Somewhere with a Monarchy, 1835

My mother was insistent on training me everyday leading up to the betrothal celebration in palace manners, equitique, and dancing. I'm a noblewoman and I have known how to to dance since I was five. Apparently, my mother thinks I don't do it right.

"No, no! Emray! You need to spin after the music changes! Not before or during the change!" my mother yelled for the fourth time today. The sitting room had been transformed into a miniature ballroom.

"Mother," I groaned, "my feet hurt, this dress is getting heavy, and I've been practicing for three hours!"

"Darling, if you are to catch the eye of the prince you must be perfect. Complaining just won't do," my mother clicked her tongue and motioned for me to practice again.

I went through the the steps while my mother counted the beats. For the first time, I think I satisfied her. The steps by themselves were simple, but putting all the steps together made it much harder.

"Wonderful! That one was wonderful!" my mother praised, coming over and hugging me, but pulling away almost immediately when she felt how sweaty I was. "You need to go and wash up now, darling."

"Yes, mother," I replied, joyfully taking off my heels and going up the grand staircase.

Because my family is on the richer side, we have indoor plumbing. As a result of the running water, my family and I don't need an outhouse or outdoor tap. It was really convenient when I needed to, let's say, clean hours of perspiration off of one's body.

My mother was becoming a tyrant. My real dress and corset were heavy, but the dress, corset, and petticoat my mother had me practicing in were much more weighty. 

Making sure to close the bathroom door behind me, I peeled off my layers and stepped into the bathtub. The water was freezing, but I was used to it. It was better than bathing in icy water outside of my house, where neighbors could look in between the picket sections and easily see me. 

After I cleaned myself, and I didn't smell like sweat anymore, I got out of the tub and dried off. I didn't bother with a corset or petticoat, instead choosing some breeches and a blouse. It was unusual for a woman of my stature to own pants, let alone wear them, but they were far more comfortable than dresses, corsets, and petticoats. And heels. Oh, the horror of wearing heels all day.

The betrothal celebration was set to take place at the palace, so starting in two days, I would stay at the palace for the time it took to finish the betrothal celebration. The thing was, since the prince was involved this year, it would last as long as it took for him to find a match. I definitely couldn't wait to arrive at the palace and watch girls throw themselves at him for five days or more. Depending on how long it took for him to find the perfect bedmate. That's all he cared about- someone who would do it with him whenever he pleased. I could almost guarantee that Prince Damien wasn't looking for a beautiful mind, he was looking for a beautiful body. And it disgusted me.

Walking downstairs barefoot, I was almost guaranteed a faint from my mother at my appearance. She never let me anywhere with breeches on, but I wanted to fence today, while my father was home, and so she couldn't stop be or break my resolve.

I threw my dark hair into a ponytail and walked to the one room in the house I was never allowed in. I didn't know why, but my father was scary whenever he was mad, so I never asked nor investigated. 

I knocked on the door and waited for him to exit the office and close the door behind him. While his back was turned, I inhaled the smell of parchment and ink. As a woman, I was not allowed to have access to paper or ink, but ever since I was small, I have loved the smell of both. The only thing better was the smell of new fabric or cut grass. The latter only happened every once in a while, unfortunately.

"What do you need, Emray?" he asked before he had seen my outfit.

"Father, since mother had been torturing me all morning with dancing, I was wondering if we could fence. We haven't done so in ever so long," I requested, holding his sabre up that I had grabbed from its stand by his office door.

"Well," he mulled, a grin breaking out on his face, "I could use a break. Let's go, darling."

One could say I was a bit of a daddy's girl. When I was little, I would love to feel the scratchiness of the light stubble he let grow on his chin whenever he worked too long. And when I was old enough, he started teaching me fencing so I would know how to defend myself, and so I wouldn't need a man to protect me. 

We went downstairs and exited the house through the creaky, wooden back door. 

"Are you ready?" my father asked, a sly grin lighting up his face.

"En garde!" I shouted, starting the match while my father was still getting ready. When he first started giving me lessons, I quickly learned to start while he was still preparing so I at least had a small chance of overpowering and beating him. To this day, as an eighteen year old, I still hadn't beaten him.

Our blades clashed, and I relished in the sound. He thrusted, I parried, and we performed a deadly dance. Or what would be deadly if our blades weren't dulled so that they couldn't actually hurt either of us.

I thrusted, but my father saw it coming. He executed a maneuver I had never seen before, therefore had no defense against. He twisted the handle of my sword with his blade out of my hand, causing it to fall into the grass below our feet. 

I wasn't dead yet, however, because he had yet to tap my chest. He tried to tap me, but I dodged it, instead sliding onto my stomach and grabbing my sword. After grabbing it, I forward rolled and jumped out, and motioned for my father to try again.

