Chapter 2: Armoury

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CHAPTER 2

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : - ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ - : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

MORNING air was chilly as Rhiannon stood in the great hall, hands folded before her, head slightly bowed, posture straight as she listened to the day's orders.

The royal steward, an older man with sharp eyes and a voice that carried across the stone walls, listed each servant's tasks with precision and boredom.

"Rhiannon" he called, barely glancing at her. "You'll be assisting in the eastern wing today-Lady Evelyne's chambers."

She exhaled through her nose. The eastern wing. It meant tending to the quarters of visiting noblewomen, which, as she'd learned, usually involved a day of whispered gossip, impossible demands, and the occasional slap on the wrist for speaking out of turn.

She nodded, murmuring

"Yes, my lord" before taking a small step back in line.

Her body ached from lack of sleep. After last night, she had tossed and turned, replaying every moment in the armoury. Feeling uneasy. 'What if the prince changed his mind?' She thought.

The prince's words, his presence, the way he had let her leave unpunished-no, invited her to return.

She didn't know what to make of it.

But she knew one thing: she would go back. She was going to anyway.

If she was going to risk everything, she would at least make it worth it.

The day dragged on. Spending the morning sweeping and dusting, forced to listen as Lady Evelyne and her companions gossiped about court politics and the latest fashions from the western kingdoms.

They spoke of war as if it were a distant storm, something to be observed, not survived. They giggled over suitors and alliances as if lives weren't at stake.

Rhia kept her head down, hands busy, ears open. She had learned that listening was its own kind of power.

By midday, she was sent to the kitchens to fetch a tray of honey pastries, only to be stopped by two young knights along the way.

"Look at this one" one of them sneered, stepping into her path. "Pretty little thing, aren't you?"

Rhia kept her gaze lowered, her grip tightening around the tray, rage building up. 'Just ignore Rhia. You can do it, not the first time' she thought to herself.

The other knight chuckled.

"What's your name, girl?"

'Not girl. Nor servant.' But she knew better than to answer.

A sharp voice interrupted.

"She's not here for your amusement."

Rhia's stomach tensed as a senior knight strode toward them. Sir Edric.

Unlike the others, he had never spoken a cruel word to her or the other servants. He wasn't kind, but he wasn't needlessly cruel either.

The two younger knights stepped back, faking innocence.

"We were only speaking with her."

Edric's glare was enough to send them walking.

Rhia cast him a wary glance, but he only nodded toward the tray.

"Go on, then."

She didn't need to be told twice.

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By the time night fell, exhaustion weighed heavy on her bones, but it didn't matter.

She wasn't going to sleep.

She waited until the halls grew quiet until the castle exhaled into silence. Then, with careful steps, she slipped through the servants passages, down the stone stairways, and into the dark corridors leading to the armoury.

Her heart raced as she pressed her palm against the heavy wooden door, slipping inside.

This time, she wasn't alone.

Simon Riley stood at the far end of the chamber, leaning against the weapon rack, a long sword balanced between his gloved hands.

She swallowed-

"You're early."

He smirked-or at least, she thought he did. Hard to tell with the mask.

"You're late."

"I'm not late" she murmured, but loud enough for to the prince hear.

Rhia shut the door behind her, stepping further inside. The candlelight flickered against the steel of the weapons, casting golden reflections across the polished blades.

She expected him to start with questions, to demand explanations, to taunt her for sneaking in once again.

Instead, he tossed something at her.

She caught it on instinct, fingers closing around the rough leather grip of a small dagger.

"Show me what you can do" Simon said.

Her pulse pounded.

He wasn't stopping her.

He was testing her.

So she straightened her spine, adjusted her grip, and stepped into the light-ready to prove herself once more.

But right there and then she paused.

What if it was a test?

No one could harm the royal family.

No one dared to. The laws were clear-raising a weapon against the crown was treason, punishable by death. Even an accident, even the mere suggestion of disobedience, could lead to a noose around one's neck. It happen once.

Rhia tightened her grip on the dagger. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

She looked up at Simon, searching for any sign of deceit in those sharp, unreadable eyes.

"Is this a trick?" she asked, voice quieter than she intended. "A way to get me hanged?"

The prince exhaled, something like amusement in his gaze.

"If I wanted you dead, servant, you wouldn't have made it through that door."

'Does he have amnesia?' Annoyed with what he kept calling her, she scowled.

"I have a name."

