The Heiress
Nerkam
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Exasperated, I yelled at the inert practice dummy, “This is useless!” My sword clattered onto the grass as I vaulted over the wooden railing. All I sought was a simple moment to practise, to clear my mind, to vent frustration on something tangible. Surely, that wasn’t too much to ask. Yet, here I was, vexed by the sweltering heat, the unyielding dummies, and the lit-fitting shirt I had carelessly chosen. Today was decidedly not my day.
Reflecting on the day’s start, it was no wonder I felt so irritable. I had returned home when the night was almost giving way to dawn, and before I could savour the comfort of my bed, I was roused to attend to a pile of contracts that nearly lulled me to sleep. A brief respite before lunch offered a chance for rest, but instead, I found myself embroiled in a heated debate defending the honour of an old friend. How could anyone fault him for prioritising family over lofty ideals? And as if the day hadn’t been taxing enough, I was soon playing host to a delegation of diplomats whose dreary company and grim tidings from the provinces did little to lift my spirits. Another uprising was the last thing we needed.
Only a moment ago, I had returned from the Academy, where yet another fruitless discussion with Headmaster Niocalsen left me seething. His so-called ‘modernisation’ plans for the old ways were utterly pointless. However, it seemed he finally grasped the importance of bolstering our ranks with mages for the army, and he conceded to my demands. Though, I remained sceptical of his assurances.
Amidst my brooding, a jovial voice called out, “Stop sulking like a child, you’re a big girl!” He had a knack for infuriating and amusing me with a single gulp.
I spun around and leapt back over the railing. The sword I had discarded was already in his grasp, twirling skillfully in his hand. He offered it back to me with a grin, then sauntered over to the equipment rack. His gaze lingered on the array of weaponry, from axes and spears to shields and swords. With a self-assured nod, he selected a sword identical to mine and brandished it with a flourish.
The sword in my hand was nothing special, just a well-balanced blade for practice. “It’s just a sword, come on. Move your ass!” I teased, laughter bubbling from my lips. He chuckled in response, his approach casual yet deliberate. I knew his game all too well; he’d feigned clumsiness, let me taste a fleeting triumph, then turned the tables with his true skill.
“It’s just a sword, but not everyone has such dainty hands,” he quipped. Dainty? My hands were perfectly proportionate, unlike his, which were more akin to bear claws. I contemplated striking while he was doubled over with mirth, but his reflexes were lightning-fast, even quicker than mine.
“What brings you here?” I asked, realising it had been more than just a few days since our last encounter. Time had a way of stretching thin when buried under a mountain of paperwork.
We stood a mere few steps apart. His brown hair defied gravity, arching boldly upwards, while his hazel eyes squinted against the sunlight, a constant laugh on his lips. He was unchanged, save for the blue shirt with black triangles on the shoulders -a style he typically shunned. Strange. Steven hadn’t mentioned him stopping by home.
“What, missed me?” he teased as our swords met with a clang. His strength was formidable, enough to overpower me if he wished. I let my blade glide along him, deflecting the force. He was swift; as soon as I recovered, his next strike was already on its way.
“I always miss you,” I retorted amidst our dance of blades. “Without you, who else would listen to my gripes about Jon?”
“And what’s Jon done now?” he asked, his laughter pausing for a moment.
What hadn’t Jon done? With undead creatures besieging my guards and Edgar’s blind faith in a dubious vision, Jon’s aloofness was the least of my concerts. Yet, I had neglected my dear friend, unwilling to burden him with this. “Nothing,” I replied, shaking off the thoughts. He shrugged and lunged once more.
In a heartbeat, I parried his strike, cursing under my breath. His next attack was fiercer, nearly disarming me. I anticipated his pattern -a swift, less forceful blow was next. I deflected it just enough, causing him to misstep. Seizing the moment, I struck his arm with the pommel of my sword.
“Ouch! Hey, that’s not fair!” he protested, signalling a truce with a raised hand.
“Quit the theatrics, Em, you’re not a child,” I shot back with a smirk.
Emmett massaged the spot on his arm where I’d struck him, feigning a grave injury. He strolled over, disarming me with ease and tossing both our swords aside. His large hand encircled my shoulder, his grin brimming with mischief. Suddenly, he swept my legs out from under me, but his firm grip kept me from tumbling to the ground. The playful glint in his hazel eyes was unmistakable. “Don’t push me, Ans. Apologise nicely, or I might just let go,” he whispered with a hint of threat.
