The sword Marco chose for Hermi did not come from the racks lining the walls, but from the deepest corner of the armory. The weapon itself must have been unnecessarily well-kept. It took the knights nearly half an hour to dig it out from some rust-choked space.
When the knights finally emerged, they were coated in dust, and carrying a bundle that looked more like a relic than a weapon.
Hermi stared blankly at the supposed relic. Marco must have misheard her. He couldn't have expected her to face a monster armed with a needle.
"Commander, what exactly am I meant to kill with that thing?" Hermi asked.
Even wrapped in cloth, the blade was maddeningly thin. Compared to the Silt Skulker they had encountered before, it wasn't even half the size of the creature's leg segment.
"This is the most suitable weapon for you to begin with, Your Majesty," Marco said with a strained smile. "You must build the strength to hold a blade before advancing to the steel on those racks."
Despite his professional tone, the smile Marco wore betrayed how deeply he disliked the idea. He unwrapped the sword, tested its weight longer than necessary, then finally handed it to Hermi.
Hermi bristled at being given what felt like a child's toy, but the handle fit her small hand perfectly. After a moment's hesitation, she accepted the practice blade.
Around them, the knights had resumed their drills. Yet while Hermi stood waiting, she caught glimpses of their gazes drifting her way.
They were not the friendly looks Hermi often received from the men of her village. Nor were they the admiring glances she'd been given when she walked into the Grand Cathedral, clad in Aurellanza's wedding finery. These looks were sharp and hostile, as though her very presence here offended them.
"Commander," Hermi asked quietly, "why are the knights looking at me as if I don't belong here?"
Marco's reply carried unease. "I don't believe my men harbor any personal ill will toward you, Your Majesty. However… the previous queens left a rather bitter impression."
At the mention of 'previous queens,' Hermi was reminded of the conversation with Enzo. "Because of the luxury goods the late queens demanded from the other kingdoms?"
Marco glossed over the situation instead. "The casualties for every wagon entering or leaving the Black Fortress are always a concern among the knights. We suffer losses even during routine import runs for the city's supplies and export wagons alike."
Hermi withheld a sigh. Regardless of Marco's goodwill to spare her the alarm, the list of problems she needed to mend only kept growing. Before Hermi could urge Marco to begin, a thunder of hooves echoed from the fortress entrance.
The grind of iron against volcanic stone grew louder as a troop of riders surged into the Great Yard, making their way to the Outer Yard. At their head was none other than her King husband himself. Even from a distance, his flame-red hair was unmistakable, but it was his garnet eyes that truly unnerved her. They burned into Hermi with a terrifying intensity the instant they found her.
He pulled his mount to a halt right before her, the beast's muzzle only an arm's length away. The stallion's breath huffed against her face in heavy bursts. She held her breath, partly from the beast's rank stink and partly from the scorching gaze Cassian was bestowing upon her.
"Provide me with a reason for this absurdity," Cassian commanded. "Why is the Queen loitering in the training grounds as if this were a garden party?"
Beside Hermi, Marco stiffened as though a blade had been pressed to his throat. "Your… Your Majesty," the Commander stammered.
"Explain yourself, Commander," Cassian demanded, his eyes never leaving Hermi's. "Do it quickly, or I shall find it necessary to trim the number of men on your team for the next raid."
Cassian looked like a man who had just stepped out of a slaughterhouse. His armor was splattered with drying blood, and his jaw was set with a murderous edge that suggested his patience had been incinerated hours ago.
Behind him, the true cost of the day was draped across the saddles. Several troopers were slung across their horses like sacks of grain. Some were missing limbs, while others remained hauntingly still. Whatever monster they had faced, the raid had clearly been a disaster.
Even so, Hermi's gaze fixed on the greatsword slung across her husband's back, rather than the carnage or the man himself. The black metal was still visibly dripping with red blood. She was instantly reminded of how the second Queen had died by 'accident' at his hands, on this very training ground.
Hermi's face eased into a honeyed smile, masking the trembling in her limbs. The tip of her needle sword dipped straight to the ground with a ringing clink against the stone.
"Lovely to see you, my dear. I see you've just returned from a raid," Hermi said. She leaned into the blade, striking what she hoped looked like an elegant pose. In truth, the sword-tip pressed into the stone was the only thing keeping her upright.
