A Head Start

The crisp morning air bit at Elara's skin as she swung her wooden training sword in a precise arc, her breath steady despite the ache in her muscles. The training grounds were nearly empty at this hour, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, casting a soft golden glow over the stone courtyard. The only sounds were the rhythmic whoosh of her blade cutting through the air and the occasional chirping of birds in the distance. 

She had been at this for two hours already. 

The moment she had woken up—long before the palace stirred—she had dressed in her training attire and made her way to the courtyard. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. If she was going to change her fate, then she needed to be stronger. And strength didn't come from sitting idly by, waiting for her scheduled lessons to begin. 

Sweat clung to her skin, a thin sheen catching the early morning light as she adjusted her stance. Her swings had become sharper, her footwork more stable, but there was still so much she needed to improve. 

Her arms burned from the constant repetition, but she welcomed the pain. It meant she was getting somewhere. 

She took a deep breath, steadying her grip before launching into another drill—only to hear footsteps echoing across the courtyard. 

Turning her head, she spotted two figures approaching from the palace entrance. 

Adrian and the instructor. 

The moment her brother caught sight of her, he stopped in his tracks, blinking as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. The usual air of mischief on his face had vanished, replaced with pure shock. 

The instructor, a seasoned knight with sharp eyes and a strict demeanor, was no different. His brows furrowed, his gaze sweeping over her before he exhaled in disbelief. 

"Elara?" Adrian finally spoke, crossing his arms. "What in the world are you doing here this early?" 

Elara, panting slightly, wiped the sweat from her forehead and straightened. "Training," she said simply. 

Adrian let out a huff of laughter. "I can see that. But since when do you wake up before sunrise just to train? And alone, at that?" 

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Since now." 

Her brother stared at her like she had grown another head. Even the instructor seemed momentarily speechless, as if trying to process the fact that the delicate princess he had been training was suddenly pushing herself before the day had even begun. 

The silence stretched for a moment before Adrian sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Great. Just what I needed—an overachiever for a sibling." 

Elara smirked, raising her training sword again. "If you're jealous, you're welcome to join me next time." 

Adrian scoffed. "Absolutely not." He turned to the instructor with an exasperated look. "She's making us look bad, isn't she?" 

The older knight, still recovering from his initial shock, let out a low chuckle. "Perhaps. But if she's this determined, then we shouldn't waste time standing around." His gaze shifted to Elara, his expression turning serious. "You've been training for two hours, correct?" 

She nodded. 

"Then let's see if you've made any progress." The instructor took a step forward, signaling for her to get into position. "Show me what you've learned." 

Elara tightened her grip on the hilt, her heartbeat quickening—not from nerves, but excitement. 

She wasn't stopping here. This was just the beginning.

---------------------------------------------------

Elara sat rigidly in the grand study, her back straight and her hands resting delicately on her lap. The room was filled with soft natural light streaming in from the tall windows, casting warm golden hues over the polished wooden floors and elegant furniture. The faint scent of parchment and fresh flowers lingered in the air, but none of it made her feel at ease. 

Because sitting across from her was Lady Genevieve, her etiquette instructor—a woman as graceful as she was terrifying. 

Lady Genevieve adjusted the lace cuffs of her gown before fixing Elara with a critical gaze. "A lady must always carry herself with poise and grace," she began, her tone composed but firm. "Your posture must exude confidence without appearing rigid. Your movements should be fluid, your expressions refined, and above all—" 

A soft chuckle interrupted her. 

Elara turned her head slightly to see her mother, Empress Lyra, watching the lesson with a fond smile. Unlike Lady Genevieve's strict demeanor, her mother carried herself with effortless elegance, making everything look natural. 

"You're making her nervous, Genevieve," Lyra said lightly, reaching out to brush a strand of Elara's hair behind her ear. "She's still adjusting." 

Lady Genevieve sighed, shaking her head. "Your Majesty, etiquette is the foundation of a lady's presence. If she is to command respect, she must master it without hesitation." 

Elara tried not to groan. She would rather be back at the training grounds with her instructor, getting tossed around like a ragdoll, than sitting here learning how to tilt her head at the correct angle while sipping tea. 

Still, she knew this was important. If she was going to be strong enough to protect her family, she needed to be more than just physically capable. She had to carry herself as a true princess. 

Elara straightened, meeting Lady Genevieve's gaze. "Alright. What's next?" 

Lady Genevieve raised an eyebrow, seemingly pleased with her determination. She reached for the silver teapot and poured a cup of tea, placing it in front of Elara. "We will begin with tea etiquette." 

Elara nodded, determined. How hard could it be? 

She picked up the cup carefully, making sure to hold it delicately. The porcelain felt warm against her fingers as she lifted it to her lips— 

"Stop." 

Elara froze mid-sip, eyes flicking to Lady Genevieve, who sighed as if she had just witnessed a great tragedy. 

"You must not grip the cup. Hold it lightly, as if it were the wing of a butterfly," she instructed. "And your pinky should remain relaxed, not extended." 

Elara hesitated, adjusting her grip. "Like this?" 

Lady Genevieve pursed her lips but nodded. "Better. Now, take a sip—not a gulp." 

Elara tried again, carefully tilting the cup. The tea was still too hot, but she managed to take a delicate sip without scalding her tongue. 

She set the cup down with a quiet clink and looked expectantly at Lady Genevieve. 

"Well?" 

Lady Genevieve gave her an unreadable look before nodding. "Acceptable." 

Elara released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. 

Lyra chuckled beside her. "She's learning quickly." 

Lady Genevieve hummed. "We shall see." 

The next hour was a blur of lessons on how to sit, how to stand, how to walk properly without making a sound—something Elara found nearly impossible when her legs still ached from training. She was starting to regret waking up early to practice. 

By the time they moved on to dancing etiquette, she was struggling to maintain the perfect poised expression Lady Genevieve demanded. 

"Elara," her mother said gently, stepping forward, "let's try together." 

Elara blinked. "You're dancing with me?" 

Lyra smiled, taking her daughter's hands. "Of course. You'll be attending royal events soon, and I want you to feel comfortable." 

The music started—a slow, elegant melody played by the musicians in the corner of the room. 

Elara followed her mother's lead, trying to keep up with the graceful movements. She stepped forward, then back, turning lightly as her mother guided her with ease. 

But when Lyra let go, expecting her to continue alone, Elara's foot caught on the hem of her gown, and— 

Thud

She hit the floor with an unceremonious oomph. 

Silence filled the room. 

Then, Lyra let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You remind me of when I was younger." 

Elara groaned, rubbing her sore elbow. "Please tell me you weren't this bad." 

Lyra winked. "Worse." 

Even Lady Genevieve looked mildly amused, though she quickly masked it behind a composed expression. "We'll work on your footwork next time." 

Elara sighed, getting back up. "Great. Can't wait."