Quenton groaned as he awoke, his stomach throbbed painfully and he felt something wet in his undergarments, dismissing the system notifications about stat increases as he focused on the real issue at hand.

Fuck, did I wet the bed? Quenton thought humiliatedly. He hadn’t done anything like that since he was a little kid.

Quenton sluggishly forced himself out of bed and gingerly pulled back the covers. A bright crimson stain marred the sheet and queasiness rose to his throat. He hadn’t seen blood since the night of the assassinations. Memories of the arcaeu paddle dripping and the bodies carelessly strewn carelessly on the floor flit through his mind.

He looked dazedly at the stain trying to put the pieces together before the answer hit him in a flash. A period. He was having a period.

Fuck. This sucks, this sucks so goddamn much. He thought as his stomach throbbed painfully.

Cursing his rotten luck he rang the bell to summon Aliss and sat down on the bed with a heavy sigh. Aliss arrived after two minutes or so and curtsied before him. “What can I do for you, my lady?”

Quenton flushed a bit abruptly realizing he was going to have to tell Aliss exactly what the problem was if he wanted help. “I’m bleeding um…you know the monthly type.”

Aliss blinked. “Your menarche, then?” Quenton nodded slowly, not recognizing the word.

“Can you help me?” He asked, avoiding her eye line.

Aliss nodded. “Of course, my lady.”

Over the next ten minutes, she stripped, bathed, and dressed him, with the only new element being a cotton pad in his undergarments. The corset was doubly uncomfortable in his present state, he felt uncomfortably warm and slightly bloated.

“Now, you’ll likely be wanting something to soothe the cramps? I could make you some tea, if it pleases you.”

Quenton nodded. “That would be nice, thank you.” In the real world, he probably would’ve just taken aspirin, but this world had yet to invent such a thing and seemed weirdly reliant on teas and morphine.

After the tea, a nice lavender blend was fetched and drank, he lay back down. Stupid girl’s body. I never had to deal with this when I was a guy. He bemoaned internally.

Despite the cramps jabbing at his abdomen he managed to doze off.

He came to being lightly shaken and he blinked several times trying to get his vision to focus. Aliss came into his vision, as she repeated his name.

“What?” He mumbled, propping himself up by the elbow.

She gave him a stern look. “You’ve slept away most of the morning, my lady. Lady Viola is requesting your presence in the drawing-room.”

Quenton nodded drowsily. “Kay, thanks Aliss.” He muttered, getting out of bed. Letting Aliss return to her duties, he picked up Hop from his bed (he’d made a nest out of several blankets, a sweater, and a pillow) and headed down to the drawing-room.

Viola and Rosalind were discussing something quietly as he opened the door though they paused as he entered.

“Good morning.” He said, picking up a juicy-looking plum from the breakfast tray.

Viola nodded her head in acknowledgment. “Good morning, sister. We were just discussing Lord Meynor.” Quenton’s curiosity piqued. “Oh, what about him?” He asked.

“I was telling Rosalind that I know of him from my time at university. He gave a lecture whilst I was there. That was while he was still researching hexology.” Viola said the last word with a frown of distaste.

“Hexology?” He asked, curiously. Quenton had been mostly too preoccupied with day-to-day survival and learning lady stuff to fully comprehend any of the world’s magic systems but he definitely wanted to remedy that.

“Superstition and old wives tales. Hanging horseshoes over cradles and salt circles, things of that nature. Some scholars call it woman’s magic.” She said, her tone disdainful. “They consider women unsuitable for arcane philosophy and would rather we spent our days leaving out milk and honey for the fair folk.” She scoffed. “It’s an absurd notion.”

Quenton considered that as Hop squirmed in his lap. It seemed odd to him that monsters were commonplace but Viola considered Fairies to be superstition. However, it seemed par for the course for women to be looked down upon in regards to magic, since they seemed to be looked down on in regards to everything in Molyra.

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He wondered sometimes if he’d have taken as much issue with Molyra’s backwards views if he’d been body swapped with a man. He guessed that it wouldn’t have seemed as serious to him in that case.

Rosalind hummed. “Yet women are far less suited to hard magics than men. Not that turning to peasant superstition is any solution.”

Quenton looked to Viola. “Are women truly less suited for magic?” He asked, kind of doubting the truth of Rosalind’s words. This world or at least the continent of Molyra was incredibly sexist so he took claims of women’s inability with a grain of salt.

“There is no formal evidence that either men or women have inherent advantages for magic. Though obviously, men have historically been the ones to explore the field.” She said, sipping her tea.

Rosalind raised an eyebrow. “Would historical precedent not be considered evidence of men’s advantage?”

