It had been a week since the gates of the North opened.
The snow never stopped. Frost curled into windows. Ice formed under boots, unrelenting and sharp. But the northern courtyard… was alive.
Soldiers rose before dawn. They trained with wooden swords and barked chants that cracked through the cold. Each strike echoed like thunder, each breath visible in clouds. It wasn't just about discipline—it was how they stayed warm.
And, surprisingly, how they bonded.
> "Y-Your Grace!" one soldier sniffled mid-swing, eyes watering. "This is just like the old days…"
He dropped his sword mid-sob and wiped his sleeve across his nose. Another soldier patted his back dramatically, also tearing up.
"It's been so long since you yelled at us…"
Adam, leading the drill from the front, paused. His expression was unreadable. He stared at the emotional group with all the grace of a man who'd seen one too many battlefield deaths but never… this.
One soldier let out a choked sob, snot dribbling from his nose.
Adam blinked once. Then silently pulled out a handkerchief and handed it over.
The soldier accepted it with reverence. "Thank you, my lord…"
When he turned to return the now-wet cloth, Adam took one look and raised a gloved hand.
> "...Keep it."
A twitch of a smile tugged at his lips as he turned away.
Idiots, he thought.
Loyal, ridiculous idiots.
He missed this. Training. Discipline. The warmth of brotherhood, even if it smelled like old boots and sweat and sobs.
But as the soldiers wiped their noses and started shouting louder just to impress him, Adam's gaze drifted across the courtyard.
Women carried firewood. Washed linens in ice-cold water. Some cooked in large, smoky pots, others taught children how to stitch. But most importantly… they weren't being trained.
They worked, but they didn't fight.
That changed now.
---
By midday, Adam had gathered the villagers and soldiers in the main square. Everyone, young and old, stood bundled in mismatched cloaks and coats.
Salira stood beside him, arms crossed, her fur-lined cloak billowing like wings. Faer leaned lazily on a post nearby, curious but quiet.
Adam stepped forward.
> "From this day onward," he said, loud and clear, "training is no longer limited to men."
The entire courtyard fell silent.
Then—
> "But Your Grace…" one soldier stepped forward nervously. "How will they fight?"
Adam turned slowly. His golden eyes locked onto the man like twin suns at noon.
> "Why?" he asked coolly. "Do you think they're not capable?"
The soldier stammered. "N-No, Your Grace! That's not what I meant. Lady Salira trains, yes, but she isn't as skilled as the men… or soldiers. She could get hurt. They all could."
A second of silence passed.
Then Adam casually reached behind him, grabbed a wooden sword—
—and threw it at Salira.
Gasps. Sharp intakes of breath. Even Faer straightened.
Salira didn't flinch. She caught it with one hand, her cloak fluttering as she stepped forward. She wore dark trousers beneath her corset and boots laced up to her knees. The sword felt familiar in her grip.
She shrugged off her cloak and handed it to a stunned maid. "Wear it for now. You look cold."
Then she stepped into the center.
The soldier gulped.
Adam's voice cut in again. "Spar with her."
"I—yes, Your Grace!"
They circled.
Salira's eyes never left her opponent. Her feet moved lightly over the snow-packed stone. When he struck, she dodged—graceful, fast. Her strikes were clever, unexpected. Not brute force, but wit and timing. She used his weight against him, redirected his momentum, and struck his shoulder—once, twice—
Until his sword clattered to the ground and she stood with hers pointed to his chest.
Mouths fell open.
Adam spoke again, tone low but powerful.
> "Skill is earned. Not gifted. You say women will get hurt. So will men. What matters is that we all bleed for the same kingdom."
He turned toward the entire courtyard.
> "This is no longer a kingdom built by warlords. This is a kingdom built by all of us. Any woman—healer, cook, farmer—anyone who wants to fight will train."
A murmur swept through the crowd. Then another. Young girls looked at Salira like she was a goddess of frost and flame.
Adam gave a final nod.
> "And for those of you still unsure…"
He gestured toward his wife, who calmly flipped the wooden sword in her hand.
> "You'll be reporting to her."
Salira turned to him, raising an eyebrow.
Adam smirked. "Let's see if they survive you."
Salira smiled slightly. "They survived you, they will survive me too."
Adam chuckled. "Fair enough."