Thanks to the bonfire party that night, the maids and knights had gradually grown familiar with each other. The innocent stirrings of young love naturally drew youths toward passionate romance—just as schoolgirls gather to watch boys play basketball, the maids on break enjoyed observing the sparring sessions of the knights they secretly admired.
Though maids weren’t allowed to freely enter the training grounds, they could still watch occasional open-air drills from beyond the boundary line.
With the girls they fancied watching nearby, the knights trained with renewed vigor, each giving their all to stand out—afraid that falling behind might cost them a chance at courtship.
If they poured such effort into striking wooden dummies, imagine their intensity during live sparring. These knights were Arman’s men—their combat style was rougher, unrefined.
Unlike aristocratic duels where every step was choreographed for elegance, once armored and gripping blunt iron swords, they swung with raw, unfiltered force straight at their opponents.
They held back during practice, yet the relentless clang and clatter of metal still sounded intimidating—enough to send many shy maidens scurrying away.
Evelia, who happened to pass by, was certainly no shy maiden.
Blood and severed limbs held no shock for her. When the Second Prince needed help, she’d handle interrogations of uncooperative individuals. To her, this sparring scene was child’s play—and if asked, she could easily spot flaws in the knights’ techniques.
...
Evelia stood silently by the boundary line. Her gaze swept the crowd and landed on Arman. Though his sword hung at his waist, he now held a longbow. She couldn’t catch their noisy chatter, but saw him roll up his sleeve halfway, revealing a deep, jagged scar on his arm—likely once deep enough to expose bone.
More scars surely hid beneath his clothes. Even his handsome face, which drew many a maiden’s glance, showed upon closer look a faint scar along the underside of his jaw.
He assumed a stance, drew the bow—guiding the young knights beside him with precision that contradicted his usual rough demeanor. Though not burly, his arms tensed with clear definition. Slightly taller than the rest, he cut an imposing figure.
Watching him, Evelia instinctively touched her own arm—a slender, delicate limb she still wasn’t quite used to.
Since becoming a woman, she’d felt noticeably lighter, but at the cost of years of hard-earned strength. She remained stronger than most girls her age and could lift heavy things with practiced technique, yet compared to her former male self, she still felt significantly weaker.
Still… the strength to snap a man’s neck remained.
Whoosh—thud!
The arrow cut through the air from Arman’s fingertips. Amid the maidens’ excited shrieks, it struck dead center in the red bullseye.
Thud!
The second arrow followed without the slightest deviation.
Then the third, fourth, fifth—as if the target had been pre-marked. All five stood neatly embedded, tips driven deep. Had it been a human head, the first two shots would’ve been fatal; the rest were pure overkill.
Evelia studied the nearly pierced target, thoughtful.
The distance wasn’t great for an archer. Arman’s aim was solid, not legendary—but his speed stood out. Nocking, drawing, aiming, releasing: one fluid motion. Paired with accuracy, such speed would be hard to counter on the battlefield.
“Hah, my aim’s not half bad,” Arman said, exhaling as he set the bow down and passed it to a young knight. He’d set the bar high. The others, fired up, fetched their own bows, twirling them with showy flair for the watching maids—as if aiming not at wood, but at the heart of the maiden they fancied.
Evelia stood among the girls, yet few knights pursued her. Though she showed no hostility toward knights loyal to the Crown Prince, her demeanor stayed aloof: respond if approached, never initiate. Even with her striking beauty among the maids, few dared chase such a distant girl.
Especially since she belonged to Arman—and held unusually high status. Here, calling another maid “Miss” was polite formality; for Evelia, it was genuine respect. In the manor, she ranked just below the old butler, beyond the housekeeper’s authority. Only the butler and Arman himself could command her.
Why such status? Arman’s deliberate move. Evelia worked to get close to Arman—her target. Arman tested Evelia—the suspected spy. To keep others from interfering, he placed her exactly here.
Many assumed he elevated Evelia out of interest. So even knights who found her attractive dared not approach the captain’s woman.
“Eve? What brings you here?”
Arman followed the maidens’ chatter and spotted Evelia amid them. Her presence at the training grounds sparked hypotheses in his mind. Though this session wasn’t secret, her ambiguous stance kept him cautious.
“Just passing by,” Evelia replied calmly.
(It was true—she’d come after hearing clashing blades.)
“Interested in these knights too?”
Arman led her a short distance from the grounds.
“No,” Evelia shook her head. “I have no interest in them.”
“Oh? Then—”
“In you.” Evelia’s tone turned earnest. Her golden eyes lifted to meet Arman’s slightly stunned expression. “I wished to see you.”
“Wished to see me…?” Arman lowered his brows, a strange emotion flickering in his gaze.
“Yes. You.” Evelia reached out and lightly hooked a finger around his. To her, it was simply the gentle touch she’d read about in romance novels.
