The Delaire Dining Hall
The chandeliers swayed gently above the long table, casting a warm glow over the delicacies. Roasted quail, glazed fruits, and crystal goblets of wine sparkled in the light. However, the atmosphere was tense, heavy with unspoken emotions.
Lady Delaire leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, as she looks at Edmund, her first child, the heir to the delaire estate "Edmund, dear, when shall I expect your wife to join us? I would like to properly welcome my daughter-in-law." Edmund cleared his throat, his expression momentarily uncomfortable. "She is... occupied with her own household matters for now, Mother. But in due time, I'm sure she will be delighted to visit." Lady Delaire's gaze lingered on Edmund, as if searching for more information, but he skillfully steered the conversation back to the king's decree, his voice regaining its confidence. "Regarding His Majesty's command, it is clear. Nobles must set the example. Roland, Adrian, you will present yourselves for martial instruction."
Edmund pushed his wine aside, his dark brows knitted tightly. "The king plays a dangerous game," he said, his voice low and measured. "If steel is placed in the hands of peasants, they'll start believing they deserve more than the soil they till. Merit is not the same as breeding."
Lady Delaire fanned herself delicately, her sharp eyes glancing between her children. "Edmund is right. The court will be unsettled. And we—" she gave the word a dramatic weight "—must tread carefully."
Celeste leaned forward, her eyes bright with eagerness. "I've already decided. I will train — not with a blade, but in the art of healing. The king mentioned the program will need physicians and nurses to accompany the armies. It's dignified, fitting. And"—she smiled sweetly—"a lady's skill with herbs and medicine can raise her standing as surely as a knight's sword."
The table hummed with approval. Lady Delaire reached across to clasp Celeste's hand. "My jewel. Of course, that path is most noble. You will bring honor to our name."
Edmund nodded approvingly. "Wise choice, sister. You will serve without overstepping what befits you."
Yvonne sat stiff and silent, her fork untouched beside her plate. Their words pierced her ears like cold iron. Always Celeste, always her. Praise spilled so easily in her direction — while she, Yvonne, was invisible unless corrected.
Her knuckles whitened around her napkin beneath the table. And what of me? Do they expect me to smile and clap for her forever? Her chest tightened as laughter tinkled from Celeste, as Edmund launched into predictions about how nobles' daughters would seize the chance to secure good matches during the training camps.
The air seemed to thicken, pressing against her ribs until she couldn't hold it anymore. "I will not be a healer," Yvonne said suddenly, her voice cutting sharp through the hall.
All heads turned. Even the servants froze in the corners. Yvonne rose slowly, her chair scraping the floor. "I will not sit quietly, nor mend wounds in some corner while others fight. I will take the sword."
The silence shattered into protest. "Absurd!" Edmund thundered, half-rising from his seat. "Do you even hear yourself? The sword is no place for a Delaire daughter!"
Lady Delaire's fan slipped from her fingers, striking the table with a sharp clatter. "Yvonne! Enough of this nonsense! You shame your house with such words."
Celeste's laughter chimed, sweet and cruel. "Sister, truly—you? With a sword? You could hardly lift a silver tray without trembling. Do not speak of steel. You would break before the blade even kissed the air."
Yvonne's jaw tightened, her eyes burning as she met their stares. "I am tired of being told what I cannot do. If the King decrees that all may stand, then I will stand. Whether you approve or not."
Her words trembled like steel drawn in defiance.
At that moment, the doors swung open. A servant rushed in, breathless. "Lord Delaire… Commander Rael of the King's Vanguard seeks an audience."
The family stiffened. And then he entered—Rael, the commander spoken of in whispers. His dark armor gleamed beneath the chandeliers, cloak slung across one shoulder. His boots echoed against the marble as his gaze swept the room like a soldier assessing a battlefield.
He bowed curtly. "By the King's decree, all noble houses are summoned. A threat rises at the borders. Every able youth is to be trained for combat or service."
Celeste tried, her voice light but faltering. "Combat? Surely, women of standing are exempt—"
Rael's eyes cut to her, silencing her instantly. "The King spares no household. Every son… and every daughter."
The words fell heavy, final.
Yvonne drew a breath, steady despite the heat of her family's eyes on her. "Then hear me now—I will take up the sword."
For the first time, Rael's gaze lingered. His eyes held hers, weighing her not as a pampered daughter but as one to be tested. His lips twitched, the faintest ghost of either a smile or a sneer.
"We will see if you endure."
The hall seemed to shrink, silence pressing in around her. And yet, for the first time that night, Yvonne did not feel small.
---
Later, the stables wrapped her in the scent of hay and leather, the only place that felt like hers. She sank onto a bale, pressing her forehead to her knees, the horses shifting as if stirred by her storm.
Boots crunched softly over straw. She looked up to find Alexander leaning against the stall door, steady as ever, concern shadowing his kind eyes.
"You startled them," he murmured. "Mother looked ready to faint."
"I don't care." Her voice shook, but the words did not. "They'll never see me as anything but Celeste's shadow. If I do nothing, that is all I'll ever be."
Alexander studied her, then crouched beside her. His voice lowered, almost conspiratorial. "You're braver than I, little sister. I've never dared to defy them. Perhaps that's why I'll always admire you."
Something warm flickered in Yvonne's chest, small but steady, like an ember refusing to die.
She rose slowly, her hand brushing against the hilt of a practice sword leaning by the stall wall. Her grip tightened around the worn leather.
"If they will not believe me," she whispered, more to herself than him, "then I'll make them."
Alexander watched her, pride and worry mingling in his eyes, as Yvonne lifted her chin toward the night beyond the stable doors.
No longer just a shadow.