Simon tilted his head slightly, studying her.

"Do you? I must've forgotten"

Rhia clenched her jaw. Checky Bastard.

"Rhiannon, your highness" she bit out.

Simon hummed, almost as if testing the weight of it on his tongue. Then, he gestured toward the space between them.

"Well then, Rhiannon." His voice was smooth, steady. "Show me what you can do."

Her fingers flexed around the hilt of the dagger.

He was watching her closely, waiting. Not for her to refuse. Not for her to cower.

Waiting for her to fight.

So she took a slow breath, adjusted her stance, and lunged.

Her blade cut through the air, fast but not reckless, aiming for a strike that would graze-not harm. But Simon was quicker.

He sidestepped effortlessly, like a ghost slipping through shadows.

She twisted, bringing the dagger up again, but before she could strike, he caught her wrist.

His grip was firm but not crushing, his fingers warm even through the leather gloves.

"Too slow" he murmured.

Rhia glared. She wrenched her arm back and aimed a strike at his ribs. This time, he didn't dodge-he caught the blade between his fingers, pressing just enough to halt the motion.

She barely had time to register what happened before he leaned in. Not too close, but enough for her to feel the weight of his presence.

"Better" he said. "But not enough."

Rhia's chest rose and fell, her breath coming faster.

She had never been this close to him before. And she realized, with a start, that he smelled of leather, steel, and something faintly like cedarwood.

She jerked her hand away, stepping back.

"I thought we were testing my skill, not playing a game of cat and mouse."

Simon let out a quiet chuckle, rolling his shoulders.

"You think this is a game?"

Rhia didn't answer.

Because she wasn't sure what this was.

She had expected to be punished for sneaking into the armoury. Expected to be exiled from the palace, beaten, locked away, something.

But instead, the prince-heir to the throne, a man raised in war-was standing before her, testing her, teaching her.

And she had no idea why.

"Again" he said, motioning for her to attack.

She exhaled through her nose, grounding herself. She wouldn't let him toy with her. If he wanted to see what she could do, she would show him.

This time, she didn't hesitate. She lunged.

Simon shifted, but she anticipated it-feinting left before pivoting sharply, swinging the dagger toward his ribs. A precise strike. One she knew would land.

But Simon was faster.

A blur of movement-his boot slid back, just out of reach, his torso twisting at the last second. Before she could react, his arm shot out, catching her wrist mid-swing.

A sharp tug-off balance-her feet stumbled.

The next thing she knew, her back met the cold stone wall of the armoury.

Simon caged her in without touching her, his gloved hand still gripping her wrist, his body just close enough that she could feel the heat of him.

The blade of her dagger was trapped between them, the edge pressing harmlessly against the fabric of his dark tunic.

Rhia's breath caught in her throat.

For a moment, there was only silence.

The flickering candlelight played across the silver filigree of his mask, catching on the sharp angles of his face-the piercing eyes, the subtle furrow of his brows, the barely-there smirk at the corner of his lips.

He's enjoying this.

The realization sent heat rushing to her cheeks.

"Better" Simon murmured, his voice a low hum. "But still predictable."

Rhia clenched her jaw.

"Let me go." she demanded.

He held her gaze for a lingering moment-searching, reading her-before, to her surprise, he did.

She stepped away quickly, putting space between them, dagger still clutched tight in her hand. Her heart pounded against her ribs, frustration prickling beneath her skin.

She hated how easily he had her cornered.

Simon tilted his head, watching her with something unreadable in his dark gaze.

"You don't fight like a servant."

Rhia forced her breath to steady, meeting his stare.

"What- what is that even suppost to mean? Servents don't fight."

The words left her before she could stop them. A dangerous admission. A foolish one.

"And here you are"

Simon's expression didn't change.

Slowly, he reached to his side, drawing his sword. The steel gleamed in the dim light, its edge wickedly sharp.

Rhia tensed.

Then-he flipped the blade in his grip, offering the hilt to her.

She blinked.

"What are you doing?"

His smirk was barely visible beneath his mask.

"Testing a theory."

She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the weapon. No one had ever given her a sword before. No one had ever even considered letting her hold one outside of chores.

She looked up at him, searching for any sign of deception.

His expression remained unreadable, his patience unwavering.

With a steadying breath, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt.

It was heavier than she expected. Not unwieldy, but solid, real. The weight of something that had purpose.

Simon stepped back, motioning to her.

"Strike."

