Private Tales A King's Duty

[Bexley]

She rose and eyed his offered arm for a moment before hesitating to take it. Bexley held him gingerly, as if it still felt truly wrong to do this, but after they entered back into the palace interiors she grew more comfortable at his side. Clearing her throat, eyes taking in their surroundings, they fell onto his face. "I never thought I would ever see inside the Palace walls in all my life. Perhaps foreign ones if Vel Anir asked it of me."

Everything she saw was a brilliance even her noble family did not boast. All Bexley knew was the Academy, and then the battlefields. The Palace was more than a visual confusion to her. It's serenity was almost unnerving, and the Dreadlord could not help but feel as if a threat was imminent. This only sharpened her senses, made her more alert, but there was also a voice in the back of her mind telling her all was right.

"Have you always lived here?" She asked, eyes still on him.

 

[Lynus Anireth]

Lynus' brow rose at her question.. "I have. It's been my ancestral home for a very long time." he looked up at the vaulted ceilings, the carved chandeliers, at the tapestries depicting age old battles and paintings of many men with the same eyes as he, that always seemed to stare down at him in scrutiny. He had stopped looking up at them a long time ago. It'd been a lonely place as a child without his siblings, and the weight of expectation had been heavy upon his shoulders ever since he could remember.

He led her up a grand, sweeping staircase, glancing briefly toward a large, ornately carved door as he led her in the opposite direction. "I'm sure you'll find the guest wing comfortable. You may use your own staff, if you wish, otherwise I'll ensure some are assigned." he said as he stopped in front of the guest suite.

Lynus pushed open the heavy door, revealing the guest chambers beyond. The chambers were draped in soft hues of gold and cream. Tall windows framed with flowing silk curtains allowed the afternoon light to spill in, casting a gentle glow across the room. A marble fireplace and bookshelves occupied one wall, and on the opposite side, a pair of doors led to a private bathing chamber and dressing room.

Lynus gestured inside, though he remained in the hallway, his voice low and polite. “I trust this will be to your liking, My Lady. If anything is amiss, or if you need anything at all, just let me know.”

 

[Bexley]

Despite her Pirian family, Bexley barely remembered such finery, but the rooms she occupied at the family manor were not as grand as these chambers. She wanted to leave his side, but was also afraid he would leave so soon. Not until she knew they were to see each other again soon will she part from his arm.

"If this is how a guest is welcomed, I cannot wait to explore the rest of this palace." Her eyes focused on the many gentle details, the touch of warmth in the books filling the shelves, and the openness the amount of windows gave the room. "The room is sufficient enough, Your Highness."

She now released him, taking a few steps to run her fingers against the comfortable armchair before the fireplace. "I have a favour to ask you, Your Highness..." Bexley turned to look over her shoulder, looked guarded and unsure. "I know your father expects me to take up duties as a Lady intended to be a Princess... but do you think he would allow me to participate in training? We both know that our ruse will only last a week, but I still must keep my routine. I would need someone to spar with... one that is not afraid of a Dreadlord..."

Bexley turned to face him, smiling weakly. "My magic does not require exercise. I assure you my talents are only used when I am on mission."

And the King perhaps had given her this special one... become the next Princess of Vel Anir.

 

[Lynus Anireth]

Lynus' smile flickered slightly as Bexley made her request, his body tensing just a little. The thought of sparring with a Dreadlord was unsettling—no matter how composed and poised she appeared, the stories of their power still rang in his mind. What the hell made her think that he wasn't afraid of them?

"Oh, I..." He hesitated, forcing a polite smile back onto his face. "I'm afraid I haven't trained with a weapon in quite some time." He paused, recalling the last time he had held a sword in any real practice—it had been over a year ago, and not a skill he had sharpened since. "I'm not sure I’d be a very worthy opponent, My Lady." His eyes searched hers, hoping she would reconsider.

But she seemed intent, and Lynus shifted uncomfortably. "Perhaps Arryn—my captain of the guard—could spare some time? He’s skilled and... well, far more suited for this than I am." He gave a hopeful, almost pleading glance, unsure if Bexley would accept the alternative, or if she was determined to test him directly.

