Book 1: Chapter 41 - Role Model [Part 2]

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She penned a letter to her friend Rashana, reporting in careful detail the full extent of Sajan’s insolence. Perhaps this would cost the man dearly—his precious reputation could wither overnight. If fortune smiled, it might even result in him floating face-down in some foul ditch before the week’s end. Such were the whims of those in their position: money was never the issue, but prestige? Influence? Those were the currencies of true power, and Sajan had dared to trifle with her. The insult could not be forgotten. Seraphina had also hinted that she would encourage her father to move his business to the Lehman’s bank, soothing some of the ruffled feathers and further sealing Sajan’s fate.

With a flourish, she signed her name at the bottom of the letter and pressed the “borrowed” seal—her father’s signet ring—into hot wax. The finality of that imprint filled her with quiet satisfaction. She handed the rolled missive to a waiting servant, slipping the lad a whole copper piece to ensure its swift delivery by the Royal Post.

So much was left to do before her formal presentation at Court in a few days. The capital of Aran stretched out before her like an orchard weighted with ripe fruit, each opportunity begging to be plucked. Business ventures, political machinations, whispered alliances—she could almost taste the sweetness of power on her tongue.

She leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms overhead, and felt the heaviness in her shoulders. Was it the burden of responsibility pressing down, or something more personal? Glancing downward, she acknowledged the twin problems. Was it something that she was eating? No, that was not it. Her limbs were still lithe and slender, her waist narrow. Her figure, it seemed, was following the familial pattern—traits inherited from her mother, Anaselena, who had also matured into a figure of lush curves. Blessings, after all, often carried the subtle flavor of curses.

With a resigned sigh, Seraphina recognized she had neglected something crucial amid the whirlwind of responsibilities. Her daily yoga routine, a ritual that granted her a rare moment of calm and clarity, had fallen by the wayside. Determined to restore her center, she stripped down to her undergarments and closed her eyes.

Seraphina moved to the bear fur near the fireplace, the rug offering only a modicum of comfort against the inn’s uneven floorboards. The fire crackled and popped, its gentle warmth reaching her toes as she lowered herself into her first pose. It was no replacement for a true hot yoga room, but it would have to do. She began simply, curling into Child’s Pose, forehead resting lightly on her forearms. Her muscles, tense from hours of planning and plotting, eased beneath this act of surrender.

Rising onto her hands and knees, she shifted her weight back, lifting her hips into Downward-Facing Dog. Her limbs formed a strong, stable peak, breath flowing steadily as she pressed her heels toward the floor, stretching tight calves and hamstrings. With a slow, deliberate inhalation, she stepped her right foot forward into a low lunge, then swept her arms overhead, unfurling into Warrior I. Nothing mattered, not this room, not this world.

Nothing.

The only important thing was the fluidity in her body, the soft hum of the fireplace’s warmth, and the rhythm of her breath. She moved through one pose after another, each transition a seamless dance. From Warrior II to Triangle, from Chair to Tree, she embraced the gentle flow, shedding the world’s weight if only for a few quiet, precious minutes.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Seraphina’s hard-won tranquility shattered as the door swung open without so much as a courteous knock. She froze in mid-stretch, her body poised in the One-Arm Compass position, clad only in her undergarments. Standing before her, wide-eyed and now pink-cheeked, was Ibn, her new page—a mere boy of about twelve years who looked as if he’d walked in on a dragon mid-yawn.

“L–L–Lady Seraphina,” he stuttered, voice caught somewhere between awe, embarrassment, and terror.

She fixed him with a glare, her posture steady despite the intrusion. “What is it now, Ibn? And have you forgotten the concept of knocking?”

The boy’s face burned hotter than the fireplace. “N–no, my lady. It’s just… Milly… I mean Ms. Bottlesworth has returned from Lehman’s. You told me to report to you as soon as she arrived.”

Seraphina arched an eyebrow and slowly lowered her arm as she shifted into the next form. “Hmm, indeed I did. And where is she now?”

“In her room, sleeping. She looked exhausted,” he managed to answer, eyes darting nervously. She caught the lingering way he watched her every movement, as if mesmerized by the graceful contortions of her body. A thought drifted into her mind: perhaps this young boy was interested in yoga. It would be good exercise for him, she thought.

“Exhausted, is she?” Seraphina mused, shifting her weight fluidly into the Flying Crow. “Since Kellan’s absence, you’ve been run ragged doing chores for the lazy Knights and Frest. It’s about time I taught you something that will strengthen you up. You may join me.”

“M–me?” Ibn squeaked.

She rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile curling at the corners of her lips. “I see no one else here, you dolt. Watch closely. This is one of the easiest forms,” she said demonstrating the Crescent Lunge. “Yoga—it is an ancient art to unite mind, body, and spirit. For now, that’s all you need to know. Just follow me.”

To her mild surprise, the boy complied with steady determination. His training with Kellan and natural talent had granted him a measure of physical prowess, and he mimicked her poses with earnest concentration. From Warrior I to Tree Pose, from Bridge to Crow, each form tested their limbs and concentration. Red stained his sweat-sheened features, clear for all to see despite his olive complexion. Maybe she was pushing him too hard? she considered for a micro-second before dismissing the idle thought.

By the time they finished, Ibn’s breath was coming in ragged gasps. Seraphina, for her part, felt the strain too—her newly altered body and top-heavy center of balance made some poses more challenging than she had expected. Twice, irritating system notifications had popped into her vision, informing her of small but welcome gains in Dexterity and Wisdom. She could only guess at what improvements the boy might have made.

It was time to finish.

She straightened, standing up and rolling her shoulders. “Ibn, bathe at once. Once you are presentable, wake that lazy bones Miriam and send her to me.”

The page bowed his head, struggling to meet her gaze, remaining suspiciously silent.

“Must I repeat myself?” she warned, voice low and dangerous.

“No, Lady Seraphina!” he half-shouted as if answering a drillmaster, then scurried toward the door.

Just before he left, she called after him, an almost predatory smile on her lips. “Ibn, I’ll expect you again tomorrow. We’ll see about strengthening you up properly.”

“Yes, milady!” he replied merrily, the unexpected eagerness in his tone catching her off guard.