Lessons for a Prodigy

The morning sun streamed through the large arched windows of Marcella's private study. The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of parchment and the soft scrape of a chair against the floor.

What once had felt like a daunting space during her childhood now felt far too small, far too restrictive for someone who had lived and died, only to live again.

Marcella sat on the high-backed chair, with her posture immaculate. Across from her, Lady Theodora Hawthorne, her newly appointed governess was seated. She had been summoned to refine Marcella into a "proper Duchess," though Marcella privately thought the title was already hers to wield, with or without her help.

Lady Theodora was a woman who embodied discipline. Her tightly coiled blonde hair and severe dark blue gown spoke of precision, and her piercing blue eyes seemed capable of dissecting a person's very soul. She sat with the kind of stillness that came from decades of self-control.

"You are slouching," Lady Theodora remarked, though her eyes were on her notebook as she scribbled something in neat, flowing handwriting.

Marcella arched a brow and tilted her head, her posture already straight. "I think you may need your eyes checked Lady Theodora. My back is straighter than a marble column."

Theodora looked up, her gaze scanning Marcella. She couldn't find a single fault. Her shoulders were pulled back, her chin was held high, and her spine formed a perfect line.

The governess's lips tightened. "Good," she conceded reluctantly. "At least you know how to sit. Let us see if you can do anything else properly."

Marcella pulled a dark smirk, crossing her legs at the ankle beneath the table. She folded her hands neatly in her lap. "By all means, test me. I'll try not to disappoint."

Lady Theodora reached for a fine porcelain teacup, setting it on the table before Marcella. Its gold rim glinted in the sunlight, the matching saucer and silver teaspoon positioned with meticulous care.

"Let us begin with tea etiquette," Theodora said, her tone crisp. "A Duchess must—"

"Hold the teacup delicately, ensuring the handle rests against the middle joint of the index finger while the thumb secures it from above," Marcella interrupted. She reached forward and picked up the teacup with the kind of precision that could only come from years of practice. Her fingers curved gently around the handle, and her wrist angled the cup slightly downward as she sipped, not a single drop spilling.

Marcella placed the cup back onto the saucer with barely a sound—no clink, no wobble, just perfect silence.

Theodora blinked in surprise.

She arched a brow. "Did I miss anything?"

The governess recovered quickly, narrowing her eyes. "And the teaspoon?"

Marcella reached for the silver teaspoon. She stirred the tea clockwise exactly three times before placing the spoon neatly on the saucer, its tip resting at an angle.

"Never leave the spoon in the cup," Marcella seethed, her tone almost bored. "And always stir without making noise. I'd hate to offend anyone's delicate ears."

Theodora stared at her. "Impressive," she complimented finally, though her voice was begrudging. "It seems you've studied this before."

"Studied? Hardly," Marcella shook her head. "But when you've attended enough tiresome tea parties, you either master the art or die of boredom."

Theodora grinned apologetically, setting her notebook down. "Very well. Let us move on."

Next, She placed a silk fan into Marcella's hand. It was elegant, painted with intricate floral designs and trimmed with lace.

"A fan is more than an accessory," Theodora began. "With it, you can convey emotions and messages without uttering a word. It is an art, one that requires—"

Marcella flicked the fan open with a fluid motion, the sound sharp but not jarring. She held it near her face, her purple gaze peeking over the top as she fluttered it delicately. "Interest," 

Marcella closed the fan with a decisive snap, her expression hardening slightly. "Disapproval."

Then, with an elegant wave of the fan and a slow turn of her head, she dismissed an imaginary suitor. "Boredom," she finished, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.

Theodora stared at her. Her lip tightened into a thin line. "I see you're familiar with the basics."

Marcella twirled the fan lightly between her fingers, "The court isn't exactly a subtle place, Lady Theodora. A well-timed fan gesture can be more cutting than a sword if done properly."

The governess leaned forward slightly, "Indeed. But the question is whether you can use it to your advantage in practice, not just theory." 

Marcella raised a brow. "You underestimate me, Lady Theodora. I can wield this fan better than most men wield their swords."

Theodora allowed herself the faintest smile, though it was fleeting. "We'll see. Court politics are not as forgiving as fan tricks."

Marcella twirled the fan once more before snapping it close, "Good thing I excel at both."

Theodora studied her for a long moment, her piercing blue eyes unrelenting. Finally, she nodded. "Confidence is valuable, but overconfidence is fatal. Remember that."

Marcella leaned back in her chair, "Then I suppose I'll just have to make sure I never slip."

As the lesson drew to a close, Lady Theodora began gathering her materials. The governess stood, smoothing the front of her gown. "We'll continue tomorrow. Posture and deportment. And I expect you to practice, no matter how skilled you think you are."

 "More sitting still and pretending to be a swan? You're determined to bore me to death." Marcella released a heavy sigh.

Theodora gave her a long-suffering look but allowed herself a small, rare smile. "A necessary evil, my lady. A necessary evil."

Marcella watched the governess leaving, the door shut behind her with a soft click. She turned her attention to the fan in her hand. She flicked it open again. "If I'm going to survive this game," she murmured to herself, "I'll need more than skill. I'll need to outplay them all."

Marcella snapped the fan shut with a decisive motion, her resolve hardening like steel. For all her wit and skill, Marcella knew the court was a battlefield—and she had no intention of losing.