Rhia curled her fingers tighter around the hilt.

She could still feel the press of the stone wall against her back, still hear the way his voice had curled around the words, "You don't fight like a servant."

She didn't know why those words struck something deep in her chest.

Because it wasn't an accusation. It wasn't even a taunt.

It was an observation.

And worse-he wasn't wrong.

She could have ignored the first test. Could have walked away, let the moment slip into silence. But now he had given her a weapon, and her hands had accepted it before her mind had caught up.

Something inside her whispered that this was a line she wasn't meant to cross.

But she had already stepped over it.

So she moved.

Her first swing was careful.

Testing the weight, feeling how the blade balanced. Simon parried easily, his own sword blocking hers with barely any effort.

The sound of metal meeting metal rang through the armoury.

"Again."

Rhia adjusted her stance, lifted the sword, and struck again.

A sharper attack.

This time, he sidestepped, letting the swing pass harmlessly by.

"Better."

She exhaled sharply, already irritated. 'He's playing with me.'

So she let the next strike come faster.

Then another. And another.

Her movements weren't refined, but they were relentless. She had no formal training, no years spent under the guidance of palace instructors, but she had speed. She had instinct.

And for the first time, she was letting herself use it.

Simon blocked each one with ease, his own blade barely shifting. His defence was effortless, but he wasn't countering. He was just... watching her. Studying her.

And that unsettled her more than any sharp-tongued insult ever could.

Her breath came faster now, frustration simmering beneath her skin.

She lunged again-only to be met with empty space.

A sudden shift-Simon spun, catching her movement before she could adjust, knocking the blade from her grip.

It clattered against the stone floor.

Before she could react, she felt it-his boot sweeping forward, just enough to shift her balance.

Her back met the floor with a thud.

Simon was on her in an instant.

Not pinning her, not pressing her down-but close enough that his presence was undeniable. His knee barely touched the ground beside her, his sword angled across her chest, the sharp edge glinting in the dim candlelight.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Her heart pounded, her breath uneven.

She expected him to gloat. To smirk and say something smug.

But instead, he only watched her. His gaze steady. Calculating.

Not with cruelty. Not with arrogance.

With interest. And that was worse.

Because it meant he was taking her seriously.

His grip on the sword shifted, the tip moving away from her skin.

"You learn quickly" he said.

The words caught her off guard.

She swallowed, her throat dry.

"You're not going to say I'm predictable again?"

One corner of his mouth twitched.

"Not this time."

He moved back, rising smoothly to his feet.

Rhia exhaled sharply before pushing herself up. Her palms tingled with the impact of the fall, but she ignored it, brushing dust from her skirts.

When she glanced at him again, he was sheathing his sword. She hesitated.

"Why are you doing this?"

Simon's head tilted slightly, considering her.

"Does it matter?"

Rhia's fingers curled at her sides. Nodding.

"Yes"

He watched her for a moment before answering.

"You've got something in you. Fire phreaps" he said finally. "I want to see what you do with it."

The words unsettled her. Not because of what they meant-but because of what they didn't mean.

He wasn't training her for entertainment. He wasn't playing games.

He was looking at her like she was something more.

And Rhia wasn't sure if that terrified her or thrilled her. He was the prince, after all. A royal person. Born surrounded by gold.

She shifted her weight, glancing at the sword still on the floor.

Before she could bend to retrieve it, Simon moved.

He picked it up, twirling it once in his grip before flipping the hilt toward her.

A silent offer.

Her fingers hovered over it.

Curled her fingers around the hilt.

Simon's dark eyes flickered with something unreadable.

And for the first time, Rhia wondered who was testing who.

Suddenly, he spoke.

"Time for bed"

'What'

"Bed? Now?" Rhia asked, confused. Quite offended. 'What are you? My mother?'

"Yes, now." He paused. "I'm not blind. Even a horse could see that you're tired"

'Rude'

"Okay then." She said, defeated, exhaustion built up to her.

Handing him the sword, he took it without a word.

Walking towards the big wooden door, she turned.

"Good night" her voice coming out sweeter than intended.

A hum of approval was what she got from the prince. But she was not done. She wanted to say more. Always wanting more. Feeling brave and fearless, she mentioned his name.

"Simon" capturing his attention off guard, he turned around facing her. Surprised. "Thank you"

With that, she turned and closed the door. Not waiting for an answer or an action. Afraid of what alt come could've happen.

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