Fury

The young servant returned a couple of minutes later with folded garments in his arms. He hastily bowed, then handed the garments to a very confused looking Camilla.

"Begging your pardon, Your Highnesses. I managed to find a shirt and trousers that might fit, but no boots I'm afraid. Even the youngest, smallest squires have far larger feet than the lady." The servant glanced down at Camilla's dainty toes peeking out from the hem of her skirts.

"Very well, you may go." replied William. Turning to Camilla, he gestured briskly to the small storage shed. "Go on in there and get dressed for practice."

"Practice? What is this? What the hell are we doing?"

William bit back a smile at her less than poised language. "You looked ready to murder someone when we were in the king's rooms. And since the object of your ire is in another kingdom, I'm afraid I'm your next best option. So fight with me instead."