A few days after her first night at the Spring mansion, Anemone had spent most of her time reading and working out. The workouts were nothing like she had ever experienced before. One exercise, in particular, had her body lay flat on the floor, her hands pressed on the smooth wood below her, and she had to push the ground to lift her body upward.

That one was as exhausting as it was painful to her arms after a while. She could manage four less than thirty of the motions in a single chain. Calace said that was a pretty good start, but Anemone wanted to be capable more. And as soon as those thoughts entered her mind, it became a challenge.

And challenges are meant to be overcome, Anemone thought, pushing up against the ground. One, she lowered to the ground, making sure her chest and knees hovered slightly above so as not to cheat. She pushed up. Two…

Anemone did these by herself, as Calace had her own responsibilities to take care of. That left her alone downstairs while Ranun worked upstairs. Something about the silence, the loneliness, gave her strength. It was a feeling she remembered well from her time in the beast camps, fighting ferociously against those who were supposed to be her superiors.

“You are a disgrace,” Corden had said once long ago. She didn’t remember exactly how old she was back then, only that she was perhaps three or four years into her branding, putting her at around eleven or twelve? “You are wasting everyone’s time.”

Five, six, seven, eight… Anemone continued pushing up and lowering down. More and more, she thought about old life, looking back through the eyes she had now, as someone a little more knowing.

It was wrong what they did to her. That was what everyone kept saying, anyway. They labeled her a devil, branded her head with a number, then trained her—or as the beast tamers called, branding—and set her up for a life of servitude. If she weren’t chosen, she would have been sold to who knows who.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…

Keep pushing! Anemone commanded herself. Her arms started to feel stiff, draining in strength, happening faster than the last time.

Her skin turned red, and sweat dripped from her face down to the polished wood floor below as she pushed her limits even further. She made it to the twenties—ten more to go to reach her current goal for the exercise.

She faced the ground, seeing her wincing expression staring back at her through the reflection below. Only days ago, her hair would have been long enough to stay joined to the ground throughout the entire exercise. But now, it was nice and short.

Twenty-three… twenty-four… Twenty—Anemone gasped, falling flat on her face. Anemone sighed, laying there for a moment, face wet to the puddle of sweat she created. Her body felt warm apart from the chilling touch of her exuded moisture. She rolled over, staring up at the chandelier above.

She took a moment to breathe, her hand and wrist draping off of her forehead as she smiled above. It wasn’t that losing was fun, but losing meant that winning was possible. That thought alone pumped her up.

Anemone lifted her torso up, another exercise she learned, but only did so so she could stand up. She picked up a towel hung over the staircase railing then threw it on the ground, dropping to her knees to clean up her sweat, worrying it could stain the floor like how juice could stain a shirt. After she finished, she used the mostly dry towel to clean her head and arms.

She looked around, wondering what to do now. She felt at the brink of her exhaustion—notably so considering she failed even to reach her record of twenty-six on her last attempt.

Anemone checked her room, which had a little more inside compared to her first night. Mostly her closet. The past few days, she spent most of her time at home with Calace, but they went shopping for clothes on two separate occasions. She had about sets of them now. Some were loose like what she wore in Ryuso, some more formal, a class of clothing that she had never worn.

And something called a “dress.” She had tried it on at the store and couldn’t help but feel strange in it. It felt so… unnecessary long and wide. Her arms had a white, transparent sock-like cover over them, stretching from her shoulders to her wrists. The shoulders were bushy, with flaps that sprouted almost like flowers stacked over flowers. The clothes exposed a portion of her upper torso, both from the front and back. Her dress continued down to create a bell shape that sprouted around her hips, pointing down. Anemone questioned if the dress was too long for her, but Calace had said most dresses go as far as ankle-deep.

Calace said she had to get it, and one day, she might have to wear it. For what, Anemone didn’t know. She was at least happy she got to choose the color. Purple.

As for the rest of her outfits, about four of her shirts, one formal, three casual, were all variants of purple. It was a glorious color, one that allured her mind like nothing else really could. That and flowers—primarily the one she was named after.

