Five.
Goddamn.
Years.
That's how long I've been locked in this body. Five years of fake smiles and cursed posture lessons and "you must speak like a lady" and "no, Seris, a duchess does not climb furniture".
Oh did I forget to mention that my parents named me Seris coincidence perhaps honestly I don't have anything against the name but I feel its that you have to wait a month or a full moon cycle as they call it before you are giving a name... not to mention the fact that you still have to wait 3 more before you can be officially presented to the kingdom and everyone else.
Although for that last one I'm not complaining at all, after all I like the privacy.
Five years of being talked at like some kind of teacup dog.
And now?
This.
Another lesson on magic I will never be allowed to use.
Lady Mirelda's voice—sharp, smug, smells faintly of bergamot and condescension—cut through the air like disappointment. "Princess Seris, could you tell us what the difference is between noble-born magic and commoner-channeling?"
No, actually, I cannot.
Because I was busy tracing loops in the dust on my desk and pondering what crimes I committed in a past life to deserve this. Probably arson. Or I dared to exist loudly.
My head snapped up.
"…Presentation?" I offered.
Uninspired. Mildly sarcastic. Mostly sleepy.
Lady Mirelda exhaled like a martyr. A very beige, tight-lipped martyr who believed suffering builds character but only in other people.
"Channeling," she said, with the grave patience of someone who thinks she's the heroine in a period drama, "requires communion. Nobles impose will. That is the difference."
Impose will. Okay, Nietzsche.
I blinked. Twice.
Communion versus Will.
Sounds like a philosophy midterm I would've half-bombed while crying in the library at 2 a.m. in my old life.
And now here I was again. A six-year-old girl trapped in a pseudo-feudal magic monarchy where politics wore perfume and violence wore a smile.
My soul yawned.
And then?
CLANG.
My ears twitched.
That sound.
That divine, metallic salvation.
CLANG.
Yes. Thank you, gods. Or whoever's in charge of narrative pacing.
That was a fight.
"Princess Seris," Mirelda said, eyebrows tighter than her corset.
I shot up. "I… need the privy."
Zero hesitation. Full sprint.
Bare feet. Cold marble. Drafty hallways.
My curls rebelled in the wind of my escape and for once I didn't even care.
I had maybe ten seconds before the guards realized their primary job (contain the gremlin) was not going well. I took a left at the hall with the stupid vase, then a right past that tapestry of some dead prince who looked like he ate powdered sugar for dinner.
There.
The courtyard.
And—
Holy hell.
Steel. Speed. Sparks.
Elric and Gaihan. Dancing with swords like violence was choreography.
I stopped.
My whole brain short-circuited.
There they were.
My brother—Elric. Thirteen now. Almost pretty, in that "princely jawline loading…" kind of way. Sword gripped tight, movements crisp and harsh like he was trying to cut the world into something better.
And Sir Gaihan.
Old enough to be bitter, hot enough to ruin me. You know the type. His hair was tied back with surgical precision and he fought with one hand like he was born to disappoint women and then train their sons.
God, I missed this.
Not them.
This.
Real motion. Real danger. Real sweat.
My heart remembered. My muscles remembered. I was older than this tiny body, and I missed being taken seriously. I missed the sound of steel like a heartbeat.
"Yuli?"
Oops.
Elric spotted me.
We locked eyes. He looked like he'd seen a very small ghost.
"Hi," I said. Breezy. Casual. Incredibly guilty.
"You're… not in class," he said.
I gestured vaguely. "They were discussing magical channeling methods. It was dreadfully boring. I chose life." Arms crossed. Chin up.
Gaihan raised one of those deadly eyebrows. "You snuck out."
"I walked out," I corrected. With dignity.
It's not my fault no one here respects the value of hands-on learning.
Elric knelt down to my height. Like that helped.
"Seris… you're not supposed to skip lessons."
"And you know they won't let me train," I said, staring him dead in the eye. "Fair's fair."
He paused. Gaihan actually laughed. Which should be illegal.
"Princess," Gaihan offered with a flourish, "care to observe our next round?"
I beamed.
"Can I clap?"
"No," Elric groaned.
"Can I judge?"
"No—"
"Too late!"