Chapter Six:The Mock Battle

The training grounds echoed with the clash of wooden swords. Princess Samantha moved like lightning—graceful, calculated, and just a bit too aggressive for a princess. Her swings sliced through the air, fast and precise, each strike making her opponent back up nervously.

Austin, her sparring partner and longtime friend, was doing his best to stay alive. He wasn't bad—he could hold his own against most of the guards—but fighting Samantha was a different story. She had that wild look in her eye again.

"Left, right—up—gah!" Austin ducked just in time to avoid a spinning strike that would've taken his head clean off if the sword were real. "Woman! Are you trying to kill me?!"

"Only a little," Samantha replied sweetly, mid-swing. She didn't stop.

He tried blocking her next attack, but she twisted her wrist, disarmed him like she'd done it a hundred times, and swept his legs out from under him. With a thud, he hit the ground flat on his back.

"You good?" she asked, standing over him with her sword resting on her shoulder.

Austin wheezed dramatically. "Nope. I've seen my ancestors. One of them waved."

Samantha grinned and offered her hand. "Come on, stop being a baby."

Austin took it, groaning as she hauled him up like he weighed nothing. "You're getting scary good at this."

"I try," she said, brushing off invisible dust. "Only a fool keeps a knife in the kitchen and doesn't know how to use it."

Austin blinked. "Did you just… quote the Royal Chef?"

"No," Samantha said, flicking her braid back with flair. "I made that up. I'm basically a philosopher now. Princess-slash-swordswoman-slash-wise sage."

"Ah. Of course. My mistake," Austin said, rubbing his neck. "Next time you start spouting kitchen metaphors, I'll take notes."

They stood in silence for a moment, the warm sun beaming down on them as the sounds of the castle buzzed faintly in the distance. It was one of those rare peaceful days—no royal duties, no scheming relatives, no drama.

Well. Not yet.

"So," Austin said, finally breaking the calm, "how are you holding up?"

Samantha blinked. "With what?"

He gave her a look. "Everything. Y'know… being a princess and a warrior? The expectations? The gossip? The aunt who may or may not be plotting a dramatic takeover of the kingdom?"

Samantha sighed, dramatically flopping onto the grass. "Honestly? I'm juggling. Badly."

Austin raised an eyebrow and joined her on the ground, flopping beside her with a groan. "Like circus juggling or emotional juggling?"

"Both," she said, staring at the sky. "They expect me to smile and wave and wear corsets so tight I can't breathe, and at the same time be this unstoppable symbol of strength. It's like, 'Oh wow, look at the sword-fighting princess! So inspiring!' And then the next second they're whispering that I'm not 'princessy' enough."

"That's ridiculous," Austin said, plucking a blade of grass. "You're doing something none of them have the guts to do."

"Still," she muttered, "I feel like I'm one bad sword swing away from being locked in a tower for being 'too unladylike.'"

Austin smirked. "Well, for the record, I think your unladylikeness is the only reason we haven't been invaded yet. No one wants to mess with the princess who suplexed a guard during training."

Samantha snorted. "He tripped."

"You flipped him, Sam. I saw it with my own eyes. He still limps."

They both burst out laughing.

After a while, Samantha sat up and hugged her knees. "Do you ever wish you weren't stuck in all of this?"

Austin tilted his head. "You mean palace life?"

"Yeah. The pressure. The responsibility. The fact that one wrong move could get you a royal lecture or worse?"

Austin was quiet for a second. "Sometimes. But then I remember that if I left, who would make sure you don't accidentally stab someone at dinner?"

"Hey," she said, nudging him with her elbow. "That happened once. And he was being really annoying."

"He was the ambassador of Trogon."

"He shouldn't have said my crown looked like a fruit basket."

"True," Austin admitted. "You were surprisingly restrained, all things considered."

"See? I'm growing."

They both sat there for a while, watching the clouds roll across the sky. It was one of those weirdly perfect moments—quiet, simple, peaceful. Samantha felt a little less heavy than she had that morning.

Austin eventually stood, brushing off his trousers. "Alright, I'd better get going before the sword master thinks I've run off crying."

"You did cry last week," she reminded him helpfully.

"That was sweat!" he insisted.

"Sure it was."

He rolled his eyes and turned to go. "See you later, Princess Fury."

Samantha grinned. "See you, Sir Whines-a-Lot."

She watched him walk off, then stood and gathered her training kit, slinging her sword bag over one shoulder. The weight felt familiar now. Comforting, even. Like it belonged there.

As she turned toward the castle, she whispered under her breath, "Let them say what they want. I'll be the kind of princess they never saw coming."

And with that, she marched off toward her next challenge—corset fittings, kingdom drama, and maybe, just maybe, another mock battle where she didn't accidentally knock someone unconscious.

But no promises.