The sunlight began to crawl up behind the back of the hill, breaking the thin mist that hung in the air. That golden light penetrated the carriage glass, dancing on the skin of Gianna and Verity, who had been confined for too long in the journey.
The air inside the carriage was still damp, but that slight warmth felt like a small gift from the sky.
The carriage wheels creaked softly on the dusty stone road. Gianna pulled aside the small curtain at the window, her eyes rounding when a large shadow in the distance began to appear — a magnificent fortress towering at the end of the road. Its walls were as high as the sky, solid, cold, and pale as they gleamed when struck by the morning light. Romanov Fortress.
Gianna's heart beat fast, hard enough to be felt in her throat. But she forced her face to remain flat. She knew, in the presence of nobles as powerful as the Romanov family, emotion was a weakness.
Their carriage slowed as it passed through the main gate, two guards with spears carved with the golden eagle emblem giving a brief salute to Verity. As soon as they passed, Gianna turned her head — rows of Romanov ancestral statues stood along the courtyard, wrapped in gallant military attire, staring straight toward the gate as if watching anyone who dared to come.
When the carriage stopped in front of the main hall, two servants opened the door. Gianna descended after Verity, the biting morning air immediately greeting her skin. She lifted her skirt slightly so it would not touch the cold white marble floor.
The corridor inside the fortress was long and magnificent. Paintings of war lined the walls; the faces of Romanov heroes stared at them from golden frames. Each of Gianna's steps echoed softly on the stone floor, mixed with the scent of old wood and burning candles.
Finally, they arrived at the banquet hall. At its center stood a long oak table with carvings of dragons and lilies, symbols of the glory of the Romanov family. At the end of the table, a man sat upright wearing a black coat layered with wolf fur. His gaze was sharp, his face indicating that he was not merely a noble—he was a war leader.
"Good morning, Your Grace Duke Romanov," Verity said while bowing, her dress lifting slightly in an elegant gesture of respect.
Duke Romanov lowered his cup, looking at Verity with a gaze full of observation.
"Who is the little girl behind you, Miss Verity?" his voice was heavy, authoritative.
"She is my younger sister, Your Grace Duke." Verity made room for Gianna to step forward.
Gianna pulled her dress slightly and bowed politely. "Allow me to introduce myself, I am Gianna… Gianna Clark."
Romanov observed them in turn, then his gaze rested longer on Gianna. In the eyes of that small child, he saw something—not fear, but determination that burned quietly.
"Silas," Duke Romanov called to the boy who was sitting beside him. "Go train."
Silas stood without much talk, giving a brief salute to his father. As he passed Gianna, their gazes met for a moment. Only for an instant, but enough to make Gianna know that the boy possessed something similar to her: loneliness wrapped in pride.
As soon as Silas left, the Duke looked at the servant standing at the end of the room. "Escort Miss Gianna to Silas's training place."
Gianna briefly looked at Verity as if asking for permission, and Verity returned it with a gentle nod.
"Yes, Your Grace," Gianna answered softly, then gave a salute before following the servant toward the training field.
"Yes, Your Grace," Gianna answered softly, then gave a salute before following the servant toward the training field.
Duke Romanov turned to Verity. "Come. My wife is waiting for you."
Verity nodded and walked behind him, her steps echoing in that magnificent hall.
****
The air inside the room felt damp and heavy, as if time moved more slowly there. Maroon velvet curtains were hung tightly, allowing only a single beam of golden light to slip through the gap between them. The scent of medicines and dried flowers filled the room, mingling with the faint metallic smell of medical instruments on a small table beside the bed.
The body of Duchess Romanov lay weak upon the high bed, her skin pale like porcelain that had lost its light. Her breathing rose and fell softly, audible between the creaking sounds of wood. Verity set her medical bag on the table, removed her gloves, then began checking the Duchess's pulse with careful movements.
