“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Seated on the edge of her bed, Amelia contemplated Grace’s question while she changed into an outfit more suitable for meeting guests than pyjamas.

“I think so?” Amelia answered, finding it hard to judge her own state of mind.

Certainly, there was a ghost of an impression that she ought to be more bothered by what had been done to her by the Marquess of Rutherford. The amount of hatred she still held for the man was reason alone to suspect Grace might have gone above and beyond when meddling with her memories ‘a little.’

But even then, Amelia just couldn’t care. The last thing she needed was to become a useless emotional wreck. And it wasn’t as if her recollection had been completely erased. In the end, she was still the same person, right?

Amelia shivered, because Grace had without warning grabbed hold of her foot.

“I can put my own socks on!” Amelia protested.

“But then you’ll have to stand up again,” Grace said, before she flicked Amelia’s calf, bringing about the return of a cramp Amelia had thought she was over and done with.

Vowing to never stay in bed longer than a single day ever again, with a “hnnng” of discomfort, Amelia began beating her mattress to help wait out the pain. Once the cramp had passed, she allowed Grace to finish dressing her like a doll, to avoid further abuse. Helpless to do anything but pledge that one day she would get the princess back for each humiliation inflicted upon her.

But did that also include kissing? As Amelia and Grace met Martel in the hall, Amelia’s eyes wandered towards Grace’s back. The princess hadn’t said anything, but Amelia could still feel how the princess’s lips had brushed against the corner of hers. Had it been an accident? On purpose? Was the ball in her court? Should she… Should she say something?

Growing self-conscious, Amelia’s walk stiffened. Though any thoughts of confessing found themselves crashing into a brick wall, when Amelia discovered a horrible consequence for having brought up The Historian’s novel in the princess’s presence.

Grace wasn’t an idiot. The moment she crowned Grace a princess… It would be the moment her friend realized she had lied by omission.

Amelia sighed. To think her first crush would be destroyed by her own efforts. At the very least, the time for thoughts of love and forgiveness had yet to come. In the present, she needed to focus. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to uphold the dignity of her family’s name when meeting the three guests who had been waiting to meet her in the drawing room of her grandfather’s mansion.

Noticing her arrival, Thompson Brown leapt from his seat to greet Amelia. Behind him, a wizard sporting a beard that dwarfed even the Duke of Winchester’s, slept soundly with arms crossed and head nodding, upright in his seat.

“It is so good to see you again, Lady Strightsworth,” Thompson said, extending his right hand with the palm facing upwards. “Did I come at a bad time? The Duke’s Knights appeared rather… On guard. They didn’t even look at my business card, couldn’t get in until I had mentioned your name.”

Amelia, checked in on Martel. Who she had forgotten to tell they were meeting a merchant. Surprisingly, the older woman looked calmer than ever. A fortune Amelia took in good stride, unwilling as she was to risk stirring the pot.

“I am happy to see you as well,” Amelia said. Placing her hand lightly on Stanton’s, she allowed the merchant to kiss it in a display of respect he had only ever shown Grace in the Historian’s novel, “More problems with the Marquess Rutherford I’m afraid,” she continued, and Thompson frowned in concern, “Oh, don’t make that face, its nothing bad. How about you? How have you been doing? I take it my investment advice has begun returning dividends?”

The tenseness keeping Thompson’s jaw locked, melted, “My services are yours henceforth Lady Strightsworth,” he said, bowing before her to wordlessly reveal with good grace just how much money he must have made.

“Then I’m glad,” Amelia said, before she addressed the third man in the room. Who’s restless, shifting posture showed how unaccustomed he was to wearing fine fabrics, even if they were hospital garments, “And I am delighted to see you also, Stanton. Have you been recovering well?”

Stanton looked exhausted. He looked lost. His mouth opened and closed like a puppet whose puppeteer didn’t know what to do, “H-Hello again, L-Lady Strightsworth,” Stanton said, with his regard affixed on his feet. “It’s… Nice to see you in sunlight.”

Amelia patiently waited for him to come closer. When it became clear Stanton’s legs were frozen stiff, she gave him a curtesy over the distance. Having decided it would be the first thing she did to express her thankfulness regarding his actions.

It wasn’t every day a fairy tail hero was willing to die for your honor.

Approaching from her side, Grace leaned in to whisper, “Aren’t we here to talk with the wizard?” quietly enough that only Amelia heard.

“Of course,” Amelia said, spinning around, “Martel, would you?” she asked, and as they had planned Martel sallied forth to guide Stanton away by the arm, towards a certain location.

Four left in the room, the wizard abruptly yawned. Fluttering open, his milky white eyes, like shrouded crystal balls found Amelia before anyone else.

“Smells like magic.” Grunted the wizard.