She closed her closet door and felt herself again without anything to do. She supposed she could read, but she had already done that for a few hours today. She walked out her door and turned right, walking down the hall before stopping by a door to her left.

Anemone inhaled before knocking.

“Come in,” his voice said.

Anemone opened the door, entering Ranun’s office.

Ranun smiled at her, and she nodded back, approaching the chair in front of his desk sort of sluggishly.

“Hey,” Anemone said.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I don’t know what to do,” Anemone said.

“That’s no good,” Ranun said. “You like being active, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Me too,” Ranun said, though he looked a little unsure about that, kind of wincing a little bit. “I’m a few papers away from finishing. After…”

She waited for his answer as he looked up the roof and pondered.

“How about after I’m done, we tour the city a little more? How does that sound?”

“Alright,” Anemone said. She could get behind that. She liked being outside. Ranun and Calace had let Anemone run around in the yard, some of her happiest moments in a while, running freely on slight hills of green grass surrounded by patches of flowers. Of course, she couldn’t run into the flowers, but she could go along them, observe them in motion as she kicked her legs under herself.

“I haven’t asked in a while,” Ranun said, taking one page and putting it on top of a thick, towering stack before taking another from a short pile and digging into that. The motion autonomous, drilled by repetition. The action was so quick, so well executed, Ranun had perfected the act of shifting papers. “But are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes,” Anemone said. “Very much.”

“Good,” Ranun said. “Soon, I’ll have you meet Kinler. A brave warrior, well adept in the arts of swordplay. Luckily for you, you’ll get a few days to spend with him privately. After that, his attention will have to be shared with five others. And if I remember correctly, you enjoyed fighting?”

Anemone nodded. From her childhood, she always assumed training was a self-instructive act, a personal adventure to master the craft of fighting. Never had she had someone teach her what always felt natural to her.

“Yes sir,” she swallowed. Very much, she almost added.

“I would like to see you fight one day,” Ranun smiled. “Exams are coming up in Spring of next year, though those are all duels with swords. Which, by the way, you will be training with.”

“Right,” Anemone said. “Oh, and when do I get a sword?”

“Calace was supposed to take you to get one soon…” he hesitated. “But, while we’re touring around the city, I don’t see why I can’t go ahead and get you one myself.”

Anemone perked up. “Is using a sword hard?”

“Some say holding a sword is easy,” Ranun said, finishing another sheet before whipping down another, “but holding a sword against another human, that is the hardest task in the world.”

“Isn’t that what you say,” Anemone said.

“Huh?”

“The books,” Anemone explained. “Anemone gave me some. I read one about Soucrest. You’re in there, saying those exact same words.”

“That’s right…” Ranun hesitated. He looked troubled, distraught even. “It had been so long, and those were echoed through so many mouths that… I forgot. Up until you reminded me. Thank you.”

Anemone said nothing. It felt as if those words were personal to him. Words he had believed but somehow lost them somewhere along the way.

Ranun finished his paperwork then stood. “Shall we?”

Anemone joined him, and they left his office before going out and into the city.

***

Five major districts comprised Falcon Hill.

Ranun and Anemone left from the eastern district, which noblemen and the rich alike primarily occupied. Also in the east, the Soucrest Elite Agency building, which tucked in the back near the large mythstone walls bending around the city.

The other three wall-bordering districts were residential areas mixed in with some commercial buildings sprinkled in to provide the people with groceries and common accessories.

But the true heart of Falcon Hill was Central.

Ranun walked alongside Anemone on the sidewalk, waving at passersby as they crossed. They admired him dearly, and Ranun cherished their support very much. And while, at times, he felt like a disgrace, hiding his secret. But underneath, he may not be the Great King as everyone likes to claim, but at least he’s a decent one.

Maybe one day—and it might be a stretch—Anemone could grasp the crown, serving as the first queen in Valorian history. That was to be determined. Ranun knew little of her ability nor her potential. Pedr reported that she had a knack for hand-to-hand combat, which transitioned nicely to a sword. By no means did it make up for the lack of experience holding a sword, but it was something.

She could do well in Water Form, the fighting style which excelled in counter-play. However, it would be a long time before she made any solid progress. Many modern swordsmen trained years in their childhood.