Meanwhile, Duke Romanov stood near the window, his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze was fixed not only on his wife, but also on the reflection in the glass — himself, and the burden he carried.
"Who is that girl, really?" Duke Romanov asked, his voice deep but calm.
"She is Gianna Whitmore, Your Grace," Verity replied without turning, still occupied with checking the Duchess's body temperature.
"Whitmore…" Romanov murmured, his steps slowly drawing closer.
"Why did you introduce her as your sister?"
"I want to help her," Verity said softly, this time moving to the table, preparing a still-warm herbal liquid mixture.
The Duke stared at Verity's back for a long moment, then his gaze shifted out the window — toward the courtyard where Silas and Gianna could now be seen, standing at the edge of the training field.
"Does she know about what happened to her family?"
"She knows very well, Your Grace," Verity replied as she poured the mixture into a silver cup. "And she will never forget it."
Duke Romanov looked longer toward the training field. Gianna stood at the side, her posture upright even though her small body appeared fragile among the young soldiers.
"Why do you want to help her?" The Duke's tone shifted slightly — no longer suspicious, but seeking deeper understanding.
Verity turned this time, her gaze firm. "My family was once helped by the Whitmore family. Now it is my turn to repay that debt to them."
She handed the mixture to the Duchess, helping the woman swallow it slowly. Afterward, Verity stood again beside the Duke, looking at him without lowering her gaze.
"My arrival here was not only to treat the Duchess," she said calmly. "I wish to ask for Your Grace Duke's help… to help Gianna."
Romanov turned his body fully, staring straight at Verity. "Why should I help her?"
"At the age of only seven, Gianna already understands what happened to her family," Verity answered without hesitation. She turned toward the window, looking at Gianna outside. "She has an extremely strong determination to destroy anyone who slandered her family."
She paused for a moment, then looked back at Duke Romanov.
"Including the royal family."
Silence hung between them. Only the sound of the Duchess's heavy breathing could still be heard.
Duke Romanov stared sharply at Verity — yet within that gaze was something else: respect.
"Do you believe the words of that seven-year-old girl?"
"I strongly believe in her determination," Verity answered firmly. "Hatred toward the kingdom will never disappear from her… until she can place a crown upon her head."
"She wants to become a queen?" Duke Romanov's voice dropped an octave, caught between shock and disbelief.
"That is her greatest determination," Verity answered without wavering. "I wish to ask you to allow Gianna to stay here. Allow her to train with the sword."
Romanov fell silent for a long time. Shadows of his past — war, blood, loss — passed across his stern face.
"What benefit will I gain by helping her?"
"Gianna and Your Grace Duke share something in common," Verity looked at him directly. "That is, both of you hate the royal family. Your Grace can use the great name of Whitmore to bring them down."
She stepped slightly closer. "By allowing her to stay here, you can see for yourself how great that girl's determination is. If she turns out to be weak… you are free to drive her away."
Duke Romanov looked at Verity for quite a long time before finally letting out a heavy breath.
"According to your suggestion," he said softly but firmly. "I will allow her to stay here and see for myself how strong her determination is. If that determination wavers, I will immediately drive her away."
Verity bowed in respect, her voice gentle but filled with relief.
"Thank you, Your Grace. I am certain Gianna will not disappoint you."
Romanov did not answer, only turning his gaze back toward the window — toward the courtyard where swords clashed beneath the morning sunlight.
****
The morning air in the training yard felt sharp. Dew still clung to the tips of the grass, while the scent of iron and sweat mixed with the cold air. In the middle of the rocky field, the sound of clashing metal echoed, each sword swing carving out a sound that shook the chest.
Gianna stood at the edge of the field, her small body appearing in contrast among the noble students who were training. She gripped the hem of her slightly dirty dress, her eyes never leaving every sword movement practiced by Silas.
His movements were rough, but full of power — typical of a child who grew up with Romanov blood.
Gianna observed every swing, every step, and every opening. Inside her, admiration and desire merged into embers.