Struggling not to stare at the man’s tall pointy hat, or the cute, hand-sown yellow stars made of felt decorating it, Amelia prepared herself for one final round of negotiations.

“No handshakes,” grunted the wizard. He held a palm up to stop Amelia from offering hers, “Is this her?” he asked Thompson, turning his palm into a finger gun; aimed directly at Grace, “That seer you told me about? There’s something weird about her state of existence. The woman just left as well… They’re not where they’re supposed to be. At all. It’s kind of freaking me out.”

Amelia could already hear her own heartbeat. Not a great start. So, this was a wizard. It was truly impressive how he could sense how she had meddled with the Historian’s novel.

Thompson moved in, laughing like a jester, “You and your jokes,” he said to the wizard, who he shared something with, in a hushed tone. Amelia couldn’t hear what he said, but she was almost positive Thompson’s lips had whispered the word ‘princess’ at least once.

She waited to see how the wizard would react. Surprising everyone, he mimicked firing his hand-gun towards Grace. Mouthing a “bang” as he did.

“Huh, I’ll be damned,” said the wizard, just as Amelia was starting to worry whether the man Thompson had found might have some loose screws in his head, “That coot, he really did lose a kid —”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Fantastic, Let’s stop there,” Thompson said, interrupting the wizard with a loud clap, “Amelia, this is Donavan. A wizard well versed in identity fraud and bloodlines. Also no, that is not his real name. Feel free to call him Donnie if you want, all he cares for is money. He’s a real stand-up guy, with him, there shouldn’t be any trouble with… that thing I’m assuming you still want to do?

“I do,” Amelia replied, before addressing the wizard, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Donavan.”

Donavan, merely turned his finger gun on Amelia, “Huh… On second glance, this girl is even weirder,” he said, before the wizard once more, fired a shot.

A hand came from nowhere to grab Amelia’s shoulder. “G-Grace?” Amelia said in surprise, as Grace pulled her back hard, while the princess’s other arm swung outwards horizontally like a sword, to deflect an invisible force that shattered the window behind Donavan, leaving a bullet shaped hole in the wizard’s tall pointy hat.

Donavan removed his damaged hat. He poked a finger into the hole. “Say, Thompson, this is getting a bit too weird for me, I want out.”

His words were enough to throw Amelia into the first stages of panic.

“It was different that time!” Grace said, desperately, and Amelia had only her own incompetence to blame for not having earlier warned Grace, a wielder of inherited magic, that their wizard of a guest might start casting strange spells. Anyone would expect Grace to get defensive! Had she just lost the support of the one wizard who could help prove her friend was actually a princess?

Fortunately for Amelia’s state of mind, Thompson’s unimpressed snort preceded a magic trick of his own. In which the merchant produced a satchel of jingling coins he threw to the wizard.

“Well… I guess I can bear with a queasy stomach for a bit longer,” Donavan said, pocketing the pouch as he began muttering to himself, while side-glaring Grace, “Freaking divine bullshit I tell you. No idea why there are still churches making deals with the guy, when every wizard of any worth will tell you it’s best to avoid him. Shit, if it weren’t for the King’s decision to make ours a secular Kingdom…” Donavan got up from his chair. “Ah, whatever, I’ve confirmed your claim. I’ll take part in your little performance,” he said to Amelia before turning his back, “But don’t expect anything else!”

One of the felt stars on the wizard’s hat began shining. “Come on Thompson,” said Donavan, as the light grew to envelop both men, “I’ve grown hungry and I want you to buy me some food.”

In a brilliant flash the two of them vanished.

“No, I can’t. Preparations would take weeks.” Grace said to Amelia, before Amelia could ask the princess if she could do the same thing.

“That’s alright,” Amelia said, as she led the way towards the drawing room’s door, ready to find Stanton and Martel.

It didn’t take long. In fact, the two of them were on the other side of the door. Stanton, in a full set of brand-new armor, fit for a knight, with Martel behind him. Like a proud mother who had finished dressing her child for school.

Amelia allowed herself to admire the second gift she had prepared for Stanton. It felt fitting, to give him colorful armor after having received his cape while down in the dark. She could only hope he would like it.

“This humble gladiator is relieved to see you have recovered!” Stanton said loudly, all of a sudden. His eyes flitted in panic between Martel, and Grace, “I am immensely grateful for having received the opportunity to be healed by the Lord Strightsworth!”

Stanton fell to both knees. He lowered his head, to the point Amelia could see the back of his neck, where began a terrible scar. “But I must beg your forgiveness! I really did think I was going to die. For burdening you with my faults in a moment of weakness, I apologize!”

Amelia could practically smell a misunderstanding. She considered how relaxed Martel and Grace remained in front of Stanton’s clearly rehearsed apology. Were the two-woman aware of something she wasn’t? They didn’t think her savior held any fault in her follies, did they?