Still, her presence unsettled him—not in fear exactly, but in the way she held herself, so assured and resolute, yet speaking of failure and desperation just moments before. He felt like a pawn on a board he hadn’t asked to play, but play he must if he wanted the matter settled. A few days, that was all he needed...

 

[Bexley]

Bexley's eyes widened a fraction before soft laughter bubbled past her lips. "Oh! Of course not! My Prince, I did not... I could not expect..." but laughter carried away once more. There were times she did not need to use her conjuring magic to get a crowd to fawn over her, not when she was so naturally beautiful and captivating, and a smile and laugh was one of her charms to diasrming many people.

"How about, I accept your Captain in your place, but in return... perhaps you call me Bexley instead of my lady?" Her smile softened. "And perhaps I can call you by your name... it would certainly make your father believe we are getting along." She hung that fact before him like a honeyed carrot on string. In order to win him over, it was best he had put an end to calling her by titles and something more casual.

She also remembered that the Captain was close to the Prince, friends of some years perhaps, but someone Bexley had made note to get to know in order to learn about the prince better and win him over into choosing her.

 

[Lynus Anireth]

Relief visibly flooded Lynus' face when Bexley agreed to spar with Arryn instead. But her next request—that they drop titles—caused his stomach to twist uncomfortably. She was right, of course. Such familiarity would convince his father that their match was progressing, but it felt wrong to him. Normally, he hated titles, preferring the informal tone of friends and equals. But in this situation, titles offered distance, a barrier between them. And Isla... always Isla, remained at the forefront of his mind.

"I… suppose you're right," he admitted, though his frown deepened slightly. "Bexley." The name felt strange on his tongue, almost too personal. He nodded, the weight of it settling uncomfortably in his chest. "I'll let you get settled. Arryn will send for you. Go easy on him, please," Lynus added lightly, trying to shift the mood as he dipped his chin in a final farewell before quickly turning to leave before she could ask anything else of him.

---

Out in the courtyard, Lynus approached Arryn, who was already drenched in sweat from overseeing the guards’ drills. As Lynus explained the situation, Arryn's expression went from confusion to incredulity.

"Why me?!" Arryn protested, his eyes blown wide, clearly unimpressed by the request. "I fucking hate Dreadlords. You know I fucking hate Dreadlords!"

"Will you quiet down? I’ll explain everything later," Lynus huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just need a few days. Letting her stay keeps my father off my back. And… I need someone I trust to keep her away from Isla."

"This is a shit show," Arryn muttered, shaking his head as he grabbed Lynus' sleeve and used it to wipe the sweat from his brow. Lynus pulled his arm back, rolling his eyes.

"I know it is," Lynus muttered, patting Arryn’s shoulder in thanks. "I’ll make it up to you."

Arryn sighed, resigning himself to the favour. "Always making it up to me," he grumbled, but nodded in reluctant agreement.

---

Later that afternoon, a young guard stood before Bexley, bowing respectfully. "My Lady Pirian," he announced, "I am to escort you to the courtyard to train with Captain Cross, when it pleases you." The guard’s voice was steady, but he kept his gaze respectfully lowered as he awaited her response.

 

[Bexley]

She was dressed for the cooling evening on approach, the last remnants of the afternoon sun clung to the surroundings in a warm, golden glow. Despite the demure nature she was adopting, there was no way to hide the grace of a trained killer in her steps as she followed the young guard to this Captain Cross.

Her eyes followed everything. It was clear she did not rely on just her magic during her career as a Dreadlord. She wanted to be one of the best, to not be looked over when stood against the rest of her cohorts. And so Bexley had trained herself to the perfect and precise soldier while keeping her appearances as lovely as ever. Charms were a natural way to disarm, to lull others into a false sense of security.

But as the Dreadlord's eyes fell onto the figure she worked out to the this Captain Cross, a pleasant smile grew on her lips.

