With a few words from Sammy, a maid led her and Julie out of the kitchen and back up to the entrance hall. They were left there with the butler again while the maid went off to find Yewry.

“She seems to be popular,” Sammy quietly said to Julie.

Frowning, Julie asked, “Who?”

“Lady Yewry. On the way there and back and as we ate, I caught a few whispers. It seems that, even here, servants do love a good gossip behind doors,” Sammy said, humour in her voice.

Conflicted, Julie forced a smile. “Yeah….”

It didn’t take much longer before a door opened and Yewry strode out in her dress, head high and eyes a bit narrowed. She wasn’t frowning, but gave the impression of focusing on something, either a distant sight or deep thought. When that gaze of hers crossed over the few maids around, they became shy—well, as shy as a maid in front of her mistress could be—which Sammy noticed.

Walking over to them, Yewry said in Dworfen, “This one trusts our guests enjoyed their lunch?”

Sammy smiled for just long enough to make it awkward before she replied in Sonlettian, “Yes. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Yewry’s expression rippled, her eyes widening ever so slightly, the corners of her mouth twitching. Sammy hadn’t really said it all that seriously before, but she knew now Yewry was certainly spoiled. Not in the way that most daughters of the well-off were, though, instead more like a son. The more Sammy saw, the surer she was of her impression.

“I am afraid I may only make requests of my father at supper. As you well know, he is rather busy,” Yewry said.

“Actually, I do not know,” Sammy said, still smiling.

Yewry swallowed what she was about to say, put off by the unexpected reply. But then her gaze darted to Mister Julie and she seemed to steady herself. “The afternoon is long, so please allow me to entertain you both,” she said.

Sammy slipped into a pensive look, turning to Julie. “We are rather able to entertain ourselves given some privacy,” she said, her voice a touch deeper, slower. Not only that, but Sonlettian lent itself well to such allusions.

A bit sharp, Yewry said, “I insist.”

Sammy brought up her hand and let out a few chuckles. “Well, I am afraid Julie is quite shy, so I must decline.”

Having heard her name and otherwise worried Sammy was going too far, Julie squeezed Sammy’s hand. Feeling suitably chastised, Sammy leant in and whispered, telling Julie what had been said.

Somewhat justifiably, Yewry felt self-conscious about that and spoke up. “It is rather rude to whisper between yourselves in front of company.”

Sammy ignored that comment for now, finishing the translation before turning to Yewry. “I would say it is ruder to invite guests and be unable to suitably accommodate them. That is, are you able to speak Schtish?”

There was a long moment of silence, during which Yewry felt that unfamiliar discomfort grow in her chest, almost an ache. She didn’t like to be challenged, but this was something almost intimate. A feeling of having lost before her first move.

However, she was far from fragile, maintaining her composure until she pulled herself back together. “Of course, it is as you say. My apologies.”

Sammy held Yewry’s gaze a second longer, then turned to Julie, exchanging a nod. “Lady Yewry is an enthusiast of archery; we would not begrudge some practice while we are here.”

A mild relief flooded through Yewry, the tension between them so neatly cut, and she didn’t hesitate to agree. With a clap, she sent word for the archery range to be prepared. “Perhaps I could give our guests a small tour to give the servants time?” she said in Dworfen.

In Sonlettian, Sammy simply said, “Of course.”

Just like that, Yewry felt she had been foolish to at all relax in this foreigner’s presence. Honestly, if it wasn’t that she knew Mister Julie would leave with Miss Sammy, she would have dismissed Miss Sammy already. That said, she could only blame her own heart for being finicky.

So they wandered through the outer rooms of the keep, well lit by dozens of slit windows, most of the decoration just rugs and tapestries, but the metal sconces were ornately shaped, the same coat of arms carved into both sides of the doors. On the ground floor, the rooms were all for socialising—a parlour, drawing room, as well as the dining room. Yewry acted like they were very impressive, but a petty king’s keep was somewhat lacking to the Royal Palace Sammy and Julie knew.

Outside, there wasn’t exactly a garden, but a sturdy gate at the back of the bailey opened onto a field. The hill rolled down some hundred paces before levelling out, at which point the grass thinned to dirt. Even now, in the heat of the early afternoon, a handful of men were sparring with wooden spears, smooth metal at the tips instead of sharpened spearheads.

Far to the side of them was a tall fence made of wood, about as tall as a person. There were a few servants there, maids and footmen, holding between them some bows and quivers and sun umbrellas.

