Janette stepped into the training yard. The cool morning air smelled faintly of sand and metal. Wooden dummies lined the edges of the yard, and servants hurried back and forth, carrying buckets of water, fresh rakes, and trays of polishing oil.
"Careful, Lorna," Janette called to a young maid spreading sand near the practice dummies. "The surface must be even for the men to train properly. One uneven patch, and someone could slip."
"Yes, Your Grace," the girl said, continuing with her tasks.
Another servant carried a tray of cloths and polishing oil. "Shall I lay these out for the Duke's swords, Your Grace?"
Janette nodded. "Yes, within easy reach. He'll need them soon. It's better to keep it readily available for him."
From across the yard, Killian's movements caught her eye. He raised his sword and swung, the blade slicing through the morning air with precise, practiced skill. Janette moved to a bench nearby, folding her hands neatly but leaning slightly forward, unable to take her eyes off him.
She gestured to the maid to bring her some pastries. "A little bit of dessert to watch my own dessert won't be an issue" she murmured to herself, smiling at that thought.
"You're smiling," Killian said suddenly, lowering his sword and looking her way.
"I am… observing," she said softly, cheeks warming.
"Observing, hmm?" He smirked faintly. "And what am I supposed to learn from this, Duchess? That you can predict my next move?"
Janette laughed lightly. "I'm not trying to learn, I'm just… curious."
"Curiousity about my next move? Are you sure you can predict what I'd do next?" Killian said, stepping closer to the edge of the field. "Especially if you start imagining yourself in the midst of the action, which is unlikely."
"I assure you, I have no such intention," she replied, though the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.
He stopped mid-step, studying her.
"So what are your intentions Janette? Would you like to tell me about it as well?" His eyes locked with hers.
She looked away, as she couldn't hold the eye contact longer. Her fingers twisting the little strands of her hair.
"My intentions are as clear as the pond in spring... It is you, who vanishes into the practice ground, just as the sun starts to rise."
"Vanish?" he echoed dryly. "You make it sound as if I am never here."
"You are never here during the day," she said lightly, though her eyes flicked toward him, noting the faint shadow under his brow and the tension in his jaw.
Killian's lips twitched, half-amused, half-concerned. "And yet here you are, watching me with the same intensity you bring to accounting ledgers."
Janette tilted her head, forcing a laugh. "A different kind of discipline, I suppose. One requires a quill, the other a sword. Both demand attention and focus."
He stepped closer, gaze lingering. "And tell me, how much of this is duty, and how much… is desire?"
Janette blinked, caught off guard. "Desire?" she echoed, uncertain.
"Yes," he said, voice low and steady. "The desire to see, to understand, to make sure the world you leave in the hands of others runs smoothly."
She swallowed, glancing down at her folded hands. "Perhaps… a little of both. I cannot help myself."
Killian's expression softened for the briefest moment, then returned to its usual calm. "Janette… you take too much upon yourself. You know that you can always rely on me when it gets too much to handle for you"
"I can...?" she gasped, her voice low but astonished.
He tilted his head, studying her. "Did it not occur to you that I'm always there by your side?"
She hesitated, glancing at the neatly arranged swords at the edge of the yard. For a moment, she feared what she was hearing.
He never took time to notice my anxieties and troubles. How is he so different today?
Killian saw her struggle to come up with any responses. "Janette, don't think so much. Sit back. And watch your husband." He said as he held her shoulders.
Her cheeks flushed. Her body stiffened at his touch. Reluctantly, she moved to a bench, folding her hands and trying to ignore the faint warmth in her chest as he resumed his practice.
The swing of his sword, the strength in his arms, the grace in his movement—all of it drew her attention and admiration, though she refused to show it too plainly.
The servants continued their work, raking, polishing, and tidying swords, murmuring softly among themselves. A page hurried by with a bucket of water, spilling a few drops. "Careful!" one guard called, chuckling.
Janette smiled faintly, nodding to the boys and girls moving around her. The activity, the sound of swords clashing against wooden dummies, the whispers of servants—it all created a rhythm, a world she could observe without being caught in its strain. For a moment, she felt like everything was perfect.
Then a voice broke through the morning air. Smooth, sharp, and familiar.
"Well, well. The great war hero, showing off for his wife?"
Janette's head snapped up. Killian froze mid-swing, muscles taut.
It was none other than, Zachary Lionhart, Killian's step brother. Strolling forward, black hair gleaming under the morning sun, sword loosely held at his side, smirk faint but sharp. "Or should I say, the idol of every love-struck lady in the capital?"
Killian's jaw tightened. "If you seek a spar, you need not dress it in mockery."
"Oh, where's the fun in that?" Zachary replied, eyes flicking toward Janette. "Some truths deserve to be spoken aloud. Not every blade stays sharp forever."
Janette instinctively rose, unsure how to intervene.
"Stay back, Janette," Killian said immediately, stepping in front of her.
The brothers clashed, steel ringing, sparks flying. Dust swirled as their movements mirrored one another—Killian's measured strength against Zachary's daring speed.
"Your skills are still extraordinary brother."
Servants gasped quietly, stepping back to avoid being caught in their rivalry.
Janette gripped the bench, feeling her pulse quicken. Every strike carried years of rivalry and unspoken feelings. Zachary glanced toward her once, careful yet daring, while Killian's retaliatory strikes seemed sharpened by her presence.
Finally, she could bear it no longer. She grabbed a spare sword and stepped firmly between them. She raised the sword bravely, something nobody would dare to do. Killian looked astonished by it. Not expecting his timid wife to do such a bold act.
"Enough!" she called, voice ringing across the yard. "This is not a battlefield. I will not allow this yard to become one." Zachary loosened his grip, gazing at her command.
"The match is over. Neither wins."
Killian lowered his sword, smirk faint, eyes lingering on her. Zachary sheathed his blade, casting her a brief, unreadable glance again.
Janette exhaled slowly, brushing sand from her hands.
"I didn't expect you to actually bring out the sword." Zachary chuckled.
"That's not the main issue right now" she replied, voice soft.
"Since youhave come after so many days, Would you like to join us for supper?"
Zachary's dark eyes met hers. "I thought you'd never ask."
The servants moved about the yard, cleaning and tidying swords, carrying water, whispering softly among themselves. Janette allowed herself a small smile.
"I should prepare the dinner." She told herself.