The next month was a blur. Arian spent the mornings and meals with Gwen, then the time in between was filled with tutors. Movement based things came quickly to her. Sitting and walking posture, curtsies, and other graceful movements were accessible to her if she thought intentionally about it.

In preparation for the banquet, a dance instructor was brought in, and Arian picked up the fundamental dances quickly. Another day she attempted horseback riding, which she was terrible at. The massive creatures were oddly foreign to her, since Arian's animal exposure was relegated to a few family dogs while growing up.

Learning about families, titles, and the behaviors of the noble class were much less entertaining. Arian was frustrated by the fact that, aside from learning about society and polite interactions, women were not taught much else. Math, science, and philosophy were the occupations of men.

Arts were the place for women, but her tutor thought she was well past the age of gaining skills in music, sewing, or drawing. Arian was not brave enough to do music in front of any living soul, but she already knew basic hemming techniques. Arian had surprised her tutor by being decent with drawing. Years of drawing muscles and bones of the human body had left that singular aspect of art accessible to her.

The most important topic for her to learn was geography. Arian knew nothing of the region and drank up the details of her surroundings. Maltisha was a relatively small kingdom in the mountains, shaped like a teardrop, and surrounded by three neighboring countries: Rovari, Gamyanor, and Terralon.

Despite its size, Maltisha was rather resource rich. Metal ore ran through the mountains and almost all the rivers in the region originated within the country’s borders. The largest economic exports of the country were raw ore, jewelry, weapons, and water pumps.

While the long days soaked her mind with more information than she could process, calisthenics and katas were the evening ritual. The movement was her mindful meditation, pillows were her punching bags, and a parasol became her practice sword.

This physical decompression was the time that Arian used to process her emotions. Despite her luck finding a friend and getting adopted by a rich family, she was still isolated from everything she knew. Her whole life had been ripped away from her abruptly.

The hardest part was that she had no idea how she got here, which kept her from being able to extrapolate how to get back home. Arian had literally been thrown into a foreign country that seemed to be hundreds of years in the past.

Deep in thought, she moved through some standard sword fighting sequences. She reasoned that the best course of action was to stay under the radar and not draw attention to herself. If she could camouflage herself into this world long enough to find a way out of it, then maybe no one would notice her presence was unnatural.

Pretending to sheath the parasol and bow, she turned and realized a servant was standing in her open door. The prim woman was holding a tray with her evening tea and a look of absolute confusion. This person had been watching her pretend to sword fight with an umbrella in her underclothes for who knows how long.

Perfect, she thought, way to stay under the radar Arian.

Valen Cael was on his horse leading his men to an outpost up ahead. He rode with as much dignity as a man could with one arm in a sling. The doctor had reset the arm bone after the battle was won, but it had been out of the socket for hours before he managed to cross the flooded river safely and make it back to the city.

The injury was severe. He was allowed to move his arm, but the range was limited. When the pain returned, he had to put it in a sling to rest. He was making progress, but still spent more time with his arm in the sling than out of it.

He and his troops would be resting at this southern outpost for the night, and then continuing their fortnight’s journey back home. Normally after a victory, the men would be more boisterous, but all of them were concerned. Making sure their families were fed this year was heavy on everyone's minds. No one was returning to rest; they were merely trading a sword for a scythe.

He had promised to use his estate lands to help plant additional crops to support the nation this year. While many hailed him as a hero for saving the city from the Rovari military, he felt responsible for the food crisis that was sure to come. The gardens in Heaven’s Bounty could be restored, but not in time to yield a harvest this year.

The king sent a notice to all the noble families that many commercial endeavors would need to be suspended so that money and labor could be diverted to additional farming efforts. This was going to make Duke Valen Cael a wildly unpopular hero with his fellow nobles.

After getting settled at the outpost and enjoying a warm meal, a courier found the duke and presented him with a letter. He was both excited and afraid to see the Hartfield eagle crest pressed into the wax seal. He had heard from Gwen only once during this tour, saying that she looked forward to his return as she had wonderful news, and she wished to tell him about it in person.

He carefully broke the seal and opened it, surprised to see the letter was not written in Gwen’s familiar penmanship. The letter was from her uncle, Marquess Hartfield. Reading the letter he froze, gratitude and guilt washing over him. This was surely a gift he did not deserve.

The letter was a request for Duke Valen Cael to come to the Hartfield estate to discuss the terms for a proposal of marriage.