That was where Yewry led them. As they approached, the servants naturally shaded them.

“I hope our guests do not mind using these bows,” Yewry said, loosely gesturing at the other servants. “They are worn, but well maintained by the garrison.”

Sammy’s gaze inspected one. “They are not hunting bows?” she asked.

Yewry chuckled behind her hand. “Not quite, but similar. While they have the same shape, these are made of multiple materials glued together, each chosen for its individual strengths,” she said, a very much practised line. “It is an ancient design, predating the Catastrophe. Our ancestors could even wield these bows on horseback and still land nine out of ten arrows.”

Sammy had read it was more like three of five, but kept that to herself. Instead, she asked, “The glue doesn’t weaken in the humidity?”

After a very long second, Yewry ignored her. “Would Mister Julie like to go first? He seemed rather comfortable with the one earlier,” she said.

Sammy left her question for now—she did want it answered eventually—and caught Julie up. Then she said, “I am worried you are only going to make her more interested in you.”

Julie awkwardly smiled. “There’s no way,” she mumbled.

“Just watch: she will hand you the bow herself and use it as a chance to touch you,” Sammy said, her smile amused.

This was difficult for Julie. She knew there was no way Lady Yewry could have feelings for her, but she knew that, when it came to flirting and romance, Sammy was the queen. Well, princess.

However, there was still an underlying comfort: Julie really believed that Sammy wouldn’t let anything bad happen. So, thinking it would at worst be embarrassing, she stepped forward. “I do go first,” she said in Sonlettian.

Yewry tittered at the small mistake, but also felt a brush of warmth at finally speaking with Mister Julie. “Then please, allow me,” she said, and she took a bow from the servants before offering it.

For a moment, Julie froze up. It was only when Sammy gave her back a pat that she reached out for the bow. Just as Sammy had predicted, the moment Julie grasped the bow, Yewry brought up her other hand, resting it on top for Julie’s.

“May Our Mother guide your shot,” Yewry said.

Julie recognised the first bit, something the nuns had said a lot at the priory—Sammy had told her it referred to Liliana—so she understood it was some kind of blessing. By focusing on that, she managed to not freeze up at the rather forward touch and pulled back her hand, clutching the bow.

“It is a good thing Julie is a woman, otherwise that would be a rather inappropriate gesture between strangers,” Sammy said, somehow sounding both cold and heated.

That tone was not lost on Yewry, who turned with a smile that only half-heartedly hid its smugness. “Oh forgive me, I sometimes forget my place,” she said.

“I have a spare bookmark you can use,” Sammy replied.

It took a moment for the joke to click, Yewry’s expression souring when it did, turning back to Julie. “Please, I would love to see your form again.”

Julie stared back, slowly working through what Yewry had said, and shortly after felt like she had the gist of it. So she looked around and spotted a length of timber that just stuck out the ground, seeming like a mark. Then she looked ahead to the targets.

Unlike the archery range in the town, these targets were distant, a hundred paces if she had to guess. Squinting, she could even see some beyond. The targets looked to be the usual size, though, which would have made them as tall as her (with a bit of a gap between them and the ground).

She knew she could shoot that far, it was just if she could hit the target that worried her.

As if Sammy could sense that worry, she stepped up behind Julie and whispered, “I believe you can do it.”

Julie ducked her head, a fleeting shyness overcoming her. But then she steadied herself, physically and mentally, and took to the mark. A footman joined her there with a quiver. Several steps behind, Sammy and Yewry watched closely.

Yewry felt that earlier feeling rise again as Mister Julie drew back the arrow, muscles tense, so very still. In that form, Yewry saw such beauty. It was a graceful, delicate form, almost feminine—deceptively feminine as it held a most deadly nature. She couldn’t help but remember the old epics and ancient poetry, understood the euphemisms and metaphors used therein.

There was no straining, no unsightly grimaces, nor unpleasant grunts, simply the inspiration of the most poetic phrase in all Dworfish literature: “A bow drawn draws back.” Yewry felt the beauty of that phrase now, seeing both the strength and the tension Mister Julie showed, all the forces in perfect balance.

As for Sammy, she softly smiled while her eyes held a heat. It was not an easy bow to draw, drawing out Julie’s muscles, tensing the fabric of the sleeves. Sammy wanted to touch those muscles, to feel them. There was something so very enticing about that which was both firm and soft. Sammy had found so many enticing contradictions like that.

