“You are to stay with His Grace during the banquet, either at his side or a step behind,” the steward sounded almost bored while he listed off the additional rules her father had imposed. “You are to decline dances on account of your health and excuse yourself when he tells you.”

“I understand.”

Amaryllis winced as the laces of her corset were pulled tight. The steward continued to rattle off rules from the next room, but she struggled to pay attention once he started repeating the usual ones she had to follow. 

Three more maids were working around her in a flurry. While her corset was secured by one set of hands, another was patting her skin with perfumed water, and the last set was styling her hair with small braids that would be coiled on top of her head. Her nursemaid, Sally, was fluttering around them all, giving instructions and handing items to waiting hands.

A silk chemise came next, followed by a heavy gown. The emerald green satin with its layered skirts, intricate beading, and embroidery was stunning. Amaryllis fought the urge to brush her fingers over the soft fabric, knowing she’d be chastised by her nursemaid if she caused any wrinkles. 

The process of getting ready for these events took hours. She was never allowed to stay for long, but that didn’t stop the maids from working themselves into a frenzy each time they got her ready.

“One of the knights will come escort you to his grace soon,” the steward announced with a tone of finality.

The sound of his retreating footsteps and the door closing made her relax. For now, she had only been given a light restriction. If the banquets went well, he would likely be in a better mood when the time came for her punishment. If she followed his rules, then that would help too. 

Holding onto that reassuring thought, Amaryllis did her best to be a patient lady and tried not to fidget as nimble fingers continued to poke and prod and pull at her.

--- 

“Greetings, Your Grace,” a baron Amaryllis vaguely recognized called to her father as soon as they entered the banquet hall. 

The duke gave him a warm smile in return.

“Ah, welcome,” he gave Amaryllis’s arm a firm squeeze, warning her to behave, before releasing her and striding forward. “I’m glad you were able to make it despite the late invitation. You’ll have to tell me how that new smith is doing later.”

Amaryllis did her best to move gracefully as she followed her father. Her gown, with its many layers and short train, felt far too heavy for a spring affair. 

She had to fight the urge not to gather some of the skirts in her hands to help lighten the load on her shoulders and waist. Instead, she carefully clasped her hands before her and nodded in response to the greetings that came her way. 

Her father brushed past those he did not want her to speak with. Which was most. He did not think it appropriate for her to associate with so many knights.

She stayed as a quiet presence at his side. Amaryllis knew her place. She was merely another accessory to him. Like his ivory cane and diamond cuff links. Meant to help showcase his role as a doting father to his guests.

Amaryllis took advantage of her father walking before her to look around the room. Besides a few nearby vassals who could easily respond to the duke’s last-minute summons, the palatial hall was full of knights. Most were the Tempest knights that she had seen earlier, but it appeared that another unit of the Royal knights had arrived as well.

Her father had been nothing short of petulant in regards to the recent conflict with Stomyr, the neighboring country. The border land of the duchy had originally been a part of Stomyr before her grandfather had seized it in an opportunistic moment decades ago. They had pushed to regain the land when her father inherited the title. He’d shrewdly worked his way out of it by marrying Amaryllis’s mother, Linette. 

Linette’s lineage traced back to a branch family of the Stomyr royal line. Between that, and some other political maneuvering, he’d gotten the other kingdom to back off. 

However, he still held a grudge against them for trying to take the land he felt was rightly his. And they felt similarly towards him.

The recent conflicts had stemmed from a series of small raids by goblins. Such monsters weren’t terribly strong. They could certainly harm the average person, but for knights they were not overly troublesome . . . provided their population was kept in check. 

This particular goblin nest had managed to quietly grow out of control. Once the nearby river wasn’t enough to sustain their numbers, they'd begun to go after small villages on both sides of the border. 

Neither the margrave on Stomyr’s side, nor her father on Tessland’s had wanted to take ownership of the problem. It was messy. A guaranteed loss of resources with no real reward. There was nothing worth salvaging from goblin bodies or their dens.

Stomyr caved first when their margrave pleaded for aid after an entire village on their side of the border was wiped out. They sent their royal army to deal with the monsters. Stomyr’s knights had managed to clear them out within a week. 

Her father had privately celebrated over a family dinner, gloating how he hadn’t lost a single knight or soldier. Dozens of commoners had died, but they hardly counted as people from his perspective.

The real problem arose afterwards when suspiciously well-armed raiders started to attack the duchy’s settlements along the border. 

Only the duchy’s settlements. 

Her father had petitioned for aid from the crown, claiming the increasing skirmishes were threatening to spread his forces too thin. 

The Lavalham dukedom was a sprawling estate that bordered two kingdoms, Stomyr and the Holy Kingdom. It was an attractive spot for various monster species to migrate to each season. Between the crops and the people there was no shortage of food for them. Thinning his forces out could technically leave them vulnerable.

While the Holy Kingdom would never invade, they would intervene if the violence got too out of hand. The pope was not shy about sending the paladins to conflicts under the guise of supporting peace to serve God’s will. 

