The Moment I Grasped the Sword
It was the moment she grasped the sword. Something was different. The center of gravity. The way force traveled through the wrist. The angle at which her feet met the ground. This body’s memories and her own were subtly misaligned.
Estelle released the sword, then took hold of it again. Let’s analyze this. Two practice grips were enough to tell her what she needed to know. This body wasn’t built for brute force. The wrists were slender, the core and legs far more developed than the shoulders. It was a frame made for flowing past an opponent and slipping through their guard.
Pushing with raw strength would be a waste. The conclusion formed almost instantly.
The opposing knight launched the first exchange. Estelle let the blow slide past. Her body moved faster than she had expected. The missed blade cut empty air. The arc of the descending sword was short. The knight narrowed his eyes.
This time he came in more seriously. Their blades met several times. Estelle shortened her footwork, narrowing the distance. Once the gap closed, the longer reach of her opponent became a disadvantage. After two more exchanges, an opening appeared. The tip of Estelle’s sword stopped just short of his throat.
A brief silence. The knight let out a short, wry laugh.
“I lost.”
Estelle lowered her blade. Stronger than I thought. No—more precisely, this body was strong. All Estelle had done was guide its direction. The vessel itself had already been honed to a high level. She wondered if that should surprise her, but it didn’t. Well, that makes sense.
A presence approached from the side. This time it was a different knight, larger than the first. His shoulders looked twice as broad. Estelle raised her sword. The second bout began.
This one was not easy. The opponent pressed in with his full weight. Blades clashed repeatedly. The shock ran through her wrists. He refused to yield ground. Estelle changed her angle. An opening showed itself but she could not seize it. In return, a gap opened in her own defense. He exploited it. His speed was a fraction slow. Estelle slid her foot sideways. His sword sliced empty air.
They exchanged several more blows before both retreated at the same moment. The match ended in a draw.
“That’s enough,” someone called from the side.
Estelle lowered her sword. The other knight gave a nod. The sounds of training had ceased. The knights who had been watching from a distance lowered their hands. Their gazes converged on her.
Apparently I exceeded expectations. Their expressions suggested they had underestimated her and were now unsettled by how well she had held her own. It didn’t feel strange. The novel had described it this way.
Someone moved at the edge of her vision. Serin was walking toward her.
She was a little shorter than Estelle. Her black hair was neatly tied back. There was not a single decorative element that did not serve a practical purpose. Her silver-grey eyes were calm. The first impression was not beauty but sharpness. She looked like a knight at a glance.
Estelle had known she was watching. Even as Serin approached, her posture remained rigid. Though she walked in a straight line, her gaze flicked once to the side of Estelle’s neck. Her stance never faltered.
“I heard you have suddenly become Her Highness the Imperial Princess’s exclusive knight.”
Estelle looked at her. The eyes were still cautious—closer to suspicion than outright wariness.
“Yes. That is what happened.”
“...How?”
“It simply did.”
Serin scanned her from head to toe. From sword to face, then from face to neck. Her gaze lingered there for a moment before rising again. Estelle thought of the metal resting against her throat. Ah. That would catch the eye.
It seemed Serin wanted to ask more, but in the end she did not.
“...Please be careful.”
With only those words, she turned away.
Is she telling me to be careful, or saying she will be watching me?
Estelle watched her retreating back. Probably both.
Not long after training ended, an attendant arrived.
“Her Highness is calling for you.”
It was the princess’s office. Estelle stepped inside. The air smelled of paper and ink, of parchment and documents. The space was wide. Even more papers had accumulated since morning. Rubia sat at the large wooden desk. She glanced up briefly when Estelle entered, then said nothing. Estelle remained silent as well.
Rubia returned to her documents. Estelle took up position beside her. So this is what an exclusive knight does. The novel had never described Estelle’s duties in detail. It seemed her role was simply to be present. No specific instructions were given.
Rubia continued turning pages. The tip of her pen glided across paper. Estelle watched for a moment. She looked busier than expected. The stack of documents on the desk had grown higher than it was that morning. Finished papers and unfinished ones formed separate piles. The rate at which new documents appeared seemed faster than the rate at which she could read them.
Sunlight entered through the window. The spot where Rubia sat lay just outside its direct reach. A handspan of shadow darkened the edge of the desk. The light was slightly insufficient for reading.
Estelle took one step sideways from where she stood and drew the curtain a little wider. More light fell across the desk. Rubia’s pen paused. She looked up at Estelle.
“It seemed a little dark.”
Rubia lowered her gaze back to the documents without a word. The pen resumed its movement. Estelle returned to her original position.
That was when a knock sounded. The attendant spoke from beyond the door, voice lowered.
