Cassandra was waiting for us outside the mess hall with her hands held behind her back like a teacher fully prepared to be disappointed by her new students. She was joined by a soldier I recognized; the bald man who had assigned our teams at the Trials. He was still frigid as ever as he gave us a cruel glare; apparently the sun beating down on his exposed head did little to warm his character. The two of them stood at the edge of what could only be described as a large gravel parade ground. There even was an enormous grandstand on the eastern side, offering potential spectators a perfect view of whatever hell Cassandra was about to put us through.

“Welcome to the parade grounds, squires!” shouted Cassandra. “Here you will learn the finest drill formations in the entire Empire! But if you want to join the best of the best, then you ALL will have to put in enough blood, sweat and tears to put every other duchy to shame! Is that clear?!”

“Yeah…” “Uh-huh” “Yup…” A chorus of mumbles could be heard as the squires awkwardly glanced at each other. Cassandra narrowed her eyes, unsatisfied.

“If that’s the best response you can offer, I can send you all home this instant. Lord Rhinestadt doesn’t need a bunch of half-hearted layabouts looking for a free meal! So, prove to me you deserve to be here! I said, is that CLEAR?!” she bellowed.

“Aye!” we all shouted back, stimulated by her threats.

“I want to hear a ‘Yes Ma’am!”

“Yes ma’am!!”

“Barely passable! Now, I hope you recognize this fine gentleman as Sergeant Foster! He will be your drill instructor for the next five years. He is a kind and forgiving man, so I BETTER not hear about you giving him trouble!”

The ‘kind and forgiving’ Foster gave us all an unpleasant sneer as Cassandra spoke, his faded black walrus moustache making him look like he had a pair of spider fangs on his face. I swallowed in fear - a fear I was unwilling to admit to myself- and joined my compatriots in shouting an answer back as loudly as I could.

“Yes Ma’am!”

“Good! Sergeant Foster, I leave them in your capable hands.”

Cassandra turned away without another word, making her way in the direction of the head office. As I watched her walk away I couldn’t help but feel like a cockroach that had just been fed to a tarantula - a feeling that only grew stronger as the fanged sergeant stepped forward, his sneer turning into an uncomfortably eager grin as he did so.

“Alright, fresh blood! You lot may have lived as princes back home, but now you’re nothin’ but a bunch of walkin’, talkin’ wasteful bags of shit! You’re no use to me other than as target practice, y’hear?!”

As his tirade washed over us I snuck a glance at the other squires, curious to see how the wealthy noble children tolerated being verbally abused. Marianne had the expression of shocked outrage that I had expected to see on all of them, but Tressa looked cold and unaffected- almost like she was used to being degraded. Fayette had already peed himself- an awkward mix of fear and shame that was betrayed by the tears in his eyes. I could only give a sympathetic grimace; I doubted the sergeant would let him go and get changed before the day’s training was done. As for the rest of the squires, they either shared Fayette’s predicament or Tressa’s indifference, with one other exception- Edward. His face was flushed with excitement, like he was about to set off on a mighty adventure.

“Richter! Are you in love with your fellow squires?!”

The scream of Sergeant Foster cut through my musings like a hot knife, sending me into an immediate panic.

“Yes ma’am! I mean- No ma’am!! Shit- Sir! No sir!”

A moment of deathly silence followed as Sergeant Foster’s face slowly turned a deep red - not a fun red, like Beet Barbie - no, this was more like a bomb going off. I shut my eyes, waiting for the explosion-

“I BETTER BE GODSDAMN HEARING THINGS RICHTER!! BECAUSE I SWEAR TO GODS I THINK I JUST HEARD YOU REFER TO ME AS A GODSDAMN WOMAN!! DO YOU THINK I’M A FUCKING WOMAN?!”

I trembled as Sergeant Foster stormed right up to me, screaming spittle into my face. I wanted to answer him - try and say something to calm him down - but his voice was so powerful it seemed to hold me in place like chains.

“You think everyone should be like you, huh bitch?” he growled, his voice suddenly dropping low. He wasn’t screaming anymore, but somehow this was worse. “Well, let me be the first to politely inform you that just because you’ve caught the eye of Lord Rhinestadt, does not mean you’re special. You’re replaceable - a low born whore who’ll be left in the gutter as soon as the Duke gets bored of you.”

I could hear the sniggers and laughter of the other squires rising around me as my blood boiled in shame and fear. It wasn’t just his words - the very presence of the man was naught but barely contained masculine rage that threatened to break free at any moment. It was a terrifying reminder of who I was; a twelve year old girl without any power to refute the insinuations Foster was making. But I didn’t cry- no, I couldn’t cry.

Seemingly pleased with having put me in my place, Sergeant Foster - or Tarantula, as I now named him - turned away, back to the rest of the sniggering squires.