Some say the rich were born with a golden spoon in their mouths while the brave were born with a blade in their hands. Ranun first trained when he was six years old, and the gold spoon in his mouth felt quite poisoned by his father.

It’s going to be hard on her, Ranun thought, looking down as Anemone walked a few steps ahead of him. Her eyes swallowed the whole city into her sight as she captured every alley and building, reflecting wonder through every gaze. Curiosity, she had much of it. She’s being thrown in with the best, and the standards are high.

The buildings around them varied in size. Some were three stories tall, others either two or a single with a slightly higher roof than average. The city was split between looking brand new and downright atrocious with the repairs. The buildings had fresh paint, but the streets and alleys coated in ash. Factories were ahead, near the north, while the rest were simple commercial buildings, either restaurants or stores.

With all but one building repaired, that meant City Hall was next. It took about thirty repair crews rushed in from neighboring cities to make it happen, but the quick repair time did wonders. Falcon Hill was starting to heal again.

It also meant Ranun couldn’t work at home for much longer. It disappointed him greatly that he couldn’t be around his family, but he understood the importance of working in his old office. He could get more work done with his assistants and the others.

He cherished the extra time he had, so much so, he debated asking for a lighter cut of it. Delegation was a tool Ranun didn’t like to use but knew how much he needed it. It would keep him healthy, and most importantly, happy.

Anemone stopped at the end of the street, blocked by passing carriages and horses traveling to and from work. For the most part, work schedules coordinated to keep the roads as efficient as humanly possible. There were five time-groups, with the earliest to work starting at six and the latest beginning at ten.

With how compact Falcon Hill was within the mythstone walls and how many people worked in Central, they needed regulations like these. Otherwise, nobody would arrive at work on time. The worst kind of traffic was constipated traffic.

They continued even further downward; Anemone studied the lines in the middle of the road. Ranun saw her put it together on her own, flipping between looking forward and backward to see the directions in which riders travel.

They crossed one more street before finally arriving at the corner store blacksmith.

“Your Majesty,” the man operating the front said. His name was Jimb—as it said above his breast pocket. Ranun had interacted with him a few times already whenever he commissioned his blades in the past. Jimb operated the smith outside in a glass booth to provide onlookers with a glimpse of his work. It let the customers peek inside and see how the smithing process worked, a wise business practice that caught the intrigue of many, including Ranun himself.

Ranun bowed his head. “May I enter inside?”

“Of course,” Jimb said. “Forgive my nephew inside; it’s only his second week on the job. He just came into town from Lavenbay, so take it easy on him.”

Ranun nodded, opening the door off to the left side. He heard the pounding of steel from the booth beside them as they entered. Inside, sword after sword greeted them, framed off the walls and hanging from chains draping from above. All of them were locked into place, fully gelguarded so they wouldn’t accidentally cut or stab anybody who walked into them.

He pulled one down, and the chain came with. He eyed the blade, the craftsmanship that went into it. As shiny as a diamond, as sharp as Jimb could physically refine them. He let go, and the chain pulled back, retracting the sword back up.

“How are you today,” the vendor said. He stood behind a desk, protected by a glass barrier, a small slit at the bottom to pass gold and swords. For as many swords that were in the open lobby, there were as many behind the counter as well.

The more expensive brands, like the Avarcedes, were secured behind the counter in all of their prismatic glory. They were among the best blades to have that weren’t Soulsmithed since they just looked so damn cool with how the swords had a diamond-like texture and how they reflected the light.

“We’re doing fine, looking around,” Ranun said. It was strange to be greeted by anything other than Your Majesty, but the kid was new and probably didn’t know the better. Ranun also realized he wore his orange jacket, sullied in ash, permanently stained with disaster.

The greatswords took up half the wall behind the young vendor, large and beautiful steel with tall hilts and wide crossguards. They were a little too heavy for Anemone, and hell, even Ranun would struggle to lift one of them, even in his prime.

