titles or estates were not uncommon, but such families typically saw their line extinguished with them, having nothing to pass on to future generations. “I can help with that. Though my own lands are currently occupied by the forces of Repubin, there is a possibility that I may reclaim them in my lifetime, depending on the war’s outcome,” I dangled my tantalizing offer before him. “If you have a nephew or a cousin, while you may not be able to leave them your titles, you could secure them mine.”
“Are you offering your hand in marriage to someone who, in essence, would be a commoner?” he questioned, incredulous yet unimpressed. “And I’m supposed to believe you’re wagering this over a stupid painting?”
“Yes. At present, my lands hold little value. But if they were to be reclaimed, that would be to our mutual advantage.”
“You’re talking as if it was within my power to grab thousands of men, knowing many would not return and go fight in the northeast against Repubin for some land. That is not how it works, girl,” he said, slightly offended by the offer, but he had not understood the full scope of it yet. “I’m just a simple Baron out of dozens. I don’t decide where the battlefield is.”
“You possess some measure of influence; should I lose this wager, it would be within your best interest to exert your sway to shift the course of this war. Even if such an effort proves fruitless, there remains little risk. One of your kin would still wed into the de Irchard lineage—my own. It is not an offer to be dismissed lightly.”
“Your hand in marriage is not even within your power to grant,” he kept finding faults with my arguments, but I had already thought those over. “Can you procure your own dowry from under your skirts? I know about the de Irchard and what happened to them now that you mention your name. The Flower Couple. You were taken in by The Steel Duke, right? How am I supposed to enforce your wager? He’s the one with a right to decide who you marry.”
“He is a man of honor, who would trust your word,” I assured him with unwavering confidence. “If you inform him that I agreed to join our families, he shall believe you. I shall sign any documents you deem necessary. You have my word as a Lady.”
“Why go so far? What are you getting out of this? I can’t get your lands! I can’t enforce your marriage. This is pointless.”
“And it is all I possess. What else would you have me wager, Your Lordship? The very clothes upon my back? I shall, if need be. I would ride back to Highsummit Manor clad in naught but the air itself if that is the cost for you to grant me the chance to prove you mistaken.”
The jest had an effect on him; his smirk returned. He found it humorous. “You have guts; I’ll give you that. And what is the reason for all of this? Are you that desperate for a few royal seals that you will bet everything you have?”
“The answer is quite simple. I am young and stupid,” I replied with a smile. “In my naive, insular mind, I cannot conceive of losing this wager. To me, this is nothing more than free coin, willingly handed over by a fool.”
His laughter erupted, rumbling from deep within as he clutched his belly, contemplating his next words. “Right. I believe you; you’re a dumb rookie, as I figured. Let’s shut that mouth of yours, right? Your hand in marriage? I’ll come back to claim it if I ever retake your lands. You can keep your dress on even after you lose. Come, let’s go to the lobby. You can paint my messy beard if you insist that much.”
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