Cassian was in no mood for her sugary tone. His voice rang out level, yet it was unmistakably edged with fury.
"Speak, Queen. Why are you standing in the dirt with a weapon in your hand?"
Hermi kept her smile fixed, though it felt strangely brittle. "As you can see, I have begun my combat training. I intend to join the raids myself."
For a long moment, expression died on Cassian's face. When he finally reacted, the jagged scar across his left eye gave an involuntary twitch.
"What did you just say?"
Unflinching, Hermi replied, "The Castellan informed me the treasury is in dire straits, my King. If I lead the raids myself, the increase in spoils will bolster our exports. Our coffers are in desperate need of a refill."
The horse suddenly shrieked, its harsh sound climbing atop Hermi's voice. Cassian dismounted in a blur of violent motion. His boots struck the ground with a heavy thud, the blood-stained armor he wore rattling under his weight.
"Have you truly lost your mind?" her husband hissed, the words barely more than a low mutter.
His garnet eyes had been frightening enough when he was looming above her from the saddle. Now that he stood directly before her, that fright only intensified.
Gathering her might, Hermi forced her gaze away from the red droplets still sliding down his blade. When she spoke again, she brightened her expression another notch, her voice a cloying endearment.
"Well, indeed, my dear. Without you around, I simply lost my mind to the crushing weight of boredom. Besides," she added, tilting her head, "you told me I might do exactly as I wish within these walls, did you not?"
Cassian stared at her as if she were speaking a dialect from the age of the Old World. "When would I ever utter something so utterly absurd?"
Hermi nearly scoffed. It hadn't been years ago. It had been mere days. "Allow me to refresh your memory, my King. You said it the very moment we crossed the threshold of this fortress. I believe every servant in the fortress could serve as a witness."
Once again, Cassian fell silent. The murderous confusion on his face slowly dissolved into a look of horrified disbelief.
Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Thirty-five.
At last, the memory seemed to strike him with the force of a physical blow.
Clearing his throat, Cassian looked away, his previous grandiosity shrinking by the second. "I... may have made such a remark," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically small.
Hermi didn't waste the chance to beam at him, seizing the moment. "Then I suppose the matter is settled. I shall begin my training immediately, my dear."
She turned toward Marco, her heart racing as she prepared to flee the scene. As she moved, Cassian's voice caught her, and it had returned to a terrifying sweetness.
"If you are truly so desperate to be of use, my Queen, perhaps we should start with something a bit more… standard."
Hermi blinked, unsure what her husband meant by 'standard'. A smirk may have flickered across his face when he said that, but it vanished too quickly to be certain.
With a languid flick of his hand, a trooper dismounted and marched forward. The man knelt, lifting his sword toward Cassian with both hands.
This weapon was only half the width and length of Cassian's greatsword, but it was four times bigger than the needle of a blade Hermi was holding. Cassian took the sword from the man, then flipped the thick metal piece around as if it were made of paper.
"Why don't you give it a try, my dear?" he extended the hilt toward Hermi in a stunning pose. His murderous tension had evaporated, replaced by a smile so charming it was devastating to look at.
Hermi fought the urge to wince. She didn't know which disgusted her more: that dazzling smile, or the way he had suddenly called her 'my dear' again. As much as she craved a real weapon over her current toy, every instinct warned her that this 'gift' was a poisoned chalice.
Maintaining her gracious facade, Hermi passed her practice blade back to Marco. Her bright expression lasted only until the weight of the new weapon was placed in her grasp.
CLINK!
The blade's tip instantly struck the ground. The echo of metal against stone felt more humiliating than jarring to her ears. For as long as the echo traveled, no sound emerged from the vast space of the Outer Yard, save for the labored huffing of the horses.
Lowering her face, Hermi grimaced so no one else could see. It turned out Marco had been infuriatingly correct. She simply lacked the raw strength required to wield a standard soldier's blade.
When she looked up at her husband again, her lips had matched the porcelain perfection of his smile.
"My King, perhaps I might begin with something a touch... lighter? Something that doesn't look like a child's plaything, yet allows for a bit more grace?"
Cassian's charm didn't fade in the slightest.
"Oh no, my Queen. I'm afraid anything lighter simply won't suffice. Unless your strategy involves poking a monster into a state of mild irritation to cure your boredom, this is the standard. Have fun familiarizing yourself to its weight, my dear."