Adventuring warrior

The new crown prince, Rowland Longbottom, was the son of Duke Longbottom, the king's cousin. Rowland only had a few concrete dreams: becoming an adventurer—a warrior, or perhaps an adventuring warrior, who travelled from place to place, sword in hand, facing danger and finding himself in exactly the sort of dramatic situations that allowed him to be said warrior.

Instead, he found himself trapped behind castle walls, moving from one lesson to the next. The past few years had been gruelling.

He rejected the very idea of learning, mocking, disrespecting, and taunting every teacher assigned to him. Unable to escape the life chosen for him, Rowland channelled his frustration through rude and arrogant behaviour.

The staff were horrified at the sight of him. Most teachers gave up after only a few lessons, the king refused to grant him an audience, and the royal advisors began quietly discussing ways to replace him.

Everything was going according to plan. If Rowland made himself unbearable enough, perhaps they would finally stop trying to turn him into a crown prince—and he could escape that wretched place.

However, today he faced his most formidable challenge.

A beautiful woman with gorgeous blue eyes and black hair styled in a bun sat across the long wooden lesson table from him. Several thick books had been stacked between them, alongside sheets of fresh parchment, an inkpot, and a feather quill that looked as though nobody had touched it in weeks.

A crystal paperweight rested on top of one abandoned sheet. She wore a sleeveless gown, and a pair of delicate bird-shaped earrings dangled from her ears.

She stared at him with unnervingly wide eyes. No—not merely at him.

She appeared to be staring deep into the very depths of his soul, while her expression suggested that she smelled something terrible.

To be certain, Rowland craned his neck towards his underarm and discreetly sniffed himself. As it turned out, he did not smell at all.

In fact, the deodorant and musk perfume were doing their job pretty well. The woman readjusted her expression almost immediately.

Rowland looked her over once more and decided this one would be easy—pretty easy, in fact. He would get rid of her within minutes.

More puzzling still was the doll seated upon the side table near the tall window. She wore a blue belly dancer's outfit, with several coins hanging from her skirt and a delicate veil covering the lower half of her porcelain face.

Only her black button eyes remained visible, and Rowland could not shake the uncomfortable feeling that they were watching him.

People usually smiled at him and fought for his attention, only to receive his cold shoulder in return. This time, Rowland was getting a taste of his own medicine.

"The Rowland Longbottom, welcome to the—"

"Hm-hm."

Sybill cleared her throat and readjusted her expression.

"I mean, welcome, Master Rowland. I am your new teacher. You may call me Sybill."

Rowland narrowed his eyes, his confusion slowly giving way to intrigue. Sybill glanced at the doll, then back at him.

Say something.

Rowland realised that he was expected to speak.

He leaned back, placed his feet on the table, and clicked his shiny shoes together. Then he reached for the crystal paperweight and began turning it lazily between his fingers.

"What can you teach me? And how long will you stay? That is up to me, of course, Miss Sybill."

She stared at him for a moment before answering politely.

"We begin by gauging your abilities first. The Grandmaster tells me that you su—"

Silvi hurriedly whispered a correction from behind her veil.

"I mean, that you only know the basics of magic and are interested solely in combat skills."

"You do not look much like a teacher. You look exactly my age, you barely reach my shoulder, and you appear entirely uncivilised."

He leaned farther back in his chair, looking her over with open disdain.

"They truly allow anyone to wander into the castle these days."

"I have no intention of indulging your whims simply because you think yourself capable enough to tutor the crown prince."

He rolled the crystal paperweight across his palm.

"The Grandmaster has finally lost his mind. Perhaps that goddess he is always obsessing over has addled his brain."

Rowland gave her a cold, dismissive stare.

"Leave before I make your life hell."

This had always worked. The female teachers left in tears, their feelings wounded.

The male teachers departed with bruised egos. It was a well-practised performance of arrogance.

However, this teacher merely tilted her head and continued staring at him with the same intensity as before. No tears were in sight.

No redness coloured her face. There was only the same blank, unreadable expression, her wide eyes blinking at precisely the same unhurried rhythm as before.

Suddenly, she straightened her posture.

"Let us have the duel. You and me, in the garden after sunset. If I win, you will be on the obeying side."

With that, she rose, bowed with absolute perfection, and left the room.

Rowland stared at the doorway for a long time, utterly puzzled, still holding the crystal paperweight in his hand.

For the first time, Rowland wasn't certain his plan was going to work.