Sunlight spilled across the courtyard like warm honey. The morning dew had long since vanished, and the cobblestones shimmered faintly under the clear sky. Birds chirped from the high walls, fluttering between garden statues and hedges in bursts of color and song.
The Edelhardt children had been unusually quiet all morning, always a sign of something suspicious brewing.
Liora had noticed Leopold whispering to Micheal during breakfast, and Micheal trying not to laugh while pretending to scold him. By mid-afternoon, Leopold had vanished with a wooden sword slung over his shoulder like a soldier reporting to battle.
"Come on!" Mathilde hissed from behind the hedge, tugging at Liora's sleeve. "We'll miss it!"
Liora followed, half amused, half exasperated, her own steps silent on the garden path. Elias trailed behind, tiptoeing exaggeratedly, gripping a small stick like it was his own noble weapon.
They crouched behind the tall trimmed hedge, peeking through the gaps in the leaves.
There, in the clearing near the rose arbor, stood Micheal and Leopold. Leopold, ten and full of fire, had a determined expression on his face and a homemade belt tied crookedly around his waist. His wooden sword wobbled slightly in his grip, but his back was straight.
"I, Sir Leopold the Brave," he declared, voice cracking with grandeur, "challenge you, Ser Micheal of the North—"
"It's just the garden," Micheal murmured, smiling.
"—to a duel of honor!" Leopold finished, undeterred.
Micheal sighed dramatically, drawing his own wooden sword from beneath his cloak. "Very well, young squire. I accept."
The two bowed.
"Do you think he'll win?" Elias whispered.
"Of course not," Mathilde said through a snort. "Micheal's the best."
"Shhh!" Liora giggled, pulling Elias closer so he didn't trip on a branch.
The boys circled one another, swords raised. Micheal's form was graceful, practiced, a quiet elegance in motion. Leopold charged like a storm cloud, feet thumping against the grass as he swung wide and hard.
Clack! The first strike met Micheal's blade, and the sound rang out, sharp and satisfying.
"Oho!" Micheal grinned. "You've improved."
"I've been training," Leopold said, puffing out his chest. "Every morning. Even when no one sees."
"Impressive. Let's see if you can land a hit."
Leopold swung again. Micheal dodged easily, tapping Leopold's shoulder with the flat of his sword.
"Point to me."
"That doesn't count!" Leopold huffed, twirling dramatically.
"Oh, it counts."
More swings followed, clumsy, enthusiastic, bold. Micheal parried most with one hand, offering half-hearted openings to make Leopold feel like a hero. Once, he ducked a wild swing and rolled onto the grass, laughing.
"Sir Leopold, your ferocity is unmatched," he said with exaggerated flair, voice deepening. "My knees tremble!"
Behind the hedge, Mathilde clutched her sides, silently laughing. Elias was bouncing with excitement.
"Liora," he whispered, "can we duel later?"
"Only if you don't poke out your eye."
As the duel wore on, Leopold grew bolder. He adjusted his grip, steadied his stance. There was focus in his eyes now, playful, but real.
He charged again, aiming lower this time. Micheal stepped back and feigned a stumble, falling with a dramatic grunt onto the grass.
Leopold pounced, sword tip at Micheal's chest, panting.
Micheal raised his hand in mock surrender, a grin tugging at his lips. "Alas! The mighty Micheal has been bested. A true knight knows when to let his brother shine."
Leopold froze for a heartbeat, eyes wide. Then he laughed, a clear, ringing sound of pure joy.
"I won!"
"You did," Micheal said, ruffling his curls.
From behind the hedge came a stifled cheer. The three spectators clapped and whooped, leaping out from hiding.
"You were amazing!" Elias shouted, racing forward.
"I told you he'd win!" Mathilde said proudly, even though she'd predicted the opposite moments ago.
Liora approached last, beaming. "Sir Leopold the Brave. I feel much safer already."
Leopold, flushed and beaming, offered her a gallant bow. "It was my duty."
Micheal groaned from the grass. "What about me? I let him win."
"Oh hush," Liora teased, offering him a hand up.
The children returned to the manor with red cheeks, grass stains, and endless chatter. Mathilde insisted she needed a sword too. Elias declared he would be "Sir Blueberry" and duel the kitchen mice. Micheal let them chatter, letting himself fall into the rhythm of their joy.
That evening, after supper, the halls quieted again. Liora sat on her bed brushing out her hair when she heard a gentle knock.
Leopold peeked in.
"Can I… come in?"
"Of course."
He shuffled to her bedside, holding a folded piece of cloth. "For you," he said, handing it over.
She opened it and found a hand-sewn sash, slightly uneven but made with care. A sigil stitched in clumsy blue thread: a tree with roots and blossoms.
"It's your knight sash," he said proudly. "So you remember I'll protect you one day."
Liora blinked.
"Oh, Leopold…"
"I mean it." His voice dropped to a whisper. "You always protect us. Even when we don't see it."
She knelt beside him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He didn't flinch or joke—just leaned into her.
"I'll wear it always," she promised.
And that night, long after everyone had gone to bed, she placed the sash beside her journal and the blossom from the garden.
She smiled
Liora sat in the quiet, moonlight pooling on her floor like silver thread. The house had gone still, no footsteps, no laughter, no distant calls for bedtime.
She reached for the soft sash beside her journal and held it close, fingers brushing over the uneven stitching of the blossom tree.
A memory stirred, faint as a whisper.
She was small again, no older than five, clinging to her father's leg as he hoisted a makeshift sword carved from driftwood. Linna danced around them, a paper crown on her head and a ladle in her hand.
"Papa," Linna had giggled, "you be the dragon!"
"No, no," her father had said, laughing, "I'm the tired farmer. Liora here, she's the knight."
Liora remembered how he'd crouched to her height, tapping her shoulder with the stick.
"A good knight protects those smaller than her," he'd said, brushing her hair back. "And she listens to her heart when no one else does."
Linna had squealed, "Then I'm the queen!" and had promptly tripped over her own cape.
The image faded, replaced by the quiet hum of the present.
A good knight protects…
She looked down at the sash Leopold had given her, then at the glow of her journal.
Maybe she had become that knight after all.
She folded the sash gently and placed it beside her pillow.
And this time, as she drifted to sleep, she didn't feel like the little girl clinging to someone's leg, but the one holding the sword.