"Well, I think it is entirely unfair that the Prince asked me to go easy on you." She bowed her head at him, a point of respect for his rank. "You look capable of keeping up with my training, I would hate to take things easily."

 

[Arryn Cross]

Arryn watched Bexley approach, his sharp eyes tracking her movements. There was something about the way she carried herself, an unmistakable grace, but also the tension of a coiled spring. She was beautiful, sure, but there was absolutely no mistaking how lethal she most definitely was. His spine shuddered.

As she neared, Arryn shifted his weight slightly, his casual stance hiding his readiness. He had sparred with plenty of skilled fighters in his time, but this would be different. A Dreadlord, even one playing nice, was no simple opponent.

Her smile was charming, disarming even, but Arryn wasn’t one to be lulled easily. When she spoke, her words pulled a smirk from him, though it was tempered by the reality of their situation.

"Oh he did, did he?" Arryn echoed with a chuckle. "I didn't realise he had such little faith in me." he pouted with a flourish of his twin short swords. His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness in his gaze as he pointed her toward the racks of weapons.

He returned her respectful nod, acknowledging her skill and station. "But if you want a real fight, I’m not about to hold back. The training grounds are yours, Lady Pirian. Let’s see if I can keep up." he smirked, confident in his own ability.

His eyes glinted with challenge, though his grin remained easy and his posture was relaxed, but every muscle was ready for the fight. It had been a while since he faced someone of her caliber, and the anticipation coursed through him. He knew the reputation of Dreadlords, and even though this was supposed to be a spar, Arryn wasn’t about to treat it as anything less than a true test.

 

[Bexley]

The Captain seemed more ready to receive her than the Prince had, but she also knew there were those that possessed distaste for the Dreadlords and looked forward to testing the mettle of the famed mages of Vel Anir.

Bexley's gaze was guided by the Captain to the weaponry available to her. She wandered over to it, looking between various options and looking to the familiarity in which he held his twin swords. Debating, calculating, her decision had been made. The weapon of choice had not been available to her, when it was something not traditionally wielded on a battlefield. As Bexley began to walk to a distance opposing the Captain, a length of thick leather was conjured into her hands. It was coiled and held in one hand, and the Dreadlord's free hand wrapped around the dangling length and pulled, slackening it.

"A warm up to start, then?" Her eyes delighted as his readiness. He had a handsome face, perhaps more than the Prince if she had to be honest, but Bexley was not one to hesitate before pretty things. To her, it was a weapon, and one she was unafraid to use if it meant she would win.

With a flick of her wrist, and guided control, the whip cracked in the space before her. Ready to be actioned.

 

[Arryn Cross]

Arryn’s eyes darkened the moment he saw the whip take form in Bexley’s hands, the crack of it splitting the air bringing back unwanted memories. Her use of magic was discomforting enough, but her choice of weapon was another story. His jaw tightened, but he kept his face stoic, though inside, a surge of old anger bubbled up. He was no stranger to the bite of a whip — not on a battlefield, but from the years of torment he had endured before his life changed. Suddenly, he could feel every scar upon his back.

This was not the time for those thoughts. He needed to focus.

Rage was a weapon, and he knew how to wield it. If she wanted a real fight, he would give her one.

Without another word, Arryn lunged forward with swift precision. His twin swords gleamed in the fading sunlight as they cut through the air, moving in a practiced, deadly arc. He closed the distance between them quickly, aiming for a quick strike at her side with his right blade. At the same time, his left sword angled low, ready to parry or deflect any counter she might throw at him.

He wasn’t about to let that whip get too close. Not if he could help it.

 

[Bexley]

Bexley danced into action as soon as he made to move.

The whip was held taut in her hands, and the Dreadlord fashioned a smaller reach as he advanced. Her aversion of his attack was swift, but if she had a true weapon, she would have easily deflected. The whip, however, was used to slowly cut away at him. At his shins, at his thighs. Shoulders and elbows were not spared either.