And he did, thrusting hard and fast, trying to get me to become flustered. I, however, was used to him using this technique, and I was able to stay out of the way of his blade. When it started becoming too much, I hopped onto the small rise in the middle of the yard, taking the high ground. 

When he was bent down catching his breath, I knew this was now or never. I flipped down, bringing my blade down to tap his back.

"Ah ha! I win! Finally," I was beaming now. I had finally won against my father, who in his youth was the best fencer in the kingdom. He used to tell me stories about almost loses, and how he ended up winning those matches. Regaling me with the rivioting tales always left me father with a big beaming grin on his face, and a sparkle in his eye. We hadn't done anything remotely together since I turned eighteen, and sometimes I missed the ignorant bliss of my childhood. A childhood I would soon tell my soulmate all about. If he would be at the betrothal ball.

"You have proven yourself, fille. You are now a sword master," my father told me, and I gasped. I hadn't actually expected him to say that. When I was little and just starting out, he would get me to continue practicing by promising my that I would become a sword master when I beat him, therefore earning his champion ring.

Slipping the ring off of his finger, he slid it onto my right pointer finger.

"This is for luck at your betrothal celebration. And always remember, if the one isn't at this celebration, you have two more to find him. And if you do find him, I sincerely congratulate you. But always remember: you are much stronger than you think."

"Yes, papa," I replied, pulling my hand out of his and admiring the ring. It had a thick gold band and the words: Patrick Evergreen: Champion engraved on its surface. 

"We should head inside before your mother sees us out here with the swords and has a heart attack," father joked, and we headed inside, backs towards the setting sun, and I knew my father was on my side.

~o0o~

After washing and cleaning up yet again, I headed downstairs for dinner. Our maid, Bethenny, had made us a scrumptious looking roast, boiled potatoes, and some corn. This was going to be a good and filling meal after a day of palace equitique and fencing.

"Thank you for dinner, Bethenny. Would you like to join us?" asked my mother kindly, and I was surprised. She never spared more than a glace for Bethenny, and now she wanted her to join us for dinner?

"Thank you, Lady Evergreen, but I really must get home. My husband is making quail and it is my oldest child's birthday," she responded, and asked to go home after all of our plates were dished out. My mother happily obliged, sending Bethenny a warm smile and ushering her out the door.

"What's wrong with mother?" I asked, then I realized what that question entailed. "Well, I mean, why is she in such a good mood? I think the way she treats Bethenny normally is horrid, so why is she suddenly so happy to talk to her?"

"Well," my father started, "your mother received some excellent news today, fille."

"What kind of news?" I pressed, increasingly worried it had to do with the first event of the betrothal celebration.

"It's more like she got some important information today," my father amended, "she knows what the prince will be wearing during the entire betrothal celebration. Not just the masquerade ball."

"Father! Is she planning on telling me and then tell me to go and seduce him?"

"Young lady, we will not use that language at the table, now or ever! Personally, I believe her efforts are in vain because we both know you will do as you wish. You have been very vocal in the past about finding your true love, but your mother forgets those things when it comes to the prince," my father explained patiently.

"Yes, or meddling in her own daughter's life," I mumbled, starting to move my food around my plate.

"Love, we can begin eating," my mother called to my father when she entered the room, using his pet name instead of his real name.

"Of course, darling," he replied, and he proceeded to bless our food.

"How is it?" asked my mother, looking at both me and my father; we had both dug into our food straight after the blessing.

"What do you think Bethenny did, poison the food?" joked my father, and at that my mother took a bite of the delectable roast.

"This is simply delightful," my mother sighed, and she began eating as fast as possible, while still using her table manners.

The roast, potatoes, and corn were soon devoured, proving how good Bethenny's cooking was.

"I really need to thank Bethenny for this food tomorrow, while she's helping me with your going away dinner tomorrow," my mother was thinking out loud, something she did when she wanted everyone to remember something. 

"I wholeheartedly agree," my father said, grabbing my dirty dish and stacking it on top of his. 

When the conversation switched to my father's work, I took it as a cue to leave the room, excusing myself. My mother had told me to start packing, even though the palace might have everything I could need or want. I did it anyway, hiding a pair of breeches and a blouse in the bottom of my bag, in case my mother went through my stuff. All I knew is that my mother was nosy.

And after my talk with my father, I knew for sure that I wouldn't settle for second best. I would be finding my soulmate if it took the next three years.

~o0o~

Word Count: 2123

Guess what? That's two updates in two different books on the same day! Now I gotta go sleep- I'm now suffering from being brain dead.

Love y'all, thanks for reading,
~happyperson081