It would embarrass King Kyrios greatly if that happened. A fact Duke Lavalham was all too willing to use to his advantage. The Royal knights and the Tempest knights, the other knightly order that exclusively served the king, had been dispatched to deal with the problem.

The Tempest knights in particular had quite the reputation. While the Royal knights typically protected the king, the capital and other royalty, the Tempest knights served as the king’s problem solvers. They were also the only knightly order on the continent that openly took in talented fighters from all classes. 

It was an open secret that lords discretely took in talented mercenaries, but they did their best to hide those origins. And rarely did those men become more than the average knight.

However, the vice-commander of the Tempest knights was a well-known mercenary long before he had been knighted. Tales of the talented monster hunter who had repeatedly bested the continent’s top knights to win swordsmanship competitions had even reached Amaryllis’s ears in the confines of her father’s castle. 

She had only been mildly interested until she had heard his name. Vincent.

That one word had brought back a flood of memories. Of the salamander the size of a hound with short feathers of light green flame coming from its gills. Of her loyal dog getting between her and the monster’s flames. Of desperately trying to make it release her pet by beating it with a stick. Of the painful bite and chilling poison that had seeped through her arm to the rest of her body. 

But also, of the boy who had managed to kill the creature. His dark green eyes full of worry as he ran with her in his arms back to the castle for help. The rest of her memories around that day were hazy, but she could still clearly recall those green eyes and a cheek smudged with soot.

The first story she heard of Sir Vincent was of how he won a legendary sword at the annual tournament at the Holy Kingdom. After that, Amaryllis had avidly listened when visitors brought up anything to do with Vincent or the Tempest knights. 

She knew many of the tales were exaggerated, as happens, but their reputation as the king’s skilled problem solvers rang true every time. Vincent’s victories in battle and other competitions were facts. The details grew grander and grander whenever the stories were retold, but those parts never changed.

His flawless victory at a swordsmanship competition had caught the eye of King Kyrios. That led to his being knighted and granted a small fief at only eighteen. Her father had speculated that he’d been given land to keep him tied to Tesslands. Mercenaries were known to roam, but owning land was a dream for any man. With a small castle of his own he was unlikely to desert Tesslands even if another kingdom tried to make an attractive offer.

Vincent wasn’t only talked about by the knights and nobles discussing his feats in battle. The visiting noblewomen who had seen him in the capital couldn’t stop gossiping about him either. 

He was widely reported to be a dashing man, with golden brown hair, dark eyes, and the sun kissed skin that was typical for knights who were frequently on campaign. Amaryllis had struggled to recall the face of the boy who had saved her but time, and possibly her own attempts at forcing the memory, had made the details fade. 

The boy, a blacksmith’s apprentice, had disappeared about a week after the salamander’s attack. She had managed to briefly see him once more before he vanished, and that memory was murky too. 

Afterall, nearly ten years had passed since then.

Amaryllis did her best to search the room for him. The knights were all in the formal attire for their orders which helped her narrow it down. However, they all towered over her so she couldn’t see very far into the crowd. She could only pray that Sir Vincent would feel obligated to greet the host as etiquette typically required.

Vincent. 

She mulled over the name as she gave stiff and short greetings to the nobles and knights who fawned over her father. It wasn’t a common name, but it wasn’t particularly rare either. His features were rather typical too . . . but the ages were right. 

Surely a boy who discovered a talent for slaying monsters wouldn’t have been content to be a mere apprentice, right? Was it so far out of the realm of possibility for him to have joined a mercenary band after running away? The idea of fleeing one’s fate to go on an adventure and change one’s fortune was certainly something she found appealing.

Amaryllis bit her lip as the evening wore on and there was still no sign of the man. 

Many, including her father, spoke ill of him due to his commoner and mercenary backgrounds, even though he was somewhere in the room. Perhaps that had made him stay away. 

She found such talk baffling. How did such things lessen his skills in defending the kingdom? Wasn’t he here to help defend this very land? 

The way her father looked down on him, despite his skill being the reason his own knights could safely rest in their beds, was absurd.

Her hopes were starting to fade while her nerves were only growing. Amaryllis’s attention shifted back to reading her father’s mood. She prayed she hadn’t missed his signal to leave in her distracted state. He was currently speaking to a merchant he favored and appeared to be pleased as they parted. The duke gestured to a servant to bring him more wine as he paused to survey the room around him.

“Ah, there’s Lord Atwater,” her father muttered before giving her a sharp look over his shoulder. “He is a Viscount and Commander of the Tempest knights so stay quiet. I don’t need you embarrassing me before him. I don’t like their ragtag order, but he’s still a noble from a distinguished line.”

Amaryllis bobbed her head, casting her eyes to the ground to show her deference. He seemed to approve as he gave her no further instructions. Instead, she heard his cane tapping against the marble floor as he resumed his slow saunter around the room, making the knight commander come to him. Sensing that her father’s focus was no longer solely on her she looked up.