Volsten watched with a raised brow as Mian set a light blue cup before him. Rather than the table, it rested on a small round plate, steam wafting from the clear amber liquid within. Volsten reached for it, but the heat was overbearing. He would wait.

Next to him another plate clanked. That one was for Maren, who sat to his right, suffocating him with her closeness. She was not the only woman within touching distance of him. Despite the ample space the table provided, Karpila was close. She was a little way around the table’s corner, with her own steaming cup of tea.

Farther down the table were Melridge and Sir Richard, and they couldn’t have had more opposing faces. Melridge’s eyes were closed, the rest of her features telling of a deeply felt scowl. Sir Richard, on the other hand, seemed to wallow in happy contentment. Volsten was beginning to think that he knew no other emotion.

Volsten’s eyes returned to Melridge. She wore something wholly unexpected for a creature of her type. A dress, tightly fitting to her form, a deep maroon color. Volsten looked once, then again when she first stepped into the dining room. He expected trousers and a loose cotton shirt. Something to accentuate her lack of common femininity, much like her attitude did. But…but that hadn’t happened. And Volsten was bothered deep in his soul.

His mind tried to deny, but the realization of how powerful her body truly was could not be ignored. It lacked in no areas that one could consider essentially feminine. If breasts were of utmost importance, then (and Volsten knew this already) she sat next to queens. If one considered the shaping of a woman’s waist to be her right to womanhood, then there was no denying her. Goddess help those who considered a woman’s backside as her crowning jewel. It was beyond reproach in its power, almost beyond the ability of the dress to contain. Her legs were equally powerful.

Suffice to say that he had never seen a woman such as her. Her body was defined, but not lacking in any appreciable way.

There were those that thought it unbecoming of a woman to be so strongly built. Insofar as the extremities were concerned, they were meant to be thin and graceful, with no obvious signs of heavy work. Volsten didn’t subscribe to that particular school, but by the goddess did he hate this creature. He accepted the dogma as if it were a universal truth in that moment.

Volsten’s eyes tore free of Melridge, only to be startled by the inquisitive eyes of Sir Richard. The great knight had caught him. He expected a stern look but received a jolly nod of approval. What in the goddess’ name was wrong with this man?

Karpila screamed, which was followed by the clank of fine wares. Volsten turned to see the young woman with a hand pressed to her delicate lips. “It’s so hot!” she said, fanning her scorched mouth.

“You do this every time, Karpila,” Sir Richard said. “You know Alex loves it far hotter than the rest of us.”

As if on cue, Melridge took a hold of the cup's small handle and brought it to her lips. Steam drifted into the air, every bit as thick as Karpila’s. She sipped it with eyes closed, however, nary a twitch to be seen. It was a decidedly ladylike movement, but superficially. The scorching tea inside wasn't fit for humans to drink.

“I know, I know!” Karpila said, staring at her fiery-headed friend. “But look how easily she drinks it! If I were even half as tough as Alex, I’d be happy.”

Hardly a woman to aspire to, Volsten thought.

Mian returned. With a maid’s grace she carried a domed platter, not a wobble to be seen. As she approached Sir Richard, the top lifted, revealing a neat circle of squared cakes layered with the rich darkness of chocolate.

It was then that Volsten realized he hadn’t eaten yet, for his stomach rumbled with want.

She placed the delicate desserts on their plates in turn, along with a fork for the eating of them. When done, she curtsied deeply and disappeared. Karpila’s fork was at work before the door closed.

“So, Sir Volsten,” Sir Richard said after they were all well-settled into their cake, “you are knight in title. Are you in study as well?”

Volsten flicked his ever-growing hair behind his shoulders. It always grew quickly, but it was now a nuisance. “Why, of course. It’s a grave sin to take up the title without the study of blade. I wouldn’t consider a man or woman such as that a true knight.”

Sir Richard nodded thoughtfully. “I feel much the same. Academy?”

“Northbrook School of the Ardent.” Goddess. It had been so long since he said the name. There were flashes of memory in his head, smells and sounds of the sea as he slept at night.

“I’ve heard of there!” Karpila said with a small mouthful of cake. “The school is by a sea gate, right?”

Volsten nodded. “Right, Lady Dalamoore. I’m sure you’ve also heard of the massive statues of Varusi and Alcein that watch over it as well. Their presence is as striking as you can imagine.” He didn’t mention his disdain for them. They were so close to the academy as to be considered oppressive.

Karpila giggled. “I like the way you say ‘Lady Dalamoore’. Such a deep voice!”

Maren shifted at his side. How easily she could make him forget her presence.