No, Anemone needed something more realistic. Something smaller, even to a regular warrior’s standard. She wasn’t as tall as Foxa, and with the likelihood she practiced Water Form, she needed a blade appropriate for that. Ranun checked the corner of the store, finding the smaller swords along the rightmost wall, going up to the door that leads to the booth Jimb worked inside.

“See any that you like?” Ranun asked.

“They all look the same,” Anemone said.

Ranun laughed. “They do—all steel. There are more deluxe steels out there in the world, but for starters, one of these blades will do you well. Consider the hilts instead, what holds the blade.”

She viewed the swords, grabbing at the hilts to feel. There were weighted wooden replicas on the wall itself to match the feel of the weight of the blades underneath, but that wasn’t important right now.

Eventually, Anemone picked her sword, one with a salmon-colored hilt with an inch and a half crossguard, enough to protect her fingers. Overall, it was an okay choice for someone with no experience picking their blade.

S45, Ranun read above the sword she chose, keeping it in his mind. He turned to the vendor approaching with Anemone. Dimb was the name on his uniform. Odd family with names, huh?

“Hello, good sir,” Ranun said. “I would like to purchase an s45 as well as a gelguard that matches.”

“Sir,” Dimb said. His eyes shifted over to look at Anemone. “Is this for her?”

“It is,” Ranun said. Oh boy.

“I’m gonna need to see her I.D card,” Dimb said. “You need to be sixteen to purchase a steel sword.”

“She doesn’t have one, but trust me, she is of age to wield a sword,” Ranun said.

“I’m afraid I cannot do that,” Dimb said.

“It may be hard for you to believe,” Ranun said. “But I’m the king of this place. I’m Ranun Spring.”

“Unlikely,” Dimb said hesitantly, living up to the first three letters of his name. “I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot serve you today. I’m going to ask you to leave.”

Hmm, Ranun thought. How do I have fun out of this exchange? It would be easy just to get his uncle and have him explain this. Or…

“Listen,” Ranun said. “I know you’re just trying to do your job and all, but I’m telling you the truth. I’m Ranun Spring, King of Soucrest.”

“Even if you were the king,” Dimb said. “The only exception I could allow a purchase without an I.D card is by a formally hand-written exemption from His Majesty himself. Unless you have that, my hands are tied here, mister.”

“Alright, fair enough,” Ranun said. “Do you have a pen and paper I could borrow?”

Dimb frowned. “You know what… let’s just forget about it.”

“Very good,” Ranun said. He grinned at the fun of it all. He never knew why so many kings closed themselves off to their people. Exchanges like these were quite entertaining. Well, it helped that many of his people liked him. It would be another story for some other kings who weren’t so well-liked by the people they ruled over. “Now, how much will this be?”

“An s45 is forty gold coins and fifteen silver,” Dimb said. “But, the gelguard that fits it costs three gold coins. Add tax, and that’s another eight gold and another fifteen silver, bringing your total to fifty-two gold and ten silver.”

Outrageous! Ranun thought. It took him a few seconds to calculate in his head the tax, and he was astonished by how quickly Dimb produced the price. He didn’t need paper or anything, only seconds in his head. The numbers were correct too.

But damn, is this price not cheap!

He pulled out his pouch and poured it on the table. “It’s a pouch of sixty,” Ranun said. “Keep the change.”

Dimb started to count, making sure. The rule of thumb for currency was simple enough. A gold coin was worth twenty silver, and a silver coin was worth ten bronze. Ranun had the opportunity to use gold checks in its place but opted to spend his coins instead.

He finished counting and nodded. “Thank you for the gracious tip,” he said before handing Anemone her sword and a small box showing the gel coiled into the package.

“It’s so light,” Anemone said, getting her feel for the blade.

Ranun smiled. “The lightest brand blades they offer outside of daggers and knives. This is your sword now; treat it with dignity and respect. You serve it as much as it serves you.”

She nodded.

They turned together toward the door, but before they could leave, Ranun realized something. Something important. Anemone didn’t have a sheath.

“Jimb!” Ranun shouted.

“Yeah?” Jimb shouted back through the door. He opened it to enter the backroom, sweating and covered in filth from his work. “What do you need, Your Majesty?”