Busy as both were with staring at Julie, neither took note of where her arrow flew. However, both knew it hit the target by the giddy smile that bloomed—well, and the thud that sounded out.

Julie turned to Sammy with a look that asked, “Did you see that?” and Sammy replied with a smile that said, “I did.” Then Julie accepted another arrow, preparing herself again. She managed to shoot four more before missing the target and, her fatigue showing, only two of the next four hit. Although she knew she could keep going, she also knew her aim would keep getting worse.

But Yewry didn’t look at all disappointed, broadly smiling, a blush to her cheeks. “Marvellous! Simply wonderful!” she said, clapping; the servants clapped with her as best they could while holding things.

Awkward from the attention, Julie tried to hand the bow to Sammy. But Sammy declined. “I would like to see Lady Yewry’s form,” she said in Sonlettian.

The words familiar from Yewry’s last request, it was easy for Julie to understand, just that she felt her chest… tighten. An uncomfortable feeling.

Yewry also heard those words and, seeing an opportunity to show off her strengths, accepted the perceived taunt. “Of course. However, I should say I have been formally trained.”

“Say as much as you like, so long as you draw the bow,” Sammy said, tone sweet and smile sweeter.

Yewry felt the itch of anger, but didn’t scratch. In fact, she barely had the chance to consider whether or not to scratch before a voice rose up behind them, fairly deep, level, and familiar to her.

“That is far from an acceptable away to address my sister.”

Sammy neither flinched nor reacted at all, seemingly already aware of the person. She lazily turned to him. He was a head taller than her, his features very similar to Yewry, only that the features which gave Yewry a handsome look made him look childish. His eyes made up for that, a little narrowed and cold. How Sammy saw it, Yewry was proud, he was aloof.

Well, most of that was simply Sammy’s impression and, she knew, she was very biased towards women.

“Pray tell, why?” she asked.

He seemed taken aback by the strange question, clearing his throat before answering. “Our father is King O’keynocker and we have certain expectations of address.”

Sammy laughed, but not the laugh Julie knew. It was a scoff. Not concealed, but plain to hear and, to all who looked at her—which was everyone—her expression made it clear that she had scoffed.

“We are here to entertain Lady Yewry on a half-hearted promise of due reward for our talents. No more, no less. Given the situation, your titles are a courtesy I do not see fit to recognise,” Sammy said calmly.

And it was while listening to that that it clicked into place for Yewry, that she now understood why Miss Sammy unsettled her at times: it was as if Miss Sammy was speaking to a child. That, from the moment they’d met, Miss Sammy hadn’t taken her seriously. Less than that: hadn’t respected her.

Everyone she’d met had at least shown her courtesy for her father. To find someone who didn’t was jarring, but it didn’t so much anger her as it did confuse her. Who would want to leave a bad impression on a king?

Her brother, Yanna, was also caught off guard by the reply, but he didn’t show it and quickly recovered. “This one recommends—”

“To begin with, you neither introduced yourself nor asked for an introduction. You spoke to an unwed woman without permission. You took the issue to the guest and not her patron. Although I could go on, would you like to summon your father so we can discuss this matter? I hear he is busy, but I am sure he would want to know his son is willingly meddling in the affairs of women.”

Following that speech, there was a certain silence, chilling despite the lingering midday heat. Although Julie had no clue what had been said, she read the mood and, well, she knew Sammy. She remembered being rescued from Aaron the squire… and how Sammy had (in later years) made the young man cry. That was to say nothing of how Sammy had shaken off her more determined (male) admirers.

The servants did their best to act invisible; it would later be a blessing that none of them spoke Sonlettian. And Yanna, used to being given a certain level of courtesy like his sister, was struggling with how to respond, his anger impotent in the face of the precise criticisms.

Fortunate for her brother, Yewry had, in a way, prepared herself and so mentally pivoted, putting herself in the middle of those two. “We have a level of candour between us,” she quietly said to Yanna in Dworfen. “Really, I’m not sure why you’re here, but I promise I’m not someone who is bullied.”

That acted as a distraction for him, letting him avoid what Sammy had said. “I got word of the guests being foreigners and thought you may need help speaking with them. Then, when I heard what she said to you—I had to intercede.”

Sammy took that moment to clear her throat and asked in Dworfen, “Do you know how a man helps a woman? He listens.”

He was surprised by her speaking Dworfen, but Yewry thought through what had been said, unsure what to make of it. So she asked, “What does that mean?”