“Your Highness. The inspector directly under the Imperial Household Affairs Bureau has arrived. Without prior notice…”
Rubia’s pen stopped. Estelle glanced at her. The feet that had been resting loosely on the floor were now tensed on their toes. The Imperial Household Affairs Bureau. An agency under the direct command of the Emperor, possessing authority to inspect the princess’s affairs. It had been mentioned briefly in the novel. It was not an organization friendly to Rubia.
Rubia turned her head sharply and looked at Estelle. A quick glance—face, shoulders, then the desk.
“The knight’s appointment has not yet been officially registered.”
Her voice was low. Estelle quickly parsed the meaning. Not yet formally entered into the records. If the inspector noticed her, it would become troublesome. It could provide any number of excuses.
Rubia’s gaze dropped to the space beneath the desk.
“There.”
A single word. There. Beneath the desk.
“...”
Estelle bent her knees and slipped under the desk. The door opened outside. It was dark, but not cramped. There was enough room for an adult to sit with knees drawn up. The thick wooden desk formed a roof above her head. The underside of the planks showed the grain of old wood.
Estelle drew her knees together and sat. I never imagined a situation where a knight would hide under a desk. Still, it had happened. There was nothing she could do about it now. It wasn’t even uncomfortable. In fact, it was quiet.
At eye level, she could see Rubia’s feet. The toes were taut, the ankle muscles strained as if they might snap at any moment. The inspector’s polished shoes appeared. They stopped right beside Estelle.
The inspector spoke. On the surface, his tone was courteous.
“Your Highness, I have come to confirm the schedule for this year’s imperial annual inspection.”
Rubia’s feet did not move.
“I see.”
He listed the inspection items, the period, the composition of personnel. Slowly. Without haste. The fact that he was in no hurry meant he felt he had leisure. While listening, Estelle watched Rubia’s feet. The ankles were trembling faintly. So the noise is reaching her.
The novel had described Rubia’s curse this way. It was a setting she already knew. If one inspector caused this much disturbance, she could only imagine what it would be like when nobles arrived in groups.
Estelle reached out. Her hand moved before her mind could catch up. She gently wrapped her fingers around Rubia’s ankle. The trembling stopped. The inspector continued speaking without pause. Estelle kept her hand there, applying no pressure, simply remaining in contact. Gradually, the tension drained from Rubia’s foot.
The inspector eventually withdrew. The door closed. Estelle released her grip, crawled out from beneath the desk, and brushed off her trousers as she stood.
Rubia looked down at her. Estelle looked up. A brief silence passed between them. Estelle averted her gaze first. She had noticed that Rubia had started to speak and then stopped, that she had chosen not to say anything. Estelle glanced once at her own hand—the hand that had touched Rubia’s ankle.
Strange. She could not pinpoint what felt strange. Whether it was the fact that her hand had moved on its own, or that the situation had simply unfolded this way. In the end she filed it under “unknown.”
Rubia picked up another document and lifted her pen.
“I will have the registration processed within the next week.”
“Understood.”
That was all. Estelle returned to her original position. The office grew quiet again.
She looked at Rubia’s feet once more. They were far more relaxed than when the inspector had been present. The toes rested loosely on the floor. The ankle muscles had loosened. It must have helped. It was a convenient metric to observe. Expressions could be hidden. Hands could be concealed. But tension in the toes was harder to disguise—especially from Estelle’s current eye level.
This placement isn’t entirely bad. That was the conclusion she reached.
The sound of turning pages continued. Estelle leaned against the window frame. There was nothing particular for her to do. She gazed at the garden beyond the glass while listening to Rubia work. A breeze stirred. Her hair shifted. Estelle swept the golden strands back with her hand, then paused, staring at that hand.
It was so pale and slender. The wrist. The fingers. She rotated her wrist once and then stopped. Her gaze would not move on. Strange. She did not know what exactly felt strange. The one thing she was certain of was that she did not find becoming a woman itself odd. That much was clear. Her eyes simply remained fixed on the skin above her wrist, on the place so thin that veins seemed ready to show through.
She lowered her hand and turned her gaze back outside. No further thoughts followed.
At that moment, a voice came from beyond the door.
“Your Highness. Viscount Terence has sent word that he wishes to visit tomorrow afternoon.”
Rubia’s pen paused for a moment.
“...I see.”
A short answer. Viscount Terence. A name that had appeared in volume one. A member of the 1st Prince’s faction. The type who attacked Rubia with words. Polite on the surface, yet every sentence carried hidden thorns.
Estelle looked at Rubia’s feet. The toes that had been relaxed were now lifted from the floor again. Tension was returning to the ankle muscles. It did not stop. So it’s tomorrow.
Watching those feet, she thought: if a similar situation arose tomorrow, or an even worse one—
Estelle shifted her gaze to the top of Rubia’s desk. The tip of the pen hovered just above the paper, suspended in the air for the briefest moment. Rubia’s toes moved, trembling faintly, unable to settle.