“It would not. Women being prohibited from academies and apprenticeships means that we have little evidence of our own capabilities in comparison to men.”

Rosalind nodded, though clearly still skeptical. “As riveting as talk of arcane philosophy is, I might suggest a ride, it is a lovely day outside.”

Viola hummed. “That could be pleasant, I heard from Leo that Gale’s colt is ready to be saddled. What do you think Briony?”

Quenton smiled nervously. He had never ridden a horse before, let alone an inexperienced horse, but riding a horse was mandatory for both ladies and adventurers so he figured he better learn.

“Sounds like a fine idea to me.” He said, finishing up his breakfast.

He returned to his room and rang Aliss to change into riding clothes and returned Hop to his nest. Aliss, fortunately, gave him some basic instructions on horse riding and how not to get thrown before meeting with a similarly outfitted Rosalind and Viola.

He followed after them as they made their way to houses’ stables, Viola amicably greeting a young man with freckles and sandy blonde hair. “Good morning, Leo. We plan to go riding today, not far mind, only to the village and back.”

Leo nodded. “I’ll get the steeds good an’ saddled then.” He said, looking to Briony. “You’ll be wanting Gale’s colt then? He’s right sprightly, I warn you.”

Quenton nodded. “Does he have a name?”

Leo shook his head. “I’ve been waiting for your input on that, though you’d want the honors.” He explained.

Quenton felt a small surge of excitement. A horse he’d get to name, he could call it Windrunner, or Midnight, or something else badass.

He waited eagerly as Leo brought out a tawny horse and a light brown piebald horse. Viola petted her horse fondly and murmured something to it as Rosalind mounted her own.

Leo then brought out a brown and white patchwork steed and handed the reins to Quenton. “He’s all yours, my lady.”

Quenton warily patted his neck. Horses were big, very big in person and he was rather nervous about being kicked or thrown. But as Viola mounted her horse, he took a breath and swung into the stirrups, taking the reins.

Come on Quenton, you’ve faced down assassins. That’s way scarier than a horse.

He remembered Aliss’ simple advice and gently urged the horse forwards towards Viola and Rosalind, the horse obeyed snorting loudly and soon enough the three had started off the trail away from the manor.

Viola rode closer to Quenton and gave him a smile. “By the by sister, I’ve noticed that you’ve been speaking more to the staff as of late. Do you find them lacking in some way?”

He shook his head, surprised that Viola had noticed. “Not at all. I just wish to get to know them, that’s all.” He explained, guiding his horse around a stone in the road.

Viola raised an eyebrow as Rosalind stared. “Whyever so? They are your servants Briony, whyever would you wish to distract them in such a way?” Rosalind asked.

Quenton flushed a bit but he wasn’t about to be easily backed down on this issue. He recalled J0nah’s small funeral at the manor, his adult daughter the only attendant other than the servants and household. He wasn’t about to let such a thing happen again.

“They do so much for us, I wish to know who they are.” He further explained.

Viola hummed. “Treating your household well is the mask of a proper lady but do ensure that you keep a respectable distance, Briony. People will speak as though you’ve run off with a chauffeur like Lady Tufont.”

“I’m not about to elope with Aliss, I just want to know the people who serve me. I don’t think that’s wrong.” He insisted though the thought of fleeing with Aliss made for a pleasant fantasy at times.

Rosalind shook her head, her hair swinging with it. “Dear sister, your soft heart shall be your demise, mark my words.”

Viola hummed. “To change the subject, I heard the most intriguing rumor about the woods near here from a peasant woman.”

Quenton gave her an interested look, a local legend sounded more interesting than getting chewed out for talking to people beneath his station.

Rosalind sighed. “You and Briony insist on keeping the most uncouth company. Mother would be absolutely beside herself.”

Viola ignored her and continued speaking. “They say that the queen of the fairies resides in these woods, that she is as beautiful as a statue and cruel as midwinter.”

Quenton tried not to look pointedly at Rosalind as Viola continued.

“She also believed that every autumn a grand ball is held wherein a mortal is initiated into their ranks. Nonsense of course, but a romantic tale nonetheless.”

Quenton smiled absolutely certain that the tale was true, in all fantasy stories he’d read old peasant women usually knew what they were talking about in regards to the supernatural.

“Do you wish to become a fairy queen, sister, generous and benign?” Rosalind asked.

Viola laughed. “I am content to remain mortal, though perhaps Briony would be better suited. You so often have your mind in the mists.”

Quenton nodded his agreement. “If I do become a fairy queen I promise to overlook your insult, Viola.”

She laughed as Quenton did and they continued riding. Quenton’s mind now kept his eyes on the woods to their sides, searching for any hint of wonder.