That wouldn’t do.

“Arise, Stanton,” Amelia said, approaching the man whose large, well-trained body trembled with every step she took towards him. “I will not speak with a man who hides his face after having done nothing wrong.”

Stanton stayed on the floor. Although he did raise his head. “B-But… I let knowing about the underground tunnels get to my head. When I overheard how you had disappeared… Instead of chancing a guess, I… I should have told someone. The Lord Strightsworth might have arrived sooner if I had.”

“Then, in your eyes, am I a woman who would blame you for such an insignificant matter?” Amelia asked him, much louder than planned. Utterly unable to hide how much she wished he wouldn’t blame himself, for anything.

She refused to condemn noble intentions, regardless of outcome. Seizing the momentum her outburst had earned her, Amelia kept talking. But not before kneeling down to match Stanton’s eye level.

“I heard you… created an explosion to get my father’s attention?”

“Explosion?” Stanton repeated, before snapping his fingers, “Oh, right! The collar. Can’t go far left or right, but up and down doesn’t matter. Yeah, I don’t remember anything after snapping the thing. Sorry.”

“No, I am asking why is it you thought sacrificing yourself would be a good idea.” Amelia said, marginally irritated by Stanton’s apathy towards his own health.

“I mean… I once saw one explode from a distance? Knocked me clean off my feet it did. Utterly decimated the cart the poor saps were hiding inside. No way something like that going off underground would have gone unnoticed by your father.”

The irritation, grew. Struggling to comprehend, Amelia clenched her fists until they were calm. “Are you in any pain?” she asked Stanton, “I... I don’t like knowing were hurt. Truthfully, I wish you would have instead carried me outside, wrapped in your cape.”

Stanton’s ears began turning red. He fiddled with the straps of his gauntlets. “S-Sorry, that’s on me…” he said quietly, before his eyes moved to look down at his own neck. “Well… At least I got a cool scar out of it,” he mumbled, in such a way that Amelia wondered whether he actually considered the marks as some kind of medal of honor. “D-Did you want to see?”

Grace answered before Amelia could. “That won’t be needed,” she said, “My lady has no interest in you showing her our body.”

The shade of red spread from Stanton’s ears, to his face, “T-That’s… I didn’t mean it like that.”

Sensing their conversation had begun going awry, Amelia asked Grace a question.

“Are my belongings still at the townhouse where we were staying?”

“I had what you brought delivered here yesterday.”

Most pleasant news. Amelia rose to her feet.

“Then, could you fetch me my mother’s ring?”

“Sure, I’ve got it right here,” Grace replied, handing over the drawstring pouch she had tied at her waist.

Reaching for the ring, Amelia tried not to ponder why Grace had been keeping her father’s dragon tooth inside it as well. Or why the final object within happened to be a hand-mirror.

“Stanton,” Amelia said, affixing the ring on her finger. “Soon, my family will hold a duel to bring those who have hurt me under justice’s sway. I know neither the strength of my enemy’s champions, nor whether they plan to use underhanded methods to triumph…. All I know, is that my father is not able to face them alone, as it will be in three parts and magic has been restricted for two.”

Stanton gasped. He appeared starstruck. “Then… we’ll be able to watch?” he asked her, before his expression turned sour, “No, there’s no way they’ll have fixed the hole your dad made.”

Her blood pressure rising, Amelia dismissed her imagination, which pictured Stanton under the Coliseum’s floorboards, drilling holes so he and his friends could take turns watching her father fight.

“Are you familiar with the final rites a knight must take to be accepted by a master?” Amelia asked Stanton, who only now noticed she had extended her hand.

“I… I am,” Stanton mumbled, staring at the ring as if it were a world unto itself.

“Then, have you an interest in fighting alongside my father?”

“Me? Alongside the Dragon himself?” Stanton asked, his eyes brimming with tears, “I… Do not think I am worthy.”

“Do not be mistaken,” Amelia said, while wondering how much longer she could keep her arm up, “Regardless of what you decide, I vow here and now to take personal responsibility for all those you care for in life. This, is not an offer I am willing to extend unto a man desiring a life of peace. This is an offer I am making to the hero who saved me! A chance to forever be remembered and honored by not only myself, but my father as well!”

She had to stop and take a deep breath before pouring her soul into her request, “Will… Will you not come to my aid a second time? Not as a gladiator, but my own personal knight?”

Stanton arose. Close as they were, Amelia couldn’t help but compare how the man towered above her. Although she didn’t mind. In his presence, she couldn’t help but feel safe.

“I… would want nothing more than to become your knight,” Stanton said, before he placed an open hand over his heart, took her hand with his other, and lowered his lips to her ring where he left a light kiss.