Sammy still looked at Yanna as she spoke and, as if to drive home the point, she spoke slowly, switching back to Sonlettian for comfort. “Why didn’t you ask Lady Yewry what the situation was before acting?” After a brief pause, she added, “That is a rhetorical question. If you try to give an answer, you have already failed to heed my advice.”

Really, it was a surreal moment for most around, now even the servants having had a glimpse of the conversation. Until Yanna had turned up, this guest had looked every bit the minor noble. But, now, there was a dominating presence from her.

Julie knew it well, knew that Sammy would always be a princess. Not by birth or by title. No, Sammy wasn’t even a princess from stories. She was the woman who had prepared to lead a powerful country.

That had often slipped Julie’s mind, but it was very present right now. From what Sammy had said, those siblings (she guessed from what they’d said) were like the children of dukes or maybe counts—they couldn’t compare.

Meanwhile, Yewry had run through her own thoughts and come to a decision. Like before, she metaphorically stepped between Miss Sammy and her brother, whispering to him, “These are my guests.”

There was maybe a flicker of hurt, hard for Yewry to read him. But he nodded, turned away, and then evenly said, “As you wish.”

One step, two, and a kind of relief flooded the servants, the tension leaving. Yewry watched him walk halfway back to the gate before turning to Miss Sammy. “I apologise for my brother’s missteps. I hope you can forgive him for being overprotective of his little sister,” she said in Sonlettian.

Sammy met Yewry’s gaze, then touched her own lip, eyes a touch narrowed. “Why are you apologising? You are not his parent nor his tutor who are responsible for his upbringing, nor did you invite him.”

With a better grasp of her guest, Yewry carefully accepted those words, only then forming a reply. “Of course, I am apologising for not stopping his unbecoming behaviour.”

As confident as Yewry was with that reply, all it took was a slight smirk from Sammy to dispel that feeling. She tried to think some more, but nothing stuck.

Eventually, she gave in and asked, “If I may ask for you guidance.”

That smirk turned into something oh so mischievous, inspiring a sense of conspiring together. “You should apologise for having had the bad luck to be born his younger sister.”

For a moment, Yewry nodded along, truly believing it would be an enlightening answer. Then the cracks formed, quickly shattering the composure she had so firmly held on to. A titter, a splutter, a snort, until finally she burst out into laughter, reaching to the bottom of her lungs as it shook through her.

Sammy looked on with a deep air of satisfaction and leant over to Julie, catching her up with what had transpired. Julie visibly shrank while she listened, burdened by heavy worries, equally burdened by understanding that Sammy hadn’t exactly been in the wrong. She’d shadowed Sammy for training, knew roughly what etiquette was about.

Once Yewry calmed down, she wiped the tears from her eyes, then looked freshly upon her guest. How easy it had been to judge Miss Sammy, clothes wrinkled and entourage small. Yewry hadn’t even thought Miss Sammy was of nobility at first. However, as the saying went, a bow drawn draws back, and Miss Sammy had certainly drawn back.

“I should ask, you introduced yourself simply as Sammy, but is that how you wish to be addressed?” Yewry asked in Sonlettian.

Sammy smiled. “You introduced yourself as Lady Yewry—is that how you wish for us to address you?”

After meeting Sammy’s gaze, holding it, Yewry’s smile softened. “I think just Yewry is fine between us,” she said, only to turn to Mister Julie and add, “But unwed men and women should keep some distance.”

A flicker of unease ran through Julie, her vocabulary not quite as suited to understanding the current conversation. So she turned to Sammy.

Sammy felt Julie’s gaze and returned a brief smile before turning to back Yewry, saying, “I should reiterate: Julie is a woman.”

“Of course he is.” She didn’t know why Sammy was so insistent on the lie, but she could see how handsome he was, not to mention he had easily drawn the war bow (according to the report). She herself had struggled to move the string at all when she’d tried, so it was unthinkable for Julie to be a woman so much stronger than her.

Meanwhile, thinking that there was no immediate solution that wouldn’t involve stripping Julie down, Sammy left this problem for now. Instead, she went over everything that had happened and thought through a new plan.

In Schtish, she quietly asked Julie, “What do you think of her?”

Julie was confused by the question. “I, um, don’t really know.”

“I am not looking for anything detailed or explained, just a… gut feeling,” Sammy said.

“Well, I don’t really know what she’s saying, so it’s kind of hard to, um, I mean…. I think she’s okay?” Julie said, stumbling along to an answer.

