Think fast

A plate bearing a steaming stallion steak, the finest braised vegetables, assorted cheeses, and several sauces lay completely ignored in front of Prince Rowland. He paced a few steps without paying attention and bumped into the sofa.

Rubbing his sore knee, he looked around for someone to blame. The servants were nowhere to be seen.

They avoided him like the plague.

*I will show that wen— but she was quite beautiful.*

*But I will crush her spir— but she was unusually calm.*

*I will get her kicked  ou— but that creepy doll will haunt me.*

*I will prove to the Grandmaster that she is incomp— but that confident, unnerving gaze...*

*I will conspire with the staf— but they all hate me.*

*Think fast, Rowland. You are a warrior. Pick up a sword. Ask no questions. Hitting women is difficult enough as it is—even for me.*

*I might have to go easy on her. She may even become mesmerised by me, like all the other ladies who hide their giggles behind their fans.*

*Muscles flexing, sweat dripping, blades clashing—the whole impressive display.*

He imagined Sybill staring at him, her eyes glistening with admiration, her mouth slightly open, and her cheeks flushed red. He could already picture himself in the training ground, reddish-brown hair shining beneath the sun, grey eyes fixed on her as he followed her every move.

With that overconfident thought, he sprawled across his bed, thinking about his new teacher and their approaching duel.

---

Stephen Maclan ran triumphantly through the alley, the Book of Secrets clutched tightly in his hand. He had done it.

No one could possibly have guessed—

He came to a sudden halt.

Mage Detective Silhvester Holmes stood ahead of him, blocking the alley. Stephen spun around in haste, only to find the detective's partner, Warner Jotson, closing in from behind.

"Nowhere left to run, Stephen," Silhvester said.

"We found your footprints inside the Royal Ledger Vault," he continued, "along with the distinctive ash of a cigar smoked by only one man in the entire city. That green, foul-smelling filth—"

Warner pressed the tip of his wand against Stephen's head and finished the sentence.

"—will be your doom."

Sammy finished reading in a raspy voice and snapped the book shut with excitement.

The three of them had turned the evening into a little celebration. Plates of sliced apples, pears, berries, cubes of cheese, and small pastries crowded the low table, while a glass pitcher of lemonade sat among them, already half-empty.

The book had been sprawled open across Sammy's lap for most of the evening. He sat cross-legged beside the table, completely absorbed in his performance.

Sybill lay flat on her stomach across the rug, her chin resting in both hands and her feet lazily kicking behind her as she listened. Silvi rested comfortably against one of the cushions beside her, equally absorbed in the story.

"Told you! It was the manager all along!"

Silvi's animated mouth formed a perfect O.

"That deduction was amazing!" she exclaimed, her porcelain body rattling against the cushion with joy.

Sybill nodded solemnly and reached for another slice of pear.

"Silhvester is always making the good deductions with the evidences."

Sammy laughed and poured himself more lemonade.

Silvi suddenly froze. Her black button eyes widened.

"Sybill, the duel! That idiot prince must be waiting. We are already late."

Sybill stopped chewing and slowly lowered the slice of pear.

"Just read the other book, the Sammy. The prince can do the waiting."

"No, Sibi. We have to take this seriously. You're only here because you have to teach, remember?"

Silvi narrowed her black button eyes at Sybill, then turned towards Sammy. The message was clear.

They were doing this for him.

Sybill let out a long sigh, pushed herself up from the rug, and rose in haste. She opened her closet and pulled out a warrior outfit she had copied from a painting in the grand hall.