She did not only want to watch. She wanted to be there — in the middle of the field, among the sounds of metal and labored breaths.
From a stone seat at the side of the field, Duke Romanov observed. His gaze was deep, assessing.
"She watches like a soldier who has once lost a war," he murmured softly, almost as if speaking to himself.
Before long, the sound of heavy boots approaching was heard from behind Gianna.
"Do you want to train with the sword as well?" the deep voice made Gianna flinch slightly.
She turned quickly, then immediately gave a bow when she saw Duke Romanov standing beside her.
"Please allow me to train with the sword, Your Grace Duke," she answered firmly, though her voice trembled slightly.
Romanov looked at the small girl for a long time, as if weighing something behind his gaze.
"Have you ever held a sword before?"
"Never, Your Grace Duke. I have only read about how in books."
Duke Romanov raised his eyebrow, a faint smile etched onto his stern face. "As long as you live here, you may train with the sword together with my son."
Gianna looked up, her eyes shining with excitement. "Thank you, Your Grace Duke."
She glanced briefly toward Verity who stood behind Duke Romanov — their gazes met, strengthening each other without words. Verity only nodded softly, giving her blessing.
"Now put on your training clothes," Duke Romanov ordered while gesturing to one of the servants.
"Thank you," Gianna said softly but sincerely, then followed the servant.
Some moments later, Gianna returned to the field. She now wore simple training clothes made of gray linen that hung somewhat loose on her shoulders. The servant handed her a training sword — its metal blunt, yet heavy enough for hands that small.
Gianna looked at her reflection on the metal blade. Something trembled within her chest; not fear, but a desire she was feeling for the first time.
She stepped into the center of the field, looking at the trainer waiting across from her.
"Can you attack me?" she said suddenly, her voice calm but sharp, like the blade she held.
The trainer frowned. "Have you trained before?"
Gianna straightened her back. "I have been watching them since earlier," she said quickly. "I am sure I can withstand every swing of your sword."
That small courage made several students who were training stop and turn. One of them was Silas.
He lowered his sword and walked closer with calm steps. His gaze traced Gianna from head to toe — not mocking, but assessing. His face remained flat, but his eyes changed: there was a challenge there.
Without saying anything, Silas gestured with his hand for his trainer to step back.
The trainer bowed and withdrew to the side of the field, realizing that the Romanov heir intended to test the new child himself.
Duke Romanov, seated on the stone chair, only observed. He slightly lifted the corner of his lips — not out of amusement, but out of faint curiosity.
Now the two children stood facing each other.
Cold wind swept across the field, stirring the tips of Gianna's hair and Silas's training cloak. The smell of iron and wet earth blended in the tense morning air.
Both of them raised their swords — Silas's long and gleaming, Gianna's shorter, but gripped with full conviction, as if her entire future rested there.
The duel began.
Silas attacked first, fast, hard, full of ambition. Gianna parried while stepping back, her eyes sharp as they followed every movement. Her body was small, but her mind was quick — recalling one by one the movements of Silas she had learned from observing earlier.
When the opening appeared, she did not hesitate. With a precise movement, Gianna twisted her wrist, focused her strength on the sword's hilt, then knocked Silas's sword aside with a single sideways swing.
The metal slipped from Silas's hand, falling to strike the ground.
The sound of applause came from the observation seat. Duke Romanov straightened his posture, looking at the small girl with a new gaze — not merely pity, but admiration.
Silas froze, his eyes widening, unable to believe his sword had slipped from his hand. His breathing was heavy, but the sense of shame burned his chest even more.
Gianna lowered her sword slowly, then walked toward Silas. She extended her hand.
"Allow me to introduce myself, I am Gianna. What is your name?"
Silas stared at her — his eyes already wet with held-back tears. His jaw tightened, and instead of shaking Gianna's hand, he only stared at her with anger on the verge of breaking.
To be continued~~~