“You wouldn’t dare,” I retorted, though, with Emmett, one could never be too sure. The odds of me kissing the ground butt first were ever in his favour.
His infectious laughter rang out again, lifting the moods as it always did. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t immediately register when he let go. A brief jolt of fear gave way to laughter as I collapsed into the welcoming embrace of the grass, its cool blades a balm against my heated skin. It had been ages since I’d been so carelessly cast down, lying amidst the greenery, gazing up at the endless sky.
“What’s so funny, woman?” Emmett extended a hand to help me up. A stray lock of hair fell across his face, disrupting the perfect arc of his brown hair. “Apologise properly, and I might just pull you up,” he teased.
Instead, I yanked him down to join me. His expression soured momentarily as he landed beside me, rubbing his arm once more. I doubted my blow had truly hurt him, he was likely just waiting for my laughter to subside.
But I couldn’t stop. There I lay, strands of hair clinging to the nape of my neck, tears of mirth threatening to spill over. My hand covered my mouth, the cool gold of my ring pressing against my lips. “I’ve missed you, truly.” I managed to say once the laughter dabbed. “Everyone’s so different now, yet here you are, able to fling me onto the palace grass without a second thought.”
“I wouldn’t call it flinging. That sounds rather ungentlemanly.” he quipped, settling back with his hands behind his head, eyes tracing the clouds racing above us. “Let’s say you slipped, and I attempted a rescue, only to be dragged down with you.”
“No one would buy that tale,” I said, turning to study his face. He smelled of orange and bergamot, an aroma that spoke of the southern lands. “Where have you been?”
“Here and there, wherever duty calls,” he replied, his gaze drifting away from mine to the skies. I followed suit, pondering how to broach the conversation I knew would ignite his temper.
“Have you spoken to Edgar?” I inquired, the silence stretching between us as we lay beneath the vast sky. The clouds above offered no distraction from the chasm that seemed to widen, threatening to place us on opposing sides.
“No,” came his terse reply.
“But you should,” I persisted.
“I shouldn’t, and I won’t,” he cut me off, his impulsiveness surfacing like that of a stubborn child. “He’s found his successor, someone to inherit it all. Let him pass on the throne, the crown -whatever. It’s not my concern.”
“But he’s your family,” I protested, unable to grasp his indifference.
“Exactly,” he snapped, a sudden edge to his voice. A heavy silence fell, one I dared not to break, knowing all too well the direction it would take us. “Out of everyone, you had to choose him!”
“What?” I was taken aback, his world a jumbled rush that took a moment to sink in.
He sat up abruptly, his back muscles taut with tension. “Nothing,” he muttered, almost too low to hear. For a moment, I thought he might storm off, ending our confrontation. Instead, he exhaled deeply and lay back down. “Why Steven?” There was anger in his voice, but his eyes betrayed a different emotion -sadness, perhaps more than anything. “Are you weary of the captain?”
“It’s not about Mylo,” I said softly.
“You chose him, after all this time.” he continued, his voice laced with accusation. “Why? Aren’t there enough people for you to be involved? Is it because he’s the perfect obedient soldier? Now with a crown to boot?”
“Emmett,” I started, but he cut me off.
“He’s too young for all this, can’t you see? You’ll pull him into your world, stave off your boredom for a while, then cast him aside!”
“Enough!” I had vowed to remain calm, to discuss this without anger. Yet here we were. “I don’t toy with people! You’re the one who manipulates, keeping everyone from the truth. So don’t pretend you care about him now.”
“You think I don’t know him?” Emmett pressed on, ignoring my outburst. “He’ll fall for you, just like the rest. And you’ll leave him, heartbroken. For what?”
I had so much to say, retorts that would only wound him further. Instead, I stood, leaving him lying there, a picture of quiet rage. “You play the protective brother, I’d wager you haven’t even spoken to him. This isn’t about him at all, is it?”
He offered no response, and in his silence, I felt a profound disconnect. It wasn’t my day, indeed. Mimicking Emmeett’s earlier actions, I shed my shoes and collapsed onto my bed, still clothed. Within minutes, the day’s troubles faded into oblivion.
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