And yet the Captain proved to be a worthy opponent. Tenacious and precise, he was a brute that would do plenty of Dreadlords an embarrassment if they had been lazy in their training, but Bexley was a creature of few comforts and mastering all she could was something she would not want to slack on. In fact, he landed a few blows to her, but being a Dreadlord, it would have taken harder hits to really put her out of commission.

Perhaps she should thank the prince later for suggesting his Captain after all.

It seemed he was adamant at not being opened up slowly with her whip, and managed to sever the leather and killing the crack she had been building up to keep him at bay. Bexley bared her teeth at him and conjured a new weapon.

Each hand wielded a sai. The whip was meant to keep him at a distance at all times, but he was something of a brute. It was an attractive quality for a Dreadlord to be blessed with such an opponent, but Bexley needed to prove she was capable. The sais would keep her close to him, and so the Pirian lady pounced.

 

[Arryn Cross]

Arryn’s muscles tensed, his body prepared to weather each bite of her whip, though the sting of it opened up fresh wounds across his arms and legs. Blood seeped through his shirt, but he barely registered the pain. His focus was entirely on Bexley, who moved with a lethal grace that matched her reputation. His light footwork kept him close to her, each step calculated to close the gap and keep her whip from having full reach, but it was impossible to avoid every strike. She was too skilled, too fast. The whip cut into him like a hot knife through butter.

When she conjured the sais, Arryn’s eyes narrowed. Her change in tactics meant she was ready to fight up close, where every movement would be a test of strength and skill.

Good. He thrived in close-quarters combat.

The moment she pounced, Arryn met her attack head-on. Steel rang as his twin blades clashed against her sais. His movements were fluid and precise, each parry followed by a quick counterstrike, his body low and balanced, footwork fast and controlled. Despite her ferocity, he matched her blow for blow, not giving an inch. She was relentless, but so was he.

As Bexley pushed forward with her next strike, Arryn feinted a retreat, drawing her in for just a heartbeat. Then, with a sudden burst of power, he pivoted and brought his knee up, slamming a strong front kick aimed at her stomach to knock her back and gain some distance.

"If you want to get that close to me you need to at least buy me dinner first," he growled, his breathing hard and his eyes never leaving hers, reading every flicker of movement, every shift of weight.

 

[Bexley]

Bexley felt the smooth steel of her weapon lightly graze against his armour as he retreated, putting distance between them when she had been close enough to grin at him wickedly and see the sheen of sweat collect and fall to his brow. But the Captain, too, could be wicked.

The flat of his boot collided with her middle, and she had been thankful for the light leathers she had brought with her. It padded enough to keep the full brunt of an impact like that at bay, but it still threw her off balance. Bexley went with the stumbling, lowering herself to ground herself as her eyes never left him. She was locked in, focused.

"Perhaps I should buy you dinner in thanks for being the first challenge I have seen in some time." She lunged again, going with an approach that would require him to hold her back with both his blades, so that she could slowly gain advantage over him and jab his ribs with the pommel to her sai. Only then did she began to humour his attacks now; dancing to the song of a well matched spar.

Bexley was toying with him now.

"If only the Anirian Guard were as disciplined as you, Captain." She complimented with a winning smile.

 

[Arryn Cross]

Arryn grunted in response to her teasing, the compliment pushing him to fight harder. Their spar had become a deadly dance, each movement fluid and precise, each blow matched with equal skill. He couldn’t help but appreciate the challenge she presented. Her praise was well-deserved, but he knew better than to be distracted by words, especially when the person speaking them was a Dreadlord.

His ribs ached from the blow she’d landed, but he barely flinched. The bruise would be a painful reminder of her skill later, but right now, he was too caught up in the heat of the fight to care. He hadn’t had a challenge like this in ages, not since Lynus had last held a sword in his hand, and it lit a fire in him.

"Careful, Lady Pirian," he growled between gritted teeth, a small, wicked grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "I’m not as easily bought as others."

As she pressed forward again, he countered with a flurry of quick attacks, each strike aimed to keep her on the defensive. Her agility was impressive, but Arryn was relentless, his strikes fueled by raw strength and precision. He feigned a strike, only to twist his body, bringing his elbow toward her jaw, hoping the momentary surprise would give him the opening he needed.