“Would you mind lending us a sheath?” Ranun asked. “I made a slight oversight today.”

“Of course,” Jimb said. He looked to Anemone and her sword and then looked past Ranun’s shoulder to speak to his nephew behind the counter. “Nephew, give us a small-small for our honored guests.”

Dimb looked dumbfounded, surprised that the man he served was truly the King of Soucrest. It took him seconds to process, taking it all in. Ranun couldn’t help but grin in amusement. Eventually, he slid out a black, leather sheath. “Here you go… Your Majesty…”

“Thank you, Dimb,” Ranun said, accepting the sheath. He brought it over to Anemone, kneeling it down and strapping it in for her around her waist. He guided her hands to aim the tip of her sword into the slit and helped her push it in and cover. Her eyes widened with what looked to be delight as she heard the sound of gliding steel for the first time. Ranun stepped up, put a hand on Anemone’s shoulder, and waved goodbye to the two men inside.

They were on their way back to their mansion. The largeness of Central seemed to fade as they entered the eastern district and the quietness of a neighborhood during the afternoon. They were walking alone, just the two of them on the sidewalk.

“Ranun…” Anemone said softly from below.

“Yes?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot, and…”

Ranun sank, almost worried about what she was getting at. Did he fail to fulfill his promise? He was trying his very best to make it work, but with Anemone, it was hard to tell. She seemed so… in her own world.

“I don’t want to burden you,” Anemone explained. “I’ve lived my entire life serving, and… it doesn’t feel right having you serve me like you have.”

Ranun grabbed her shoulder. “I’m not serving you like how you’ve served others,” he said. He noticed how reserved she could be when opening up, explaining how she felt. She felt strange, and Ranun understood the feeling well enough. He felt strange too, suddenly calling someone he just met, his daughter. “We’re making an effort to be family, right? It’s what I promised. Family doesn’t serve family; they take care of each other. It’s different.”

“How?”

“There is no definite reason why one takes care of another, only that they feel that they must. Servitude has solid reasons for why one does what they do, whether they are forced, require coin, or who knows what. But care from one person to the other, with no reason, it’s only natural.”

Silence, as she absorbed what he said.

“I’ve needed to ask you something for a while now, something I think you should decide upon,” Ranun said. “I’ve not mentioned your adoption to anybody besides Calace, but being my daughter can affect your life in ways both positive and negative.”

She looked up at him, curious green eyes like always.

“There will be some that treat you as if you don’t deserve what you have, only for the reason that I favor you,” Ranun said. “It’s not true, but those words will come. Many heirs struggle to live up to the pressure, the only reason being that their peers are constantly watching them. You could ignore them, shrug them off like Aeryn, but it’s difficult.”

Her brows lowered as if wondering when Ranun would get to the point.

“It may be better for you if we don’t make your adoption public,” Ranun said. Her eyes widened for a second before settling back down.

“What about you?” She asked.

“Me?”

“Would it be better for you?” Anemone asked.

His heart sunk a little deeper inside his chest. Damn it, he thought. “Yes,” Ranun finally admitted. It had nothing to do with shame but more with precaution. She was technically kidnapped, after all, for better than worse. Yet, the public at hand wouldn’t see it as so honorable. And there were many kingdoms out there looking for a reason to hate Ranun Spring.

“But it doesn’t mean I regret this,” Ranun continued. “I don’t. Not at all. You’re a great addition to our family, but… It’ll create quite a hassle for the both of us. I won’t lie to you.”

Anemone nodded, bless her heart. “Alright. If that’s what’s best, then alright.”

“Thank you,” Ranun said. He felt torn, almost saddened by what he felt was necessary to establish. It wasn’t something that had to be covered up forever. But for the time being, it was the best course forward.

Ranun noticed her hand on her hilt as her head straightened, her thumb itching along the side of the open pommel ring.

“Are you eager to swing the blade?” Ranun asked.

She nodded.

Ranun smiled. “Well, I’ll teach you how to hold it, then you can swing it around and get a feel for it once it’s safely gelguarded.”

Her eager smile stared down the sidewalk as they walked forward, on their way back home.