“Don’t get too pleased with yourselves yet, brats. You’re all useless to me. But don’t worry. Old Uncle Foster is here,” said the sergeant, his voice switching to a deceptively gentler tone. “And I just happen to be such a nice feller that I’m willin’ to give you sacks of fat a chance. A chance to prove yourself; to be whipped up into the tough, lean and mean killin’ machines you need to be to have some value!”

Some of the boys still snickered, giving each other cheeky grins, but Tarantula ignored them.

“So, all together now, I wanna hear a nice thank you. Okay? All together now, ‘Thank you Mr. Foster!’”

“Thank you, Mr. Foster,” they chorused obediently.

“I can’t hear you, Richter!”

“Thank you, Mr. Foster!” I shouted back as loudly as I could, trying not to choke on the words.

“Eh, whatever. Soon you’ll be genuinely thankin’ me when some sonofabitch comes charging atcha with an axe,” he growled. “Now give me three laps around the field, pronto! Move, move, move!!”

We all turned and began jogging our way around the parade grounds, grateful for the opportunity to get away from Foster. The grounds were big, but far from impossible; around 7,000 square metres in size. Edward immediately took the lead, giving me a smug grin as he did so as if it was another competition. I didn’t have the energy to care - I was too busy trying to run as gently as possible as to not further strain my wounds. I quickly found myself slipping to the back, alongside Fayette and another boy who’s name I vaguely remembered being Jonathan. As we made our way around the perimeter the line of squires gradually began to thin out as the weaker runners fell back and the stronger ones pulled ahead. Edward maintained his strong lead, pulling further and further ahead as I started to sweat. Not from exhaustion- no, I had a well trained body- but from pain. By the time I was halfway around the second lap I was gasping as I half-heartedly stumbled around the field, my back itching and burning with a terrible intensity. Wasn’t I supposed to be excused from training for two weeks? Why was I stumbling my way around the parade ground risking further injury?

But the fear of Sergeant Foster’s spider-like visage glaring at me like I was a piece of rotting meat kept me from begging for a reprieve. Besides, I would only receive further scorn from my peers if I tried to withdraw. But… perhaps Foster hadn’t gotten the memo. Maybe the barracks doctor had forgotten to tell him, or maybe they only told Cassandra. It's not like I could go ask him-

This conflicted worry followed me around the track as I ran, trying to minimize my movements as my stitches stretched and warped on my back. I wanted to stop- to take a break, or at least slow down to a walk- but every time I tried, the Spider was there, bellowing at me to keep moving or else.

By the time I reached the finish line, I was dizzy almost to the point of collapse. I staggered to a halt, blinking furiously as I tried to maintain my balance. I wasn't the only one who seemed on the verge of collapse- Fayette and Jonathan were lying sprawled out onto the ground already. Even Edward’s chest was moving up and down quickly, sweat droplets running dramatically down his brow.

Sergeant Foster approached, a heavy scowl settled upon his brow.

“Well, that made for an impressive showing of complete and utter failure,” he said. “What are you all stopped for? You haven’t even started a single lap!!”

We all turned to him, shocked.

“What do you mean, sir?” asked Edward hesitantly. “We ran around the parade ground like you asked.”

“Oh? Did I ask you to run around the parade ground, Decathy?!” He spat the word like it was unworthy of his lips. “I said give me three laps of the godsdamned field!!”

His scream was accompanied by a finger jab towards the parade ground- no, past the parade ground. Beyond the gravel edge lay an enormous grass field, nearly three times the size of the gravel square we had been running around. Our faces fell as we realized what he meant- he wanted us to run around the entire field; of which the parade grounds was only a small corner of. I squeezed my eyes shut as tears of frustration tried to escape. There was no possible way I could run that distance. Not with this injury. If I was healthy it may have been possible but… It was so unfair; all my previous hard work, ruined in a single fight. But if I didn’t run…

“Come on, weaklings! Get off your arses and move!!” screamed the sergeant, and the crowd of exhausted squires began to stumble forward, hopeless in their task. I took a step forward- then another- I knew I couldn’t do it but-

My failing momentum was suddenly halted as a rough hand grabbed my shoulder.

“Not you. Cassandra said you was to take it easy for the first two weeks. Count yourself lucky I’m so forgiving, but mark my words-” Foster suddenly yanked me closer to him, his yellowed teeth whispering into my ear. “Don’t fer a moment think you’ll have it easy once yer two weeks are up.”

His threat felt meaningless to me as my knees buckled with relief. I didn’t have to run the full distance after all.

But I couldn’t exactly feel grateful - the “short” sprint around the parade ground had already pushed me to my limits. Gasping for air, I staggered my way over to the stands for a rest in the shade.