Chapter 17- Stand and fight, worm

  Lilia woke to a skull-splitting headache, her thoughts crawling sluggishly into place.

  The memories hit next; blurred words, clumsy laughter, Ryn’s steady presence.

  Her cheeks burned hot. Oh, gods…

  Of all the things she could’ve done, she had chosen to drink herself stupid in the wine cellar and spill her heart like a fool.

  Ryn would never look at her the same again.

  She groaned, burying her face in her hands, and had to resist the urge to bang her head against the cask behind her.

  However, no matter how mortified she felt, she still had a job to return to, tasks waiting that she couldn’t ignore. Hiding away in the cellar forever wasn’t an option, not for her, not when the Princess relied on her.

  So she forced herself upright, legs wobbly beneath her, and brushed the wrinkles from her uniform. Her head still throbbed with every movement, but she squared her shoulders all the same.

  One shaky breath later, she pushed open the cellar door and stepped out, clumsy but determined, ready to face whatever whispers or stares might be waiting.

  However, no such thing awaited her. The palace halls, usually alive with maids rushing past and knights stationed at every corner, especially with the ball only days away, were silent. Empty.

  Her steps echoed against the polished stone, far too loud in the stillness. Not a single servant darted past, no voices drifted from the side chambers, no clatter of trays or hurried footsteps filled the air.

  It was as if the palace itself had been abandoned.

  However, that was when she heard it, a faint noise, drifting through the silence. At first, she thought it was her headache playing tricks on her. But no, there it was again… cheering.

  Her steps faltered.

  The sound was distant, muffled by stone walls, but unmistakable: shouting, voices raised in excitement, even the dull rhythm of whistling.

  “The… courtyard?” Lilia muttered to herself.

  For a moment, she wondered if she was still drunk, her wandering just some lingering dream stitched together by an aching head. Yet the echo carried too sharply through the hall, too real to dismiss.

  Lilia quickened her steps, the muffled noise swelling until it thundered all around her. By the time she pushed open the doors to the courtyard, the answer became clear: there was a crowd. Dozens of knights, squires, and even servants pressed shoulder to shoulder, their voices raised in a raucous cheer.

  She blinked, startled, when a familiar voice called her name.

  “Lilia? Huh-where have you been?”

  One of her fellow maids, red-faced from excitement, tugged at her sleeve. Another leaned in, eyebrows lifted in sharp curiosity.

  Lilia’s cheeks burned hot. “Ah, I, um, I… was just-just taking care of some things! Very… important things. Nothing worth mentioning!” she babbled, waving her hands in the vague way she always did when trying to dodge questions.

  Her friends traded skeptical looks, but before they could press her, Lilia seized the chance to redirect. “What, what’s happening here? Why is everyone-?”

  The first maid pointed eagerly toward the center of the courtyard, eyes lit.

  “Look! Sir Dolrak’s going to beat up that devil!”

  Lilia wiped at her eyes again, just to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. But no; sometimes reality was far more absurd than dreams. The crowd’s roar, the pointed fingers, the hungry anticipation all pressed against her like a wave.

  And there, at the heart of it all, stood Sir Dolrak, armored and unyielding, his hand already on the hilt of his blade. His eyes were fixed on one person alone,

  Ryn.

  ***

  Ryn was confused.

  He’d only wanted to finish his lessons, maybe get some rest, but, as if fate had it out for him, now he stood in the courtyard, staring at Dolrak, whose clenched fists and hungry glare made it painfully clear what he wanted.

  Damn it…. Ryn thought.

  It seemed Dolrak had finally reached his breaking point. Just as Ryn was on his way to his first class with Ariel, the knight had stormed in front of him, spitting fury about how a “lowborn worm” had no place guarding Solvara’s princess, or something along those lines. Ryn stopped listening after the third insult; the man’s rage was loud enough to do the rest.

  Still, it was about time. For days now, Dolrak hadn’t dirtied his own hands, instead sending poor squires Ryn’s way, treating each of them like messengers of his contempt. Ryn had begun to wonder if the knight would ever step down from his pride and face him directly.

  However, the cheers around him made him wonder

  “Kill the devil!”

  “Protect Solvara!”

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  “Kill the worm!”

  Was there truly no one here on his side? Everywhere he looked, Ryn saw familiar faces, squires who had taken swings at him in the halls, knights who glared with barely concealed disdain, even the maids from yesterday whispering among themselves. His eyes landed on the one who had sent him to the cellar; unlike the rest, her expression wasn’t excitement but something closer to anxiety.

  And then there was Lilia. She stood among the crowd, wide-eyed and perplexed, looking even more confused than Ryn felt, which wasn’t much of a surprise considering the circumstances.

  And there, at the very front of the crowd, sat Princess Ariel. Unlike the rest, she hadn’t bothered to stand. Someone had dragged out a silver chair and table just for her and sat calmly holding a cup… of tea? Sipping it with a gentle calm, not one you'd expect from someone whose appointed knight was currently in a duel

  Not shouting. Not worried.

  She reclined gracefully in the silver chair, legs crossed, a porcelain cup of tea delicately balanced in her hand. She lifted it to her lips, sipping with perfect calm, as though she were attending a garden party rather than her knight’s impending beating.

