The stench of goblin blood filled her nose and she lay on the ground. Her body felt heavy and she struggled to move.
What Irene thought was a puddle of dark goblin blood started moving towards her and once it was at her feet, it reached towards her with tendrils that stuck to her body.
She struggled to escape but soon felt the sticky blood pulling at her hair, ripping out chunks and causing her scalp to bleed again.
"Why won't you save me!?"
A man with the bottom half of his body cut off crawled away slowly but he was going towards a group of goblins without realizing.
Irene woke up with tears in her eyes and her body drenched in sweat. The words she actually said out loud were unintelligible utterings.
As she sat up, her shoulders heaved. She realized she was safe in her bed and still her eleven year old self.
Children weren't meant to face the things Irene had faced a few days before. She knew that now because almost every morning had been the same. When she was in the dream, it was impossible to decipher whether or not it was real or in her head—that was the worst part for her.
She was getting better at calming herself down.
Deep breath in. Slow breath out.
Most children sought their mothers when they were having nightmares, but she knew her mother would push even harder to get her away from sword fighting. Irene didn't want to lose the one thing she found enjoyment in.
All she could do was be good and deal with it until it was easier. That was the path she chose for herself the second time around.
After washing her face in a basin of water and using a cloth that her nursemaid brought to her, Irene was ready for her studies that day.
Arne appeared shortly after Irene walked out of her room and he followed his sister.
"I don't wanna study today," he said, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes.
"You heard father say this before," she reminded him. "Even knights need to study so that they can lead."
"But you're a girl so it doesn't matter," Arne said with a smirk.
When Irene was about to swipe him with her foot, the boy ran away cackling. He knew just where to jab his sister despite being nearly three years younger than her.
Both of them were sprinting to the doorway of their father's library where they took their lessons, but both stopped quickly before walking into the room. A staunch old man named Lord Thomas was waiting for them and he was always overly generous with his criticism and was sure to tell their mother every time.
Irene hadn't missed him.
Considering the man presiding over their lands, Duke Arlin never had children, so the ducal family's tutor went to other noble houses throughout the duchy and whipped their children into shape instead.
Their lessons began with Irene learning history and her brother working on his writing, but after a couple of hours, Irene's mind began to drift.
Even through a closed window, Irene heard Thwap! Thwack!
All the knights in their duchy, Chemois, were under the command of Duke Harald Arlin. However, one would certainly think they were under Sir Arthur Litharion's command by the way they practiced at his training grounds whenever they got the chance.
Unfortunately for Irene, she could only observe them from inside the window. Her mother was adamant that she couldn't trust her daughter with the likes of men so rough as knights.
The men always heard of Sir Arthur's children, but they had never seen them in person. After all, Arthur's family was the reason he never wanted to be the commander of the knights despite having the experience and talent. His wife would kill him if he burdened himself further.
Irene jumped when she heard Lord Thomas' voice.
"Are you paying attention, miss?"
Irene's head snapped forward so her attention was on their tutor.
"Yes, sir," she responded clearly and sharply, hoping it would make up for how tired she was and how her head wasn't in the lesson at all.
"Then we shall continue," the man insisted, walking towards the table Irene wrote down notes and and tapped the pointing stick he had been using with Arne against the table.
Eventually, the man stepped out of the room saying that the lessons were over but the children must finish their work pages before they were permitted to leave the room. He would be talking to their mother in the meantime.
Soon enough, a crumpled up paper hit Irene in the forehead and she sat up straight to glare at her brother.
"Finish the lesson or you're going to get beaten," she snapped.
"By who? Mother still loves me more than you because I'm younger!"
She glared at her brother.
It truly did seem to be the case because he took an interest in sword fighting as well but he was allowed to. If he wanted to practice in the morning with their father, he was able to take a rest. On the other hand, Irene had to continue practicing the duties of a lady with etiquette lessons and helping in the kitchen. No wonder it had been too much for her in the past.
Lord Thomas also said her penmanship was getting worse so she was cleaning it up slowly but surely.
"If they won't beat you then I will," she uttered, seething.
However, she wasn't interested in pushing the limit. She had been attending lessons as usual and only participating in swordplay when her father invited her first. She was being good so her mother couldn't nag her.
There was a shuffling as Arne pushed away from his table and beelined towards the door at the edge of the room.
"Arne!" Irene whisper-yelled.
But the boy was gone.
Irene's green eyes lifted to the window again and she realized the noises she was hearing at that moment were her grandmother and father sparring with one another in the meadow beyond the practice yard. That was her grandmother's preference as well as the real blades they used rather than the wooden practice swords reserved for knights.
Her eyes lit up and wonderment took the place of anything else. How she wanted to get out her dagger and spar with her father. Her feint was getting much better in the past couple of days she had been there. Perhaps one day she would fool even him. ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by novelꞁire.net
The girl looked down at her page. It should be enough... hopefully.
Because the girl was being good, when she caught up to her brother as he ran towards his father and grandmother, Irene pushed him behind one of the longer areas of grass.
They would only observe from afar so they wouldn't get in trouble. At least, that's what she convinced herself as she huddled up next to Arne and they watched over the long blades occasionally swaying in the breeze.
However, their father was a weathered knight who paid attention to his surroundings constantly. Spotting two tufts of red hair occasionally revealed above the long grass wasn't particularly hard for him.
He smirked faintly, deciding to give the children a decent show.
Despite how frail his mother looked, she was an established warrior with enough experience to take down a juvenile dragon by herself.