Rael’s gauntlet tightened on his sword hilt, his eyes turning serious as the shadows stretched across the dusty training field. "Your Highness, listen carefully—this plan is a double-edged sword. It could hurt you badly if things go wrong."

"I know," I said quietly, feeling the weight in my chest. "If I can’t beat her after showing my face, I’ll be in real trouble."

"Trouble?" He let out a short, rough laugh and shook his head. "It’s worse than that. You’d end up knotted right there in front of the whole court—Count Jennife claiming you fully, hips locked together, with every noble staring at their crown princess turned into... well, you get it. Your reputation would be ruined forever. The stories would spread across the empire."

"That’s not just bad—it’s the worst thing possible!" I said sharply, my hands balling into fists, the leather creaking. I could picture it too clearly: my clothes torn, legs forced apart, her rut taking me in public while my loved ones’ faces went pale in the stands. "I’d lose all my dignity!"

"You have no other option but to use it," Rael said simply, arms crossed. "No raw strength, no magic—this is your one real edge."

"It’s not an option—it’s crazy!" I argued, anger mixing with worry. "Using my looks like some desperate trick?"

"Your Highness, you start at a huge disadvantage—omega build, limited vision from the veil, her sword’s long reach. Ignore this, and she wins easily. Sword at your throat, over."

"I know, but..." My voice faltered, my silver hair moving in the light wind.

"You don’t have a choice," he said firmly, like steel on stone. "Win however you can, or you don’t win at all."

I let out a long sigh, my shoulders dropping under the dirty leathers, the veil feeling heavy and sticky. There was no better way—assassins always found the dirty path to victory. "I understand, Rael. I’m at a big disadvantage. We’ll do it."

"I’m sorry it has to be this way, Your Highness," he said, bowing his head a little.

I shook my head. "Don’t feel sorry. Just teach me how to make it work."

"Good—archery first. Pick up your bow and fire." Rael pointed to the straw targets as the sun set red behind the dark walls.

He watched closely as we practiced. I grabbed arrows, pulled the string tight against my cheek, and let them fly one after another—thwack-thwack-thwack—each one hitting deep in the red centre, kicking up little clouds of dust. "Nice and tight, Your Highness—your aim is sharp, like all good omegas," he said with a nod. "Now swords. We’ll use blunt ones. I’ll attack; you defend and strike back."

Rael pulled out his arming sword, marked with old battle scratches, and got into a low ready stance. I took two short swords from the rack—light and quick, feeling right in my hands like tools from my old life. We walked in a circle in the dirt ring, our boots crunching gravel, his feather plume moving like a warning.

"Go!" Rael swung down hard first, the blade cutting the air. I blocked it with both swords crossed—clang! —the hit shaking my arms up to my shoulders. I was too slow; he pushed his sword against mine, locking them tight.

"Too fast—take a breath!" he called out, pushing stronger. I twisted low, faking a leg cut, but he stepped aside and hit my sword hand with his sword’s handle—crack! —knocking one blade away into the dirt.

I rolled fast, grabbed it while tumbling, my hair flying everywhere. I jumped up and attacked wild: fast swings high, low, high again, feet spinning up sand. My sword scraped his shoulder armor—scrape! —but he hit back hard, a wide swing I barely ducked, the air whooshing past my head.

"Your speed is good—keep it!" Rael yelled, attacking without stop—stab at my stomach which I blocked, big overhead swing—pushed to my shoulder, then a kick I jumped back from. I tried a quick stab at his arm opening—but he turned, hitting my leg flat with his blade, making my knee buckle into the dirt.

"You move like wind, Your Highness—solid—but way too fast all around!" He stood over me, sword point near my neck, breathing heavy. "Make it last. Fake more, tire her out."

I laughed breathlessly, spitting dirt, my side hurting as I stood up slow. "Ha—lost way too quick again."

"You’re right—you can’t make fights long like this," he said, putting his sword away with a click. "Jennife can go forever; you’ll tire fast. Drop the veil, hit with the rut trick, then finish quick. Ready for another round?"

"We will practice again tomorrow?" I asked, wiping sweat and grit from my brow, the torn veil sticking annoyingly to my skin as stars began dotting the twilight sky, their cold light glinting off scattered pearls in the dirt.

"Yes, we will—dawn sharp," Rael replied with a firm nod, sheathing his training sword with a metallic rasp. "Rest those bruises, Your Highness. Tomorrow, we drill the veil-drop timing and dagger finishes till it’s i your reflexes. You’ve pushed hard today; push smarter next."

"But I want to practice again—right now," I insisted, voice edged with assassin stubbornness, rolling my aching shoulders despite the fire lancing my ribs. The field felt alive under my boots, adrenaline still humming like a drawn bowstring—I wasn’t done carving my edge.

Rael paused, helm tilting as he studied me, then let out a low chuckle rumbling from his chest. "Determined as Emperor Lirien in her prime. Alright, one more round—chains and daggers only. But if you drop, we stop."

The moon climbed higher as we reset—straw dummies propped for Jennife’s bulk, weighted chains uncoiling in my grip like old alley friends.

"Veil-half drop on my call," Rael barked, circling with wooden sword raised. "Imagine her rut-haze—snap those ankles!"

I lashed first—whip-crack! —links whistling air, coiling a dummy leg clean and yanking it flat with a puff of dust. "Good—now weave!" He lunged simulating her Greatsword sweep; I sidestepped, veil flung back in practice, silver hair spilling wild as I feinted high and drove a blunted dagger to his "groin gap"—thud! —him staggering back with a grunt.

"Too slow on the reveal!" he coached mid-spin, countering with a sweeping block. "Scent hits—commit!"