“Ardent is quite the prestigious school,” Sir Richard said. “A pure duelist’s school. I take it that you’re quite a dangerous man with your blade.”

Sir Richard sounded impressed, and Volsten added it to the list of things that made his heart leap with joy. Precariously short, that list. “I would say that, yes. There are few that can match my blade, and none that can surpass it.”

Melridge grunted. Had her mouth not been stuffed with cake, she would have perhaps said more.

“You’re quite confident,” Sir Richard said.

Volsten steepled his hands in front of him, elbows placed firmly on the table. The cuffs of Sir Richard’s jacket fell short of his wrists. “I’m not one to brag, but I know my abilities. Ardent only accepts those who show a natural predilection towards the blade, and among them, I was unmatched.”

That seemed to make Sir Richard even happier. “Oh, I see. Come to think of it, I do remember Duke Opias being particularly impressed by a young knight some years ago. I wonder…”

He spoke of the Duke’s Dance. It was tradition that Ardent’s best final year duelists put on a tournament for the Duke of Northbrook, culminating in a grand finale at his estate. Had Volsten’s face not been obscured, his smile would have outshone the room. “Truly, it was an honor to show my skills. I can be quite the entertainer when I put my mind to it, and I’m glad Duke Opias agreed.” He took a moment to have another bite of cake. “And what of you Sir Richard? You’ve done your fair share of work against the rebellion, but what of your schooling? It’s never mentioned.”

Sir Richard’s face was deep in remembrance. “You may not have heard of it, since it’s lesser known, and a bit out of the way, but an academy under the church itself-Reverence of Our Lady. It’s quite a good school, I assure you, though for us knights that are more magically inclined. My time there was…” His eyes lowered for a moment. “Yes, good. Very good.”

Volsten hadn’t heard of it, but if it was run by the church, it was probably boring. “Regardless of how well known it is, you came from it. That makes it a school worth much.”

The two knights shared a look of respect. Sir Richard took another sip of his tea, and Volsten followed suit, savoring the not-too-sweetness of it. Its warmth was hardly welcome on such a warm day, but he could see how they might find it relaxing.

His host’s cup tinked lightly as he set it down. “This may seem an odd thing to say, but it’s an honor to meet you, Sir Volsten. Pure duelists are a rare and dying breed in Adamore, at least in the middle of the kingdom. The world no longer finds a need for refined swordplay.” His hand touched on Melridge’s shoulder. “Isn’t that interesting, Alex? What do you think of it?”

Melridge made a show of eating the remainder of her cake before answering. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Oh dear, was it the cake?” Sir Richard asked with a father’s concern. “I’ll fetch Mian.”

“No, Daddy. Not like that. It’s him.” She pointed roughly at Volsten. “He claims to not be a braggart but goes on about schooling and tournaments. He just sounds so silly.”

“I answer your father’s questions,” Volsten said. “If that makes me a braggart, then you have a low bar for it.”

Melridge crossed her arms. “But you sound so proud of yourself. As if you’ve done anything to earn your ego.”

Perhaps she was hard of hearing. It would not surprise, given her natural state of loudness. “Again, and it may be that you’re ignorant of the ramifications, but I was the winner of the Duke’s Dance. It’s a grueling test of a knight’s competence with their blade. I have every right to be proud of that.”

“I’ve never heard of you,” Melridge said, bearing down on him with hard green eyes. “No one gives a shit about your fancy tournament. It has nothing to say about how good you would be in a real fight.”

“Language, Alex!” Sir Richard said.

She took Sir Richard’s hand in her own for a moment. “Sorry.”

“I suppose the battles I’ve ended with a swift cut are imaginary then?” Volsten said.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve faced many bandits without the ability to touch you. Any guard could handle those. I would love to see you poke a greater demon to death with a plain piece of metal.” She paused a great long while before continuing, “Then again, how did that ‘dragon’ go for you?”

“You fought a dragon?” Sir Richard’s voice was shocked.

“He claims to,” Melridge said. “You should have seen what he looked like at the guild! Who or whatever it was, it kicked his ass something awful.”

Volsten kept his face steady. Those words were like daggers meant to prod as his anger. He would not let her know how successful her strike was. “That I’m here at all should be proof of my skill.”

“Very true,” Sir Richard said. “Knights with the weight of spells behind them have fallen to those creatures.”

“Or you’re very lucky,” Karpila said. “I think you’re a dangerous man in many, many, many ways, but dragons are no less than threat level C. Most guild members start out as E, and they often have the aid of magic. For you to survive against a dragon is just plain unlikely, Sir, no matter how skilled.”

