The next day started with screaming.
Not from Evelyn, though she was close. The sound came from the training yard, where several of the Duke's soldiers were shouting orders at one another. She stood at the edge of the courtyard, clutching a wooden practice sword that felt much heavier than it looked.
The sun was bright, the air smelled like sweat and metal, and she was certain she was about to die of embarrassment.
"Guard Ash!" the instructor barked. "You're the new one, aren't you?"
Evelyn nodded nervously. "Yes, sir."
He eyed her up and down. "You're smaller than the rest, but the Duke wants you trained. Show me your stance."
She tried to copy the others, spreading her feet apart and holding the sword in front of her chest. It felt awkward and wobbly.
The instructor frowned. "That looks like you're about to ask the sword for mercy. Firmer grip!"
Evelyn tightened her hands around the hilt. Her arms trembled.
"Now swing!"
She swung with all her strength. The sword flew right out of her hands and landed in a haystack behind the soldiers.
There was silence. Then laughter.
One of the guards called out, "Nice throw! You planning to fight from a distance?"
Evelyn's face burned. "That was… part of my strategy."
The instructor sighed. "Retrieve your weapon before you kill a chicken."
She ran to the haystack, pulled the sword free, and returned, pretending not to notice everyone snickering.
The Duke arrived halfway through the session. His presence instantly changed the air. Soldiers straightened, voices quieted, and Evelyn nearly dropped the sword again.
He stood by the fence with his usual calm posture, his hands behind his back. The sunlight caught in his dark hair.
"Continue," he said to the instructor. "I wish to see how my new guard performs."
Evelyn's stomach dropped. Of all the people in the world, why did he have to appear now?
The instructor smiled cruelly. "You heard the Duke. Show him what you can do, Guard Ash."
She swallowed hard. "Right."
The next few minutes were chaos.
Her strikes were weak, her footing slipped, and at one point, she almost hit herself. The soldiers tried not to laugh too loudly, but even the instructor looked ready to give up.
When the session finally ended, Evelyn stood in the middle of the yard, panting and covered in dirt.
The Duke walked over. His expression was unreadable.
Evelyn braced herself. "I know. I'm terrible."
He studied her quietly. "Your form is poor. Your balance is worse. But your spirit…"
He paused, and his eyes softened slightly. "Your spirit is impressive."
She blinked. "That's… good?"
"For now," he said.
Then he turned to the instructor. "See that she receives daily lessons. I will oversee her progress myself."
Evelyn nearly choked. "You will what?"
He looked at her calmly. "If you are to protect me, I must ensure you are capable."
She nodded, trying not to panic. "Of course, Your Grace. That's… completely normal."
It wasn't normal. Not at all. The Duke himself would be her teacher. She wasn't sure whether to faint or run away.
That afternoon, the training yard was empty except for them.
The Duke handed her a lighter sword. "You need to learn balance before strength."
"Yes, Your Grace," she said, gripping the weapon with both hands.
He stepped closer to correct her stance. His hand brushed against hers, warm and steady. She froze.
"You're holding it too tightly," he said. "Relax your wrists."
"I'm relaxed," she lied, even as every muscle in her body locked up.
He leaned in slightly. "No, you're not."
Her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. She focused on breathing, on anything but the scent of his cologne, which was faintly like cedar and rain.
"Better," he said, moving back. "Now swing."
She swung slowly this time, careful not to let the sword fly again.
"Good," he said. "Again."
They continued for a while. The more she practiced, the more her movements started to feel natural. He corrected her posture with patient precision, never scolding, never laughing.
And every time he nodded in approval, a little warmth bloomed in her chest.
By the end of the lesson, Evelyn's arms were trembling, and sweat ran down her back. She sat on the ground with a groan.
"I think my arms are about to fall off," she said.
The Duke stood nearby, perfectly composed as always. "Pain is the path to improvement."
She looked up at him with a weak smile. "You sound like every villain in a hero story."
He raised an eyebrow. "And yet the hero always learns something from the villain."
"Usually how to run faster," she said under her breath.
He almost smiled again. "You talk too much for a guard."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"You shouldn't."
"I'll take it anyway."
This time, he actually laughed. It was soft, low, and brief, but real.
Evelyn stared at him in surprise. He looked different when he laughed it feels warmer, younger, almost human instead of carved from stone.
She had the sudden urge to make him laugh again.
After practice, the butler brought water and towels. Evelyn wiped her face and looked at her hands, already forming small blisters.
The Duke noticed. "You'll need gloves. Have the tailor make some to fit."
"Oh, I can handle it," she said, hiding her hands behind her back. "I'm tougher than I look."
He gave her a quiet look that made her feel seen in a way she wasn't ready for.
"I believe that," he said.
Her chest tightened. "You do?"
He nodded once. "You have courage, even when you have no idea what you're doing."
She blinked. "That's… oddly accurate."
He glanced toward the sky. "Rest for today. Tomorrow we begin at sunrise."
Her shoulders slumped. "Sunrise?"
"Unless you'd prefer earlier."
"Sunrise is perfect," she said quickly. "Wonderful. Lovely. My favorite time of day."
He nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Then you will meet me here at dawn."
She watched him leave, his long coat moving elegantly with each step. Even his shadow looked disciplined.
When he disappeared into the mansion, Evelyn fell back on the grass and groaned.
"What have I gotten myself into?"
That evening, she could barely lift her spoon at dinner. The other guards laughed as she tried to bring soup to her mouth without spilling it.
One of them, a friendly man named Rowan, grinned. "You must have impressed the Duke if he's personally training you."
Evelyn laughed weakly. "Impressed or worried. Hard to tell which."
Another guard leaned closer. "You know, he never takes personal interest in anyone. Maybe he sees potential in you."
Evelyn's heart skipped. "Potential for what? Breaking furniture?"
They laughed, and she smiled along, though her thoughts wandered back to the way the Duke's hand had guided hers earlier. The steadiness of his voice. The warmth in his laugh.
It had been years since anyone looked at her like she wasn't a burden or a mistake.
That night, she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, her arms still sore but her heart strangely light.
Maybe this job wasn't a disaster after all.
Maybe this was the beginning of something she didn't know she was looking for.