A Housewife in Combat Training: Part Four

She lasted thirty seconds.

It was actually a pretty good improvement.

Samara dodged two quick punches, ducking low and delivering a straight punch to Riktar’s gut. He stumbled back briefly before driving a knee directly into Samara’s forehead.

“Ow! Owie owie ow!” Samara cried out, holding her head.

“You know, you saying owie takes some of the fun out of abusing a new trainee,” Riktar sighed, wiping some dirt off of his uniform. Samara quickly moved her hands back to her sides, her own uniform much cleaner, looking like she had ironed it each morning.

“I’m sorry! I’ll try to complain less!” Samara shouted.

“And stop doing…look, you’re not military. It’s been two weeks. You’re learning. You have some pre-programed instincts from your magic sword, and you heal like a bastard, but this…”

“What?”

“You’re a good lady. I don’t think I’m gonna turn you into a killer. I need to get the moves in you, but I think I need a new strategy. Take a break. I need a think.”

“Damn. Looks like the show is over for the moment,” Mira said from the window overlooking the training grounds. Other knights moved about with their practice, running around the track at the edge or dueling with each other using various weapons.

But most eyes were on the housewife.

“She is getting better,” Hunter said, gesturing towards his mom. “The footwork is getting better. But she keeps trying to move like Sed. I think she should adapt Lirian’s moves.”

“And I keep telling you, Hollianna was the far more fitting female Hero for your mother to emulate,” Mira said, sticking her finger in Hunter’s chest. “Her hips move much…”

“Again with the hips! Why are you so obsessed with the hips?”

“As a man, you wouldn’t understand. Women move differently.”

“You know what I would understand? The urge to not be punched in the face!”

Their words flew at each other, but there was no real heat between them. Over the two weeks since the Willinghams had taken residence in the castle, much had changed.

Samara had dedicated herself to a daily training regimen, determined to make sure she could take a punch without going down. Each time she got knocked down, felt exhausted, loathed her new burden, she thought of her son who would have given anything to be in her position, or Mira who idolized a woman who had done far more. So she kept standing back up, ready to go.

Alec had quickly found his place in the magitech maintenance and research wing of the castle. The palace held the central controls which dictated the mana flow throughout the city, and he took to being in magitech central like a kid in a candy store. His wild ideas which he claimed could pull even four percent more power from a mana crystal were seen as intriguing. Yet despite being busier than ever while immersing himself in the magical sciences, he still helped take care of the guest quarters at night to support his exhausted wife, cleaning and cooking and keeping the children from murdering each other.

The children…were still children.

They had agreed to learn with the royal tutor, at least until the next semester at the royal academy. This meant they would study intimately with Princess Mirabelle. Their first lesson in the solarium, dressed in their best, left them nervous and fidgeting as they sat down with royalty.

“The princess is here,” Violet said to Daisy.

“I know. This is nuts.”

“What if I embarrass myself? What if I fart? Royalty doesn’t fart!”

“Blame Hunter! Everyone would believe it!”

“You know what you two need to learn from the tutor first?” Hunter asked. “How to whisper in a way where nobody can actually hear you.”

Mirabelle nearly lost it behind her decorative fan.

However, she was not merely amused by the Willingham children. The first time she truly came out of her shell around them was when they began discussing ancient diplomacy.

“Do any of you know what year the treaty with the beast men to the west was signed?” Kraline, the older woman with the severe gray bun and a face like a stern chicken asked.

Mirabelle was about to answer when another voice called out.

“1212 second age,” Hunter said confidently. “The Hero Haruminus laid his sword Peacemaker down and fought Ho’Srot, the leader of the minotaurans. The hand to hand combat impressed them, even though he lost.”

“Though there is still debate whether Haruminus lost on purpose,” Mirabelle said, looking impressed. “He was known for not enjoying combat, earning him the nickname of…”

“The Silent Knight, yes, I know. Everyone knows it.”

“Do you know which fighting style he used in the duel?”

“The sweeping leg technique of the mountain folk of the eastern continent. Which he learned…”

“On his eight year pilgrimage, which was why…”

“He was speaking with the beasts at all, and…”

“By the gods, there are two of them…” Rose moaned, sinking into her seat.

They soon found themselves having similar conversations, talking in the halls about the past Heroes, Hunter praising their fighting styles, Mirabelle championing their diplomatic victories and political contributions. Each heard perspectives on their favorite subject they’d never heard before.

It was those conversations Samara thought of as she dodged another punch, deflecting it with her hand and planting her feet in a way she had seen in one of Hunter’s books. Then she put her open palm forward, pressing into Riktar's chest. The older man stumbled backward, and Samara let instinct take over, delivering a high kick to his face, knocking him spinning to the ground.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! Are you…” Samara started to say, running to help him up.

“No! Get your hands off me, woman! You were perfect!” Riktar grunted, standing shakily. The other trainees were looking at them, impressed, some even clapping. Hunter and Mira were cheering from the window. Samara gave them a small, shy smile and waved back.

“Alright. I’ve decided. Something is going on in your domestic goddess head. I can handle the fighting, the training, but I need some help getting your mind in shape. So, you know my recruits by now. Pick anyone you want. You can call them your, I dunno, battle buddies or whatever stupid thing you want.”

Samara stared straight into Riktar’s eyes, breathing hard, her mind churning with an idea she’d had for a while which had looked for a moment to give it shape and form.

“Anyone?”

“Yes, anyone here. I can spare them for the time it takes to train you.”

“Alright.”

Samara pointed to the window.

“I want Hunter and Mira.”

She said it loud enough for the words to reach them.

“What?” Riktar asked.

“What?” Hunter and Mira shouted together.

“Hold on, lady. I meant anyone in the knight's order, and…”

“You said my son would have passed your little test if he took it, correct?”

“I didn’t exactly mean…”

“And as princess, Mira is actually your boss. She and the king give you orders, do they not? So she would indeed be part of the knight's order.”

“Yours is an incredibly loose interpretation of…”

“Plus…you want my mind focused? Do you have children?”

“Never had the pleasure.”

“I am never better than when I am with them. If you want me at my best…”

She pointed at them again.

“…make them my assistants. Nobody knows more about Heroes than them.”

Riktar couldn’t speak for a long moment. Then, suddenly, he smiled.

“You wicked bitch. Get your son and the princess working on knight duty together,” he said, voice low so only she could hear. “Clever girl. I wish most women I’ve met had turned her fiendish cleverness to good instead of screwing with my life. How many of your training problems were actually problems?”

“Is this a yes, Riktar?”

He barked out a solid laugh, then pointed at the window. “You heard the hero! Get your asses down here! And Mirabelle, get changed into some pants!”

As her son and the princess shot out of view, excitedly shouting at each other, Samara leaned against her sword as it stuck into the ground.

“Who says I can’t be a Hero and a mom?” she asked herself.

Mutterklinge pulsed faintly, as if pleased with the recent events.