Chapter 1: Underestimated

Chapter 1:

A loud whistle breaks the silence of the air in the garden as I draw my sword from the scabbard, slashing the sunlight falling on my foot. The sword points to the ground and I glide my eyes over the twenty soldiers positioned around me. Adorned with armor and helmets, to the highest rank of the kingdom fighters, they stand ready to fight any passerby.

I ball my right hand against the back of my hip and Max wraps a silk cloth around my wrist. I hiss as the silk burns my skin at the impact of the scorching heat.

My eyes scan through the set of soldiers - heads high, all mighty, aware of the strength they hold against me.

Oh! So foolish, cause they always underestimate me.

I see a soldier slide his helmet off his head, a grin playing on his lips, taunt in his eyes - mocking me.

I would love to wipe the grin away. I stretch my hand pointing the sword against his chin, a signal to fight me.

A low chuckle escapes his throat as he twirls his sword between his hands creating circles in the air. I take a step back allowing him to play his way with the static air around us. His grin widens, taking my stance in defense, he swishes the sword striking straight at me. I raise my hand to block the sword, the metal clangs against each other - the vibrations travel through my hand.

Strong.

If you have trained enough, small details like these are enough to tell you how strong the opponent is. But if you are smart enough you know how to use the small details against them. My lips curl at the corners and I bend my knees, pushing forward the sword in my hand. The impact is enough to push him back at least five steps.

Twirling my hands in mocking circles, I smirk. Not new to people underestimating me.

I point the sword toward him and his eyes turn red, as his chest heaves with ragged breaths. The skin on his palms turns white, as his grip on the sword tightens, and he bellows a loud growl.

He scurries on his feet and I get back in position.

We circle each other to find the best place to attack, but he charges not waiting for the perfect position - our swords clung.

The sound from the metal is enough to tell how impactful every hit is. I swing my sword, in haphazard moments defending every hit from him. He groans, exerting all his strength in aimless attacking. He strikes through the air with all his might, right and left, hitting the branches and the barrels, slicing through them like dead meat.

But the aimless hits take a lot of his energy. His nostrils flare in the air, and he tries to catch his breath. The shudder in his shoulder is evident as his arm begins to weigh down, the weight of the sword finally playing its magic.

He looks tired.

I tilt my head, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Give up”, I crank my voice lazy.

The nerve on his forehead pounds through his skin. I know he won't give up, the pride too much to let go. He grips the sword with both his hands, raising it above his head - an attempt at a final blow. It draws right at my sword. Digging the heel of my feet into the ground, I raise my sword above me as I take the blow. I groan at the impact - impact enough to shatter bones.

Not mine.

His eyes fill with different fire. The fire of disgust, shame, power. I snort at those expressions, I have seen them way too often. He charges at me, but I see the fumble on his steps.

I draw my feet back, as I flip through the air raising my sword above my head, slashing the armor at his chest. Gruesome cry echos through the air, and he lands on the ground with a loud thud. Flaps of the birds fill the surrounding, his body lies in the center squirming with pain, and I smile through the small victory.

Max unties my hand. I pull up my helmet letting my long dark brown locks sway in the wind. The air plays with them, tangling them at the end. I slide my fingers on the strings of the armor, pulling them to strip myself off from the heavy metal. The filmy pastel green flowy gown slips down my waist covering the entire length of my body. The fabric is damp sticking to the curves of my body from all the work I  have put in, and now it dutifully clings to my breasts, casting a golden glow as sunlight strikes the area.

Feet shuffle in the background, and two women run to me helping me with my knee pads. I look around all heads bowed, even with the full-blown display of my tits none have the audacity to look and fantasize about me.

Well, not after the wailing of a muscular man in front of them.

The air sidles playing with the cloth of my gown, an immediate cool latching on to me as the sheen of sweat around my body disappears.

I bend on one knee, beside the soldier. His eyes look at mine - wide enough to misread them as anger. But fear fills them. I like those expressions in the eyes of the people that underestimate a woman - especially for the strength they carry. I smirk looking straight into his eyes, they bow down in respect immediately.

Mission accomplished - he is never going to underestimate any opponent. Not because she is a woman.

“Get off his armor”, I say massaging the knots at my shoulder. Two men run forward from behind me, pulling the strings to get it out of his chest. I press my hands to the center of his chest moving them to either side.

“Three bones, one muscle. Five weeks of recovery.”, I spill the words to, particularly no one. “Max get him to the healer and tell me if my predictions were right. I would love to know whether the boring lessons with the healer did me any good.”,  I see him nod at my command, as he bends to one knee bowing.

I smirk at the show he loves to pull when he is in front of others - the diligent guard who doesn't raise his eyes.

“Princess Adria”, Sherlin whispers right beside me. I turn to look at the beautiful middle-aged woman with a gentle smile. I nod at her to continue. “Your bath is ready, we need to fix you before dinner.”

Fix me. What am I broken?

I mirth at my own innuendos, walking behind her to get me - fixed.

The cool marble of the palace stings my feet. I prefer the bare ground that tells me the reality, not the comfort of the marbles that conceal the dirty secrets of the palace. I don't hate my life - I would never hate it. It’s luxurious, fulfilling, powerful - yet constricting, and sometimes demeaning. As a princess, I am expected to be soft, and poised. People expect me to bow down and be shy, accept any prince that shows interest in me. Huh, but I built myself different - different enough to fight the prejudices of the palace.

Shimmer fills my eyes, as the marble of the bath shines in my eyes, the expensive emerald marble glistening from the steam of the bath. Stripping myself of the gown I step into the 22bath. My skin flushes with the steam, the heat releasing the knots in the muscles. The chamomile and rosemary herbs in the water calm my mind - Sherlin adds them to make my skin radiant, but I like them because they feel good to my nerves. I close my eyes, resting my head on the edge of the bath.

A hand draws circles on my back, slow and gentle, kneading my muscles, scrubbing the dirt to turn me into the proper and prim princess that I need to look like.

No complaints. I like it.

My body slides down in the water, taking in the comfort of the heat that surrounds me. The scent of the bath, whiffs around my nostrils. Calm sensations run through my nerves, and I let my sense wander.