His free hand shot out to grip her hair tightly, attempting to yank her backward against his chest. In one smooth motion, he brought his second blade up to let the cold steel rest against her throat.

 

[Bexley]

Bexley's compliment was genuine, but he was wary of her beyond that of her skill. Perhaps, her rank as a Dreadlord was unwelcomed, but she did not suffer most of her life to hide what she broke herself down and built herself up with power and might. She was proud, and had managed to salvage something about herself to keep on diving down the deep end with this Revolution.

The Captain was proving to be someone she would like to fight alongside if such a day was to come, but within mere moments she recognised his feint, how he did not carry through with the rest of his movement and went back to affront her. Bexley could have dodged this coming attack, but wonderment left her curious of how he would end this.

Pain spread from her jaw, releasing a low growl from the Dreadlord as soon as his hands wrapped around the braid she had styled for this session. He held a blade to her throat, and through bleeding gums, she laughed in good nature. "If you had a lick of magic, you would have made a great Dreadlord for Vel Anir."

She lifted a hand, still gripping her sais, and wiped her mouth clean with the back of her hand. This action was to show him she was still armed, and if she were a true opponent, it could have costed him.

"I must say, I am both impressed and pleased that you truly were something challenging." Bexley raised her hands in the universal sign of a truce, and with the softest breeze passing around them, her weapons disappeared. "A fair fight, Captain." Hands now free, she tapped at his hand holding the blade.

 

[Arryn Cross]

Arryn’s grip on her braid remained firm, the cold edge of his blade steady against her throat. He was all too aware of the weapon she still held, but in a real battle, he wouldn’t have waited for her to make the next move. Her throat would have been cut, clean and without hesitation.

When she laughed, the sound surprised him, though he didn’t show it. His brow dipped at her words, suggesting he could’ve been a Dreadlord, and his grip on her hair loosened slightly as she raised her hands in a gesture of peace. With her weapons disappearing in a soft breeze, the tension in his muscles slowly eased. "You are too kind, My Lady.." he commented, though other than being a slave, he could think of nothing worse than being a Dreadlord.

"A fair fight indeed," Arryn replied, though there was a quiet edge to his voice. He lowered the blade from her throat but didn't step back just yet. His hand remained where it was, lightly holding her braid, his gaze fixed on her with intensity, as though half expecting her to launch a further attack on him..

Finally, he let go of her braid with a slight tug, stepping back as he picked up his second blade and sheathed them. There was no malice in his expression, just a matter-of-fact bluntness. "You fight well. I'm impressed, and I don't say that lightly. You don't rely on your magic. I respect that." He gave her a small, respectful nod, the hint of a smile returning to his lips. "Maybe next time, we won’t need to hold back."

The sting of every cut she'd landed on him with that whip were suddenly quite apparent now that his adrenaline started to fall. He glanced down to the one that had lashed at his skin just above the scarred cross on his arm, the skin sticky with blood.

"Interesting choice of weapon." he said, clearing his throat as he went to the water basin to wash the sweat and blood from his face and hands.

 

[Bexley]

"Please, call me Bexley. I have been Dreadlord longer than I have been titled Lady..."

Honesty. She had not truly cared to be called a Lady even with being born into a noble family, and with the Revolution and making amends with her Pirian family, she had insisted on Bexley.

She conjured a cool, damp cloth to wipe at her face and giving a refresh. Her eyes then fell to the light cuts she made on his person. "Yes it was. Any man could wield blades, but not many can face off against an opponent wielding something else unconventional. You prove me that you are truly capable, no matter what." And so she decided to match him at his own game.

"I was trained to master all sorts of weaponry during my time at the Academy." She began, now cooling off her neck and one hand undoing the leather top layers she wore. Beneath was a light fabric in dark grey to keep things modest. The cool cloth was welcomed there and she sighed. "You are also taught that magic makes you superior... but what are you without it? That did not sit well with me, and so I was determined to never be doubted again."

On her armour, she turned to the side and tapped the metal pins on her shoulder. Second Rank.