  When a maid near her gasped at Dolrak’s opening stance, Ariel only murmured, “Mm. His form’s sloppy. Ryn will handle it.”

  The contrast was so absurd that Ryn nearly tripped over his own foot before the duel had even started.

  ‘…Why is she acting like she knows anything about combat...’

  Dolrak’s voice carried over the courtyard, deep and heavy with disdain.

  “Boy,” he began, each syllable deliberate, “it’s about time I dealt with you. A nobody like you has no right to stand at the side of Solvara’s jewel. I have served this crown faithfully for ten years, ten years of blood, sweat, and loyalty.”

  His gauntleted hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

  “And I'll be damned to watch some worm crawl in and taint everything I’ve given my life to protect.”

  He leveled his blade at Ryn.

  “If I win this duel, I’ll prove to the King and all of Solvara that you are unfit to guard Her Highness. And when that happens…” his eyes narrowed, “…you will step aside.”

  The crowd cheered

  Ryn only gave a slight nod. If a higher-ranking officer demanded a duel, then so be it. He wouldn’t deny it.

  ***

  Ariel had been expecting a massacre, but this, this was ridiculous

  As soon as the duel began, Dolrak dashed forward, sword raised high above his head, the strike carrying all the weight of his fury.

  Ryn didn’t flinch. He shifted just enough to the side, the blade crashing down where he’d stood a heartbeat ago, stone cracking under the force.

  Dolrak snarled. “Stand and fight, worm!”

  Ryn’s eyes narrowed. “I am.”

  Dolrak swung again, a wide, reckless arc that left his torso wide open.

  Ryn moved like water slipping through cracks. He didn’t even bother to raise his blade, just stepped in, shoulder tilting slightly. His elbow connected with Dolrak’s ribs before the knight even realized he’d missed. The breath rushed out of Dolrak in a sharp grunt, his swing carrying him stumbling forward.

  Gasps rippled through the crowd.

  “H-he dodged that like it was nothing.”

  “Sir Dolrak!?”

  Dolrak spun, fury flashing in his eyes, swinging harder, faster, each strike more desperate than the last. But each blow cut only empty air. Ryn’s movements were sharp, precise, almost effortless, sidestep, tilt, deflect with the faintest brush of his blade. Not a single strike landed, and the more Dolrak raged, the calmer he seemed.

  From her silver chair, Ariel lifted her teacup delicately. Her lips curved faintly.

  He’s not even as serious as during the aberration, she thought, a spark of amusement in her eyes. And still, Dolrak looks like a fool.

  The crowd’s mood shifted from excitement to unease. Some knights leaned forward, brows furrowed. Even the maids, who had whispered doubts about Ryn only yesterday, stared in stunned silence.

  “Is he… toying with him?” one squire muttered.

  “No,” another whispered, voice tight. “He’s just that much stronger.”

  Ryn dodged and weaved, slipping just out of reach of each of Dolrak’s heavy swings.

  To Ariel, it looked less like a duel and more like a bear swiping clumsily at a fly, frustrated, lumbering, and utterly unable to pin him down.

  Dolrak roared and swung down with both hands, a strike meant to crush. Ryn caught the blade mid-arc with his own, a single sharp clash of steel ringing out across the courtyard. For the first time, he pushed.

  Dolrak staggered back two full steps, his boots scraping against the stone.

  His balance wavered, his breath ragged, his grip on the hilt faltering.

  Ryn’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. With a twist of his wrist, his blade slid against Dolrak’s, not with force, but with precision. The knight’s sword spun from his hands, clattering across the courtyard stones.

  The sound echoed, louder than it had any right to.

  A stunned silence fell.

  Ariel set her cup down with a soft clink.

  From her silver chair, she exhaled softly, a tiny smile playing at her lips. She lifted her teacup once more, tone light enough to carry.

  “Well. That was quicker than I expected.”

  Lilia, half-hidden in the crowd, pressed a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. Relief tangled with disbelief. She had never seen Ryn fight like that, not here, not so openly.

  And the squires, those who had once tested their luck against him, suddenly understood why their duels had always ended the same way. Against them, he’d not even pull out a blade.

  Dolrak froze, staring at his empty hands in disbelief. His chest heaved, sweat dripping down his temple. For a moment, he looked less like a knight and more like a man stripped bare before everyone.

  Ryn didn’t press forward. He didn’t need to. His blade remained steady, pointed low, calm, as if daring Dolrak to try and pick up the sword again.

  But he quickly realised the duel was over, he lowered his blade, expression steady, and then, almost mechanically, he sheathed it.

  The courtyard hung in silence.

  Then Ryn stepped back, bowed his head slightly, and said with calm finality:

  “Thank you for the duel, Sir Dolrak.”

  A ripple of outrage spread instantly through the crowd.

  “Thank him?”

  “After humiliating him like that-!

  “Is he mocking the knight?”

  Dolrak’s face flushed red, shame burning hotter than his earlier exertion. He ground his teeth, but no words came. To him, Ryn’s thanks was salt rubbed into an open wound.

  From her silver chair, Ariel almost choked on her tea. She set the cup down delicately, lips twitching, half-amused, half-exasperated.

  ‘Only, Ryn, could turn a bow into an insult.’

  Ryn simply straightened, oblivious to the mockingness of his words, and turned as though the duel had ended in nothing more than a routine exercise.