“And if we believe that stupid story,” Melridge said, “he didn’t even kill it! Some display of skill it was to escape, I guess.”

There were things Volsten wanted to say aloud, but he cared for Sir Richard’s opinion. Verbally eviscerating his daughter, no matter how deserved, would be folly. He leaned back in his chair, and though anger roared like a pyre within, he maintained a façade of calm. “And you are a lady of some renown, if not kindness. What academy was so lucky to have taught you?”

Sir Richard grunted, but it was Melridge that spoke, and when she did, her words dripped with pride. “None. My father has shown me the ways of knighthood, and he’s done it far better than any academy ever could!”

Volsten’s façade dropped. “You lie!”

“She doesn’t,” Sir Richard said. “I couldn’t bear to part with her for so long, so I took up the task myself. Believe me, I thought it was a mistake at first, and that my weakness had cost my poor little girl dearly. But look at her! She’s turned into a fine young woman.”

Like shit she has! “Such a beautifully powerful body can only be obtained through rigorous training,” Volsten said, as if he could convince Sir Richard that he lied to himself. “Unless you were exceptionally tough on this woman, she couldn’t possibly look like this!”

The room fell silent as Sir Richard, Melridge, and Karpila stared at him.

What a confusing silence. He’d said nothing untoward.

Oh, goddess.

The legendary knight was beside himself in happiness. “Do you mean to say that you’re impressed with my daughter?”

“He isn’t wrong,” Karpila said. Her tone belied forbidden knowledge. “Scarlet Beauty is truth when few women are built like her.”

Melridge wrapped her arms around herself, as if to hide. This was, by her reaction, the greatest blow anyone had ever landed.

“No!” Volsten shouted. He could salvage this. “I’m far from impressed. She may look the part, but-and I will reiterate that her looks do not impress me, and with all due respect I do not find her beautiful-that doesn’t mean she has the skills to match.”

Melridge returned to herself and rose from the table, her fury multiplied a thousandfold. “What?! If I didn’t have the skills, I wouldn’t be the guild’s strongest knight!”

“I’ve no knowledge of how the guild does things,” Volsten said dismissively. “Its rankings mean nothing to me.”

“UGGGH!” Melridge screamed so loud that a few servants peeked through the doors. “Who gives a shit what you think? You fucking people are all the same! You’re a no name bastard, without so much as a foot in the guild, but you think you’re better than me because of a damn school!”

Volsten considered stopping. He hadn’t expected such a burst of anger, and he had no idea what could have caused it. But he also thought it hilarious. “I made no such claim, but if the truth is that evident, then…”

Melridge’s palm slammed the table, rattling the fine plates upon it. Karpila shrieked, and was soon out of her seat, scurrying over to Melridge to wrap her arms around her friend’s waist. The disparity in height was noticeable. “Calm down, Alex!”

“How dare this bastard!” Melridge spat. She truly resembled a beast, teeth bared in anger, face deep red. “Arel be damned!”

“Language, young woman!” Sir Richard said. The fact that she was near exploding like a misfired spell was of no concern to him.

“Sorry!” she shouted.

“Come on, Alex,” Karpila urged. “Let’s go to your room and relax. You’re about to melt.”

Melridge inhaled all the air she could, puffing up like a blacksmith’s bellows before freeing it. Karpila led her, inch by inch, to the door.

“Hold for a moment,” Volsten said. An idea had crept into his head, and he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it sooner. He stood and pointed a finger at the raging knight. His eyes, however, were on Sir Richard. “I have no doubt that you are a great teacher and an expert in the blade, Sir, but allow me to expose the deficiencies in your teachings. Allow me to duel your daughter.”

Sir Richard rubbed at his chin, one brow higher than the other. “An interesting thought. What say you, my sweet? I don’t think you’ve ever faced a true duelist before.”

Her arms folded beneath her chest. “I would gladly put this pretty boy in his place, Daddy.”

Volsten bowed. “I am pleasing to your eye, my lady?”

Melridge growled before allowing Karpila to lead her away.

“Tomorrow, then?” Sir Richard asked, no less joyous than before. “I’ll score, and of course wooden swords. I don’t want either of you to be hurt.”

Maren tugged at his too-small jacket. He jumped; he’d again lost mind of her presence. “Are we going back to our room?” she asked. Her plate and tea were empty. While they spoke, she had saw fit to eat and drink and nothing else.

“Yes,” he said. “I find those terms agreeable, Sir Richard. I’ll take it easy on her if you wish.”

“I do not.”

Volsten bowed. He and Maren left the room under the prying eyes of servants.