"I set my mind to something, I will get it with hard work." Bexley frowned slightly. She wanted to make her family proud, to believe in the vision the King and her father had with this arranged marriage... but the Prince was proving difficult to accept this too.

"Captain, if you do not mind my asking..." Gone was that lethal and ferocious grace she had while fighting. Her beautiful features gave her a softness, and one she used to mask her true intent. "Who is this other Lady that has the Prince's attention?"

 

[Arryn Cross]

His brow quirked as she requested that he drop the titles, and he dipped his chin in acknowledgement, his gaze falling to the cloth she conjured. Arryn's throat cleared quietly, and his cheek dimpled with a smirk as she praised his skills once more. He was rather enjoying the flattery.

"I can endure pain is all. It's a painful weapon, but not a fatal one." he shrugged a shoulder. Unless of course she managed to snap it around a throat. He swallowed at the thought.

"Arryn." he corrected. If she was dropping titles, so was he.

He hesitated at her question, his expression pausing. It wasn’t his place to speak of the Prince’s private matters, but he knew Bexley had already been told about Lady Isla—though perhaps not the whole story. He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck as he considered his words carefully.

"Ah, Lady Isla…" he began, his tone carrying a hint of caution. He deliberately omitted her surname, keeping his response measured. "You probably heard that the late Princess passed, a little over a year ago," he continued, his frown deepening as he recalled the sorrow that had surrounded the palace. That had almost driven his brother into his own grave.

"The King and Queen have been searching for a new match for him ever since. But Lynus—he wasn’t interested in their plans. Then, unexpectedly, he found her."

Arryn paused, meeting Bexley’s gaze. He wasn’t sure how much Lynus had shared, but there was a depth to his attachment with Isla that went beyond simple affection. Still, it wasn’t his place to reveal more than necessary.

"I’m sorry you were dragged into this," Arryn said, offering her a small, apologetic smile. "I know it’s complicated. But for what it’s worth, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him happy. Isla did that for him, and I’m grateful for it."

 

[Bexley]

Bexley sniffed, conjuring another cool, clean cloth and offering it to him.

"The King himself chose me for this union... I..." Bexley cut Arryn a look. "You do not know the pressure that is on me when I see my family smiling at me finally, after years of growing up a weapon." Beneath it all, Bexley still wanted this. She was not going to divulge it all to the Captain, but making it known that she would not quit did not seem all that important.

"I do not need him to love me. He has... this Isla for that. All I need is him to go with this match and both our families will be happy."

When she was younger, Vel Anir wanted her honed and sharp. Wanted a weapon. Bexley became that, and it had meant a lot of sacrifice had to be done to ensure she was doing the family she was taught to forget proud. But after the Revolution, she reached out to them, showed up to their home outside of Vel Numera in her Dreadlord uniform and watched as her mother wept at the door. There had been something broken inside Bexley, but now it was shattered to fine dust the moment her mother realised what Bexley had to do for Vel Anir.

And so Bexley reshaped herself again.

A Lady of House Pirian. She was lucky to be born with the beautiful features of her Pirian heritage, and that dresses could be style to hide the muscles she had gained over time. One year in society, and she had them all wrapped around her finger. Bexley exhausted herself to be a version of a daughter that did not make her mother weep, and so Bexley never wore red.

"I admit, I asked the Prince to pretend this is working for a week... but that is only to buy me time to make this right. The union between the Prince and I would mean the future heirs of Vel Anir will be powerful. No enemy would dare look our way..." Bexley adjusted her gear, pulled her braid from the back of her sweating neck and tossed it over a shoulder. "But this union is not just for two of us and a future. Marrying the Pirians means there is food and grain to feed the hungry in the lower-class areas of this city. I have seen it firsthand how they hunger, and others in outlier settlements. Our fields are full of food, and this marriage alliance will win the favour of the people."

Bexley stared at Arryn unrelenting. As if daring him to deny the city needed this aide, that Lynus could do all that without marrying a Lady from the Great House that had the largest fields of crops and food in the territories.