Sammy smiled and gently reached up, holding Julie’s chin. For a second, Julie was ready to close her eyes and lean in, but quickly remembered where they were. The smile Sammy gave her made her feel like she had been entirely seen through, her cheeks starting to prickle.

“Do you trust me?” Sammy asked.

Julie nodded.

It would have been impolite to kiss Julie in public, but Sammy had little need for manners that got in the way of kissing Julie. Out of consideration, though, she left her kiss on Julie’s forehead.

Sammy then turned with a flourish. “Say, Yewry, let us have a competition.” she had been intentional with her position, making sure Yewry hadn’t seen where exactly that kiss had fallen.

However, it was hard to ignore Sammy, the displeasure Yewry felt already melting from the curiosity. “For what prize?” Yewry asked.

“If I win, then you must make no more advances on my lover,” Sammy said.

That certainly grabbed the rest of Yewry’s attention. “And if I win?” she asked.

“Then you may accompany us on our pilgrimage, giving you time to try and seduce my lover,” Sammy said with a hint of condescension.

Yewry felt that, but had something more important to say. “That doesn’t seem fair—you won’t give him to me?” she asked.

She had said that question so lightly, almost like a joke. Yet she suddenly realised why her brother hadn’t really fought Sammy. Those eyes were so cold, piercing—her breath stilled in her throat.

“Julie is not some thing to be given. She may love whoever she wishes, and this will be your chance to see if she would rather love you than me. Nothing more, nothing less,” Sammy said evenly.

Yewry knew just how frightening Sammy could be by how controlled Sammy had spoken, the disconnect between her tone and expression as if a warning.

“Of course,” Yewry said, looking at a spot between Sammy’s eyes.

Sammy nodded. “Please, go first,” she said.

Relieved to turn away, Yewry gestured to the servants. First, a maid offered a pair of thin gloves and helped Yewry to put them on, then a footman held out her personal bow. Unlike the one Julie had used, this one had a little decoration in the form of its noticeable lacquer and more reddish wood, as well as some minor engraving.

Yewry stepped up to the mark and into the sunlight, the maid holding her umbrella moving back. She was confident in her skills. There was no hesitation in her movement, accepting an arrow and immediately knocking it, drawing it back.

Sammy watched and inwardly acknowledged Yewry’s diligence. She knew that she herself was unnaturally quick, had watched Julie refine her form over years of effort and countless arrows, so Sammy knew that Yewry had justified her pride.

However, Julie’s form was still more beautiful.

With a breath’s pause between each, Yewry loosed three arrows in succession and, to a decent degree, landed true. Julie had earlier managed a few in the centre circle with the other four haphazardly spread out. Yewry had only one in the centre, but the two others were in the ring just outside.

“If we go by points, that would be twenty-six,” Yewry said, a smugness leaking through as her focus on her image had slipped.

Sammy politely clapped, joining in with the servants who had immediately clapped following the third arrow, and Julie hastily added a few claps too.

“You know, I think you’ve won. Congratulations,” Sammy said, nodding her head.

A burst of pride and happiness rushed through Yewry and plumped up her smile, only to be quickly followed by a kind of dread. “You mean….”

“I concede—you may accompany us,” Sammy said, giving off a very serious air of having been defeated.

Once more, Yewry felt like a child, this time one who had been tricked into eating her vegetables. “Really, I insist you at least try.”

Sammy let out a long sigh and reluctantly took the bow from Julie. “Very well,” she said.

So it was her turn to step up to the mark, raise the bow and, ignoring the offered arrow by a servant, simply pulled back the string until—

It snapped, whipping the fabric on her arm.

Sammy slowly turned around, an apologetic look on her face, and held out a hand towards Yewry’s bow. “I am very sorry, if I could use yours instead?”

Yewry clutched her bow against her chest, shaking her head, taking a step back. “No, I will…. I accept victory.”

“You will accompany us?” Sammy asked, her smile so very deceptively sweet.

Yewry had to look at Mister Julie to gather her determination. “Yes,” she said.

“Wonderful,” Sammy said, clapping her hands together. “If you would meet as at the crossroads, we shall leave at dawn.”

With that said, Sammy took Julie’s hand and started walking towards the gate, not so much as glancing back.

“Wait, what?” Yewry loudly said, hiking her dress as she hurried after. “No, please stay!”

Sammy came to a stop and slowly looked back. “If you insist,” she said.

Yewry had no clue at all what she’d gotten herself into.