“I need Corporal Frest, now Sergeant Mistevan,” Seraphina stated commandingly, accosting a Sergeant at the castle’s barracks.
The Sergeant looked taken quite aback at the young noblewoman’s ability to remember his name. That was troubling for it did no good for the one’s up top, as he liked to think of them, to be remembering the names of those that stood below.
“But, milady Seraphina…” he voiced in half-protest.
“At once, Sergeant!” barked Seraphina.
There must have been something in the heiress’ tone for the grizzled Sergeant snapped to attention, giving her salute before rushing off into the barracks.
A few minutes later, Corporal Frest came trundling into view sans the Sergeant Mistevan. Clad in chainmail, kettle-hat, and her family’s tabard over his armor he was the stereotypical image of a man-at-arms. He leered at her maid with wolfish eyes.
Miriam visibly wilted under his stare.
“How can I be helping you ladies?” he said, somehow managing to put a sneer into his voice, if not in his expression.
“You will be escorting us for a ride from the estate…. for no longer than two turns of the glass,” the noblewoman answered curtly.
The man before her, Frest, had been one of Seraphina’s henchmen in the game—a good reason to recruit him early, she thought. In The Maiden of the Wisterias, he had served as a mini-boss that the protagonist’s party had to defeat before entering Seraphina’s own lair. This meant that, insufferable attitude aside, he could prove quite useful.
The Corporal spat on the ground. “Guess I could be doing that. Saves me from polishing a few poles,” he snickered.
Seraphina found her dislike of him growing by the second.
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*****
The Stablemaster Anzlas handed the reins of Nina, her palfrey, to her. “A good thing that you are taking her out for a ride today milady Seraphina. Nina was getting restless. Young ones should be given a lot of exercise.”
The mare’s coat was a soft, dappled grey, each patch of silvery fur blending seamlessly into the next. Her mane and tail were a pale, almost silken white. Nina’s eyes were large and calm, holding a quiet, steady equine intelligence. She was of a graceful build, her movements light and unhurried, perfect for a lady’s ride. Her hooves, neat and well-trimmed, pressed delicately into the ground of the stable floor as she nickered softly, greeting Seraphina in her own gentle way.
In her previous life, she had owned many horses—Arabian racing horses on which she’d spent millions, more for the status than anything else. But despite that, she’d had little time for actual riding and was, at best, an average horsewoman. Now, as Seraphina, she would see what a ‘level three Improved Riding’ skill truly meant in this world.
Rejecting the Stablemaster’s and Frest’s offers of help, she found that she could easily mount the horse, her movements natural and smooth.
Anzlas and Frest looked away, a faint blush coloring their cheeks. She looked at them, puzzled by their reaction.
“A lady does not ride astride…” murmured Miriam weakly, shrinking in on herself atop her own mare.
Of course, Seraphina thought, recalling that women in this world were expected to ride sidesaddle. But now was the time to test the effects of her highest attribute, here as it had been in her previous life.
“I am the heir of the Sarien Duchy, am I not?” she declared in a strong voice that commanded attention. The others nodded mutely, unable to dispute such an obvious truth.
She smiled at them, almost indulgently, like a parent correcting a child. “Then it stands to reason that I should act like the heir, does it not? If I am, heaven forbid, called to lead our forces into battle, I will not have the luxury to worry about the social propriety of riding sidesaddle.”
Seraphina hoped they weren’t too well-versed in noble protocol…
“Well, when you put it that way, milady…” the Stablemaster replied, somewhat grudgingly. Seraphina could almost feel her raw Charisma taking hold, bending him to her will.
“Seems fine by a my reckoning,” Frest echoed. “Not that I’ve a Face in it either way.”
The young noblewoman had to suppress a small smirk. The characters in this game really did use the terminology the writers had devised. The term ‘Face’ referred to how the peasantry called the coins stamped with the visage of the Goddess Avaria.
Miriam, of course, could only nod dumbly as Seraphina’s smile widened.
Just as planned, the young girl thought to herself. “Then let us be off. I’ve looked forward to this ride all day, and I wish to return well before the evening meal.”
With that, Seraphina clucked her tongue, prompting Nina to walk calmly out of the stables. She made a note to herself to commission some split riding skirts.