 

[Arryn Cross]

Arryn eyed the cloth Bexley offered as though it were something dangerous, a polite smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he held up a hand to decline.

As he listened to her speak of the weight on her shoulders—the pressure of living up to her family's expectations, now redefined as Lady of House Pirian—his brow furrowed. The weight of duty she described was something he could understand, even if he didn’t have the same political or familial burdens. He could see the struggle between who she was and who she had to become, and though he respected her tenacity, he also felt a pang of sympathy for the sacrifices she had made.

But when she began speaking of the marriage alliance, her strategy laid out clearly, Arryn shifted uncomfortably. The prospect of Lynus pretending for a week, the calculated union to ensure Vel Anir’s future prosperity, the feeding of the hungry—her words were compelling, but there was a missing piece in all of it.

"I'm not—" Arryn started, frowning slightly as he weighed his words. "Bexley, I know Lynus better than anyone. I don’t doubt that your match could have been wise, even advantageous for the kingdom... But I don’t think the arrangement you're suggesting is the one he has in mind." He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "He cares for Lady Isla. I don't dispute the importance of what you’re offering, but... I’m afraid it seems too late for that."

He rolled his shoulders, the discomfort clear on his face. "I don’t claim to know much about ruling or trade," he admitted, his voice a little softer now. "But I know my brother. And right now, I know where his heart is, and that's what leads him."

Just as Arryn finished, a young voice echoed through the courtyard. "Arryn! Can we train now?!" A boy’s voice, bright and eager, rang out as Brett emerged from one of the tunnels, sword in hand and helmet tucked under his arm.

The boy froze the moment he spotted Bexley, his eyes wide, and he skidded to an awkward halt in the gravel. His face went pale as he bowed clumsily. "Oh—er, apologies, My Lady. I didn’t know—"

Arryn stepped forward, a hand clamping down on Brett’s shoulder with a gentle squeeze. "S'alright kid," he reassured the boy, a small smile returning to his face as he looked between Bexley and the young squire. "Brett, this is Lady Bexley Pirian."

He glanced at Bexley, a subtle warmth in his smile now. "And Brett here is my squire," he added, with a touch of pride in his voice.

 

[Bexley]

Her face was torn between emotions, so easily displayed on her face for Arryn to try and interpret. She could not let down her family, she could not let down the king who had selected her as his choice in daughter-in-law. But before she could appeal to the Captain, a young voice broke her from her racing thoughts.

Bexley whipped around at the sound, eyes finding the young lad. Arryn was quick to introduce her, but the correction of her title died on her lips. Turning her gaze to Arryn once more, she made an effort to fake a smile and squash down her worries she previously wore on her face. "Lucky lad. Anyone that learns from this guy is sure to do better than their mentor when they are older." The tease was there, laid thick and heavy, as if to cover up that wobble in her smile. "What Arryn failed to inform you of is my title as Dreadlord. Not common that someone that did not train as I had could keep up with my training... but, please, I should not take up anymore of your time."

For a few seconds, sadness seeped into her expression, her posture. "I should take my leave and... figure out if I am expected for dinner."

 

[Arryn Cross]

Arryn dipped his chin, his expression softening with an apology he didn’t quite say out loud. He could see the sadness creeping into Bexley’s eyes, and though his first instinct was to offer some form of comfort, he wasn’t sure it would do any good.

Before he could speak, Brett's voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"A Dreadlord?!" The boy’s eyes went wide, practically glowing with awe. Arryn stiffened, his shoulders tensing. Where he and Lynus had always been cautious of the elite warriors, Brett had been fascinated by them for as long as Arryn could remember.

"Can… can you show us some magic?" Brett’s words hung in the air for a moment, the excitement clear in his voice. But it only took a glance at Arryn’s sharp glare for the boy to falter, his enthusiasm quickly shrinking into a quiet mumble. "Uhm... never mind."

Arryn let out a slow breath, running a hand over his face in exasperation.

He turned back to Bexley, his gaze softening again. “Forgive him, he’s too curious for his own good,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint, tired smile. There was something in his expression that hinted at more—an understanding of what she carried, even if he couldn’t say it outright.

"You don’t have to rush off," Arryn added after a moment, his voice quieter now, almost as if it were just for her. "Stay, if you want. You could do with a break as much as any of us."

 

[Bexley]

Bexley only took two steps before turning around.

A child looked to her with wonderment, something she remembered doing as a younger Initiate when magic surrounded her in different arrays of strains. Her own magic had been something of a delight to explore, to nurture, and to wield to whatever her mind set to. Her eyes briefly looked to the Captain, giving him a firm nod to his invitation to stay.

"Magic, Brett, is a blessing and a curse. Just like a sword and a shield, you must learn how to wield it in order to protect yourself and others." The Dreadlord grinned, something that was not yet seen by the persona of a noble lady. After all, a Dreadlord was her first instinct, her natural self. She was a viper beneath a cloth of silk, but demonstrating her magical ability was no chore as her hands went to her left hip, as if holding a sheathed sword unseen. Withdrawing, a glimmer and shine produced a longsword from nothing, and Bexley began to move and slice the air in a series of positions taught to her at a young age.

"Here, why not show me what this lousy Captain has taught you, and perhaps we shall see if you would best a Dreadlord in the future." She threw the sword to the boy, but her magic made it go smaller and more suited to his age and height. It was well balanced, a fine blade made of magic as Bexley conjured once more a weapon for herself. "Maybe I will show you a trick or two to best him."

 

[Arryn Cross]

The sword arced gracefully through the air, catching the sunlight as it descended toward Brett. The boy's eyes widened, breath hitching, until the weapon landed smoothly in his outstretched hand. A thrill coursed through him, and he turned to Arryn, eyes alight with wonder.

Arryn cleared his throat, the concern in his expression tempered with pride. “You sure about this, Brett?” he asked, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of unease. He knew the boy needed to choose for himself, but worry coiled tightly in his chest. Dreadlords were formidable, their training unforgiving.

Brett’s grin widened, unwavering. “I’m sure!” he said, his voice ringing with excitement. He gave the blade a confident twirl. Arryn’s gaze flicked to Bexley, an unspoken plea in his eyes to be careful with the boy who was a son to him. He knew well that Dreadlords rarely held back.

Arryn stayed a step back, tension coiling through him. He resisted the urge to intervene, trusting Brett’s instincts but unable to suppress the protective streak that had kept the boy safe all these years. His hand hovered at his side, fingers flexing as if ready to jump in at the first sign of danger.

"Then by all means. Show her what the lousy Captain has taught you."

 

[Bexley]

Bexley need not look to Arryn. She was not a complete monster, she knew Brett was not an Initiate in need of being taught, but a boy, and innocent boy. Perhaps she knew the look the Captain would use looking upon her, a mage made of war and greed, honed by ruthlessness and might. It would be a look similar to that her mother used upon her, that regret Bexley could never fix.

She did not want to be seen as only a monster.

"Dreadlords have been taught to be unyielding. We have magic to fuel us and give us strength when all else is depleted." She began, circling the boy and nodding as he took up his stance. "That sets apart you and them. It is their strength, but..." she came to a stop before him and lowered herself in a defensive stance with a knowing smile. "That can also be their weakness. Some resort to magic quickly, some do not have a lot of it. It is up to you to determine where to strike in order for them to burn through it the most."

She did not remind them both what it meant being a Second Rank Dreadlord. She did not divulge them in the name she made herself, when the name Pirian had been stripped from her and she fought for recognition.

Bexley had earned the name of Vengeance.

With a nod, she invited the boy to strike, and a grinning smile lifted her mouth as he proved all the right ways to initiate an offensive attack. They kept it up for a few routines before Bexley began to take the offensive and praise Brett for his quick change into the defensive.

But her lesson turned that touch more difficult. Magic began to strengthen her blows, a change Brett noticed and took with gritted teeth. He began to anticipate and read her motions, but the boy handled the light demonstration well